I turn forty two years old on Saturday. It’s not so bad really. I can’t move or eat like I used to but at 42, I’m able to get over it as soon as I realize it’s no big deal.

However the first year of high school is a big deal. In fact, it’s a fucking huge deal. Our son has been having trouble again for the second term in a row. I am atop a fence looking for the balance of trying to be supportive while not interfering with the fact that M needs to take the initiative to talk to his teachers.

M told me that a lot of kids had poor grades in his classes but after having dinner with a friend who’s son is in the same classes, I realize that her son has A’s in his classes. When I came home this evening, he was the only one left awake. R had to go to San Francisco again early the next morning and the girls have to stick to their 8:30 pm bedtime. Frustrated, I blurted, “This kid doesn’t have D’s right now. He has A’s.”

M looked crushed. He replied, “But I’m not him.”

And my heart broke twice. Once for breaking his and another for realizing that my kid has an asshole for a mom. 

I immediately regretted it and apologized and I can feel him push me away. I don’t blame him.

He already feels so inadequate, unathletic, unintelligent. I made it that much worse.

No need to remind me that parents make mistakes, that that was a pretty unsensitive thing to say, that I should think about what I say before I say it.

I already know.