College Owen

So, last night gave a little glimpse into what Owen will be like in college.  Let me preface this post by saying, PLEASE don't call CPS on me.  I have decided that Owen will do what Owen wants to do regardless of the consequences.  The only way to keep Owen completely out of trouble would be to keep him in a straight jacket.  Sadly, I'm serious.

For those that don't know, we are re-doing our master bath in an attempt to put our house on the market this spring. It's spring now?  Well, before the end of spring, surely.  Maybe summer.  Anyway, our cabinets are completely empty because Peter will be taking them out and installing new ones.  Because we don't have anywhere to put the stuff we use on a regular basis, it is all sitting out near the bathtub.

Yesterday, I came home from work and immediately started getting dinner ready.  I wanted to try a new recipe that took more than the usual easy 30 minutes all of my other recipes take and so I needed to hustle.  Owen is wandering throughout the house.  No big deal, nothing out of the ordinary.  That's when Elsa comes out of our bedroom and tells me that Owen drank Listerine.  What?  Who drinks Listerine?  Yuck!  I immediately run down the hallway and grab the bottle.  Unfortunately, I don't know how much he drank.  I asked Vance (who didn't see Owen drink it, by the way) and he implied Owen drank a quarter of the bottle.  I freak out.  Owen smells like Listerine and is all of 42 pounds.

So, I read the bottle and the warning is right there in what seems like bold letters; "If more than the amount used to rinse your mouth is accidentally swallowed, call poison control or seek medical attention immediately."  Poison Control again?!?!?!  I text Peter and ask if I need to take Owen to the hospital.  He asks how much Owen had to drink.  I have no idea!

I ask Owen to please tell me the truth; "How much of this did you drink?"  His response?  Two sips, but he spit it out.  Can I believe him?  Do I risk it?  I tell him that he might get very sick and we may need to go to the hospital.  He takes me into the bedroom and shows me that he spit it out in Peter's sink.  It does smell like Listerine.  What's a mom to do?  I read the bottle again and notice there is fluoride in the mouth wash.  Great!  But, at least I know from one of our other poison control calls, what to do if you consume too much fluoride.  I pour him a huge glass of milk and tell him to slam it.  Fortunately, for once in his almost five years, he actually listens to me.  I think he's afraid of the hospital.

Because I am now convinced he spit most of it out (I mean, seriously, who drinks Listerine???), I decide to wait and see if we need to take him to the hospital or make our third call to Poison Control.  He seems to be doing okay, so I continue to make dinner.  Things are good.  Phew!

Peter gets home from work and we sit down to eat.  That's when the alcohol hits Owen, I think, because he starts singing and yelling at the table.  He is, legitimately, out of control.  We try to tell him it's impolite to scream and sing loudly at the table.  No dice.  We tell him he will sit in his room if he continues, he continues.  We put him in his room.  He starts yelling down the hallway and carrying on in a way what I imagine (you know, because I've never experienced it in real life) someone who has a slight buzz would be like.  Jeez, this is going to be a long night.  Fortunately, my dinner took way longer than it said and it was almost bed time by the time we finished.  Peter read to Vance and Elsa and I laid with Owen until he passed out.

So, one day, Owen will go to college (hopefully) and I now know what kind of kid he will be when he has a few beers in him.  Fun, loud, and will probably resist the police when they are called in for a noise complaint.  Awesome!

Oh, and P.S. the Listerine bottle is now on top of the cabinet in the guest bathroom.  Far out of reach of little hands.

Bipolar Relationship??

Is that a thing?  I don't mean to offend anyone, but it's the only way I can describe my relationship with Owen.  We go from one extreme (yelling, kicking, whining <-- usually Owen, but sometimes me) to the other (cuddling, sweet, I love you's) with rarely any interaction in between.  It amazes me and also makes me wonder.

Yesterday, I picked the kids up after work and was informed that Owen seemed tired.  This is, literally, one of the phrases I fear the most because it usually means I am in for an explosive night with my darling Owen.  Sure enough, it started in the car.  Owen wanted gum.  I said no.  Did I have a good reason to say no?  Not really, it was just the first thing that came to mind.  Would it have been bad to give him gum?  Physically?  No.  But, because I said no, I had to stick to my guns.  A little lesson I am learning.  I offered him an Altoid to ease the pain.  Vance took it immediately, Elsa passed, Owen pouted.  I told him I would give him until the count of three and then I was taking the Altoid back.  One .... Two .... Three.  No dice.  I took the mint back.

That's when the tantrum started.

"Mom, give me the mint!"
"Mom, I'll take the mint now"
"Mom, please may you give me the mint"
"Mom, it's not fair Vance got a mint and I didn't"
"Mom, if you don't give me the mint, I won't be your best friend"

This went on for 20 minutes, the entire car ride home.  I did not give in.  It would have been so easy.  The yelling and temper tantrums would have stopped and I would have been able to listen to music in peace.  But, no, I stuck to my guns and it was a horrible car ride.

It got worse when we pulled into the garage.  He threw his stuffed animal at me because I was ignoring him.  Then, he started kicking the seats.  I took him right to his room and locked the door.  I got Vance and Elsa out of the car and brought all of their school bags inside.

Once Vance and Elsa were playing outside, I went to Owen's room to talk to him.  He was calm.  I hugged him and told him we weren't discussing the mint anymore.  Then, I asked him if he wanted to have a snack with me.  We sat in the kitchen and ate hummus together (yes, this is our snack of choice) just me and my Owen.

For the rest of the evening, he was cuddly and affectionate, he said I love you a lot, he was my good boy Owen.  Extremes.  That is all I can describe our relationship as.  We are either super loving and affectionate, or we scream and yell.  I hope it gets better.  Though, not if it means we have the in-between where we don't yell but we also aren't affectionate.  I don't ever want to not matter to Owen.

On a side note, one of these days, I will record Owen saying my favorite thing "Don't judge me, Mom, don't judge me."  Does he know what it means?  Absolutely not, which makes it funnier.