A little over a month ago, we separated our sons' room. They'd been sharing their room, in bunk beds, for seven...or maybe closer to eight...years...? We combined their rooms when they were about 5 and 2-1/2 years old. They started sleeping in the same room when we only dealt with one major health issue, my older son's epilepsy.
They shared a room though his subsequent autism diagnosis. And developmental delay diagnosis. The other neurological diagnoses that make him who he is.
My older son on the bottom bunk because he is bigger; my younger son on top bunk since he is smaller and more nimble. The Tortoise and the Hare.
They had each other throughout my Breast Cancer Adventure. Diagnosis. Lumpectomy. Chemo. Radiation. They were 8 and 6.
And they slept under the same glowing stars when their father was diagnosed with HPV-caused tonsil cancer. They were 9 and 7.
Now, at 12-1/2 and 10, they need their own space. We have three bedrooms. And I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired, so I said yes to the huge change.
My younger son was creating his birthday list, and asked to have his own room. We set a date for the move, April 27, the Saturday before his tenth birthday. Two days before the move, he and his training partner leveled up at Hapkido. So there was definitely some positive Qi in the air.
Separation Day went smoothly, we'd been talking about The Separation for quite some time. We had a firm date a few days before, as we were coordinating with our dear friend Prof Z, Physicist of All Trades. We needed help taking bunk beds apart. Because duh. I mean, one time, my husband and I tried hanging up a medicine cabinet together, and nearly filed for divorce. So, to save our marriage, and not have "bunk beds" as the reason on the divorce decree, we asked for and received help.
The following Tuesday was another milestone for my younger son: the Tenth
This year's throwing was extra special because my younger son was going to be thrown by his mentor. And he had a ton of questions about which throws she was going to do on him. To which I'd reply something like, "I don't know. It's out of my control. But Ms. V knows what she's doing." And thinking in my head, "Jesus, kid, I sure hope you sleep tonight." For my son, being Hapkidoed by a mentor is a dream that is akin to my husband having a personal conversation over dinner with Stephen Hawking. Or maybe not because he's dead, and I'm pretty sure he ate through a g-tube...even though Randy did at one time, too. Ok, maybe a better analogy is me having a dinner conversation with Dr. Ruth Westenheimer. No, really, she's still alive, you guys...and she's got a new thing going on the Internet...because she's a badass.
Anyway, the six weeks that my kids have been sleeping apart have been a huge transition for all of us. Especially my older son, since he has myriad neurological challenges, including puberty...which is a clusterfuck for any family. But my 12-1/2 year old is the one who moved...down the hall...into the room that was once his room when my kids slept apart.
And my patience is finer than frog's hair. Completely non-existent.
Any change takes time to adjust. There was a grace period where my older son was allowed to go into his old room/his brother's room, and my younger son was absolutely not permitted to scream about anything. But, naturally, he did. Especially when my older son touches my younger son's Legos. #SweetJesusTheresNoFuckinReasonToScreamOverLegos
And I get it. It's a constant fucking pissing contest between them. They are kids. They are boys. They are competitive. They are establishing boundaries and dominance. I get it. But seriously, you guys. Put your penises the fuck away. You're not in charge. I am. And I can piss circles around both of you. Standing up. With my eyes closed. #Bitches
Because getting a child through puberty, who is the opposite gender from you, and is developmentally delayed, is not going to be easy. Imagine your child at the age of five. Now try explaining puberty to your child. Yup. That's what were doing here at the Anderson Family Circus.
Not to mention that he's graduating from sixth grade next week. And Movin' On Up to the Middle School, which is a huge transition and stressful for any kid. Yes, we had a tour. Yes, I'm communicating with the Middle School.
So, even though my patience is finer than frog's hair...completely non-existent...I'm doing my best to get through the changes that my kids are dealing with as individuals. And as much as I like to forget that it's been four years since I went through my Cancer Adventure, and three years since my husband went through his Cancer Near Death Experience...having patience for all of the things is really fucking hard.
I'm doing my best to remind myself that I'm human, and that mistakes are inevitable. Ultimately, change happens, and as much as I'd love to smother them both, my job as a parent is to support and guide them.
#AndAlso I'm not into going to prison. Who would run the Circus, you guys?
