January is really the most un-wonderful time of the year. The weather stinks, I’m still tired from the holidays, AND it’s that very awkward and terrible time when all of the Reese’s peanut butter trees are no longer in the store, but it’s too early for the Reese’s peanut butter eggs to come out. I sat in the parking lot outside of a Five Below last week and wondered–where do all the trees go? Because all of my local chocolate peanut butter tree selling retailers seemed like they had an abundant supply of them the week before Christmas. Now there are none. I can’t figure out the math on that. Why no leftovers, Five Below? You didn’t put them back in the stock room for next Christmas, did you? ‘Cause that’s not fair. I’m not sure how I will live until the retail stores decide it’s almost Easter.
Speaking of things I may not live through, it occurred to me just this week that in approximately 8 months, I will have two middle schoolers in my home. TWO MIDDLE SCHOOLERS. Can’t. Breathe. Must. Eat. Reese’s. Peanut. Butter. Chocolate. Trees.
I know some of you have younger kids, and aren’t there yet. You are still in the thick of diapers and preschool and early morning wake up calls, and can’t imagine a day when you will sleep past 6 am on a weekend. Or some of you more experienced parents are far enough away from it that you forget what it’s like, and the pain has dulled with time. Some things are difficult to fully convey in words, but let me see if I can paint you a picture of these special, special years.
Having a middle schooler is like picking up your mail, casually opening it just like every other day, and then realizing that one of the envelopes had white powder with anthrax in it and now you have a huge crisis on your hands and also probably you are going to die. And then 10 minutes later everything’s “fine” and the person who laced the envelope with anthrax is sitting on your couch with a headset on, happily playing a video game, while you continue working on your newest hobby which happens to be deep breathing and growing new grey hairs.
Having a middle schooler means that there are lots of tall-ish people with long limbs, big shoes, and questionable hygiene in your house, and you have to feed them pancakes a lot. And they eat your pancakes but they don’t make eye contact with you. And they wear a hood for extra protection indoors in case of leaking ceilings or splattering pancake syrup, I am assuming.
Having a middle schooler means that you are no longer funny. You used to be very funny, maybe let’s say, just last year or the year before. In fact, you used to be able to make certain people laugh hysterically just by playing peek-a-boo! But now you’re not funny. And every time you try to use any humor of any kind, someone in a hoodie yells, “STOP!”.
Having a middle schooler means that you question the very foundations of your education, as you stare mutely at your 7th-grader’s homework on algebraic expressions or some such, hoping to forestall the meltdown that will inevitably ensue should you be unable to not only figure out how to do it, but also figure out how to show your work using a simple 13 step process that, in your day, was a two step process.
Having a middle schooler means that you will sometimes have your sweet baby, who now weighs 100+ lbs instead of 10 lbs, come over to snuggle with you like a fully grown St. Bernard who thinks he is a lap dog. And you love every second of it, even if his knee is in your spleen. You don’t even care about your spleen right now, because you know that once the magic passes, your sweet, oversized baby will disappear underneath his hoodie for an indeterminate amount of time.
Having a middle schooler means that you have lots of toys, but no one plays with them. But they also won’t let you get rid of them yet. And they are unfortunately old enough that they notice when you try to sneak the toys out of the house to take to Goodwill. Ah, how you miss the days when they didn’t have object permanence, or even those good times when you could trick them into thinking that if they couldn’t find a certain toy it was because they probably lost it, so maybe they should take better care of their stuff next time.
Having a middle schooler means that instead of dealing with diapers, field trips, potty training, preschool, and playdates, you now must face “crushes”, sex talks, friend drama, eye rolling, snarky comments, and poorly developed sarcasm skills. You may really want to help them with this sarcasm piece since you know that you are so much better at it, but this is not advisable.
Having a middle schooler means that all important problems, questions, and/or feelings will absolutely need to be discussed at 9:30 PM, when you really thought you were crossing the finish line for the day.
Having a middle schooler means that your child will come home and tell you the things that happened at school, and you realize you have to relive all of the horrible things that happened to you in middle school. Except now it’s worse, because it is happening to your tall-ish, constantly hungry, hoodie-clad baby.
Having a middle schooler means that you kind of want to call your mom and dad to complain, but you don’t because you’re pretty sure that they will laugh maniacally at you.
Having a middle schooler means that all of the above can happen to you in the span of one day, and just when you feel completely beaten down, you still get to be the soft place to land.
Having a middle schooler means that as bad as it seems for you, you know it’s worse for them.
Having a middle schooler means that you will need lots of Reese’s chocolate peanut butter trees.