Pesky Mom

Smelly Boy has 2 personas. He is Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. When Smelly Boy has no deadlines nor exams, he is an absolute sweetie pie who will put up with all of my bothersome requests for hugs and kisses and time together.

This only happens from mid-November to end-December.

From January through to mid-November, Smelly Boy is in high performance mode. The pace is unrelenting. If there are no competitions to train for, there are projects to deliver. If there are no projects to deliver, there are exams to study for. With work on his mind, Smelly Boy is in no mood for cuddles and hugs.

Sigh! He is such a different boy from when he was in Primary school. Back then, he was the one asking for cuddles and hugs. These days, he flinches when I hug him.

Back then, he fully appreciated my childish sense of humour. We would melt into puddles of giggles when cooking up pranks to play on The Husband and on the hapless Security Guards at our condo. These days, he gives me a look that lets me know that it ain't amusing.

Back then, he hung on my every opinion. What I thought, mattered. These days, if he says that Literature, History and Geography are a waste of time, he brooks no disagreement from me. "Rubbish!" he exclaims. "These are useless subjects!" he maintains, after my lengthy exposition on how these subjects hone critical thinking about social issues, and that no man is an island (thus making these subjects crucial to community and individual well-being).

Back then, he was always game when I proposed to go out and eat something nice, no matter how far away. These days, Smelly Boy refuses to travel more than 10 minutes away from home when we eat out on weekends. He is chained to his List of Things to Do.

Petunia's playmate grew up. Petunia did not. Sigh! I know exactly how those toys in Toy Story felt when Andy grew up.

I really should not complain. Many Mothers would give much to have a boy who self-chains himself to a List of Things to Do. Nonetheless, I still sorely miss my little playmate. It is my especial curse to always possess the sense of humour of a two year old.

And never more so than yesterday when we had a small tiff.

It was Sunday. Smelly Boy was up bright and early, practising on a past year paper. Exams are in 2 weeks. Sunday Petunia went into his room in her best Sunday lazy mood, and requested a Sunday hug and a Sunday kiss. Smelly Boy was furious at being interrupted in the middle of his timed trial. He frowned at me and gave a growl.

Then, he stared resolutely at his paper, determined to concentrate.

Do you remember how it felt, when as a little girl or boy, your older siblings just would not let you touch or play with their stuff? Well.... I felt like that. I sat on his bed and toyed with the idea of leaving him to his Sunday Bad Mood or making a Sunday nuisance of myself.

In the end, I decided to be a nuisance.

I reached out my toe and touched the base of his chair. With a peeved "Tsk!", he moved his chair away. I looked him in the eye with the same look as that he used to give me after I had told him NOT to throw the bowl on the floor from his baby high chair.

Then, I reached out my foot defiantly and touched the base of his chair again.

He gave another peeved "Tsk!" and moved further away. It went on for another 3 times before I took pity on my poor son.

What a pesky mom I am!