Perfect 10

There used to be a series called Best Week Ever on VH1. Does VH1 even exist anymore?  Well,  it's only Thursday, and I have already declared this to be my oldest son's Worst Week Ever.  Coincidentally, mine too. At least from the perspective of a mother.

Last week Parker came home with sharpie painted nails.  After determining that he didn't do it for the fume high,  but rather the appearance  I explained that it was not a good idea.  Living in a house with all boys, Parker hasn't been exposed to nail polish really. I usually wait until they are in bed to paint mine, or I get manicures, but truthfully my nails are very rarely painted.  I explained that if he really wants to color his nails he has to use polish and I would do it for him. I never could have envisioned saying that to my son...ever.
Here is the deal.  Nail polish on a man in 2013 is the equivalent to an earring on a guy in 1985. It was crazy back then and caused eyebrows to raise and rumors about his sexuality to fly depending on which ear it was in. Which, btw my brother got wrong.  Today if I see a guy with two earrings I don't even notice.  It's a trend that crossed gender boundaries and now is (somewhat) acceptable.
So I painted my son's nails black.  Of course I thought it was a little strange, but I'm strange too.

When I was a kid I liked to push boundaries. I'm pretty sure my parents thought I was a lesbian.  I had a mullet. I didn't like to wear a shirt. When I did wear clothes my outfits were never complete without a jersey and belt. I peed in the woods standing up. I preferred playing with muscle men toys than Barbie. I wished in a fountain that I was a boy and when it didn't come true I spit in it.  I signed up to play football for my school only to be told that I wasn't allowed to because I was a girl. So I understand his frustration when he sees girls allowed to do things that boys are typically not.

My mom came over and when she saw Parker's nails she didn't react. Now that is a true test.   Maybe I had broken her in. When I asked her what she thought, she said that her pharmacist has his nails painted.  My first thought was, wow and my second was, that is the kind of pharmacist I want. 
When Parker got to school, his attempt to be different was not accepted well and he was asked to remove his nail polish. I guess its a dress code violation.  He was devastated. In his mind I think he thought it would be perceived as cool and he would be a "rock star".  He said that someone called him gay.  Sounds like the 1985 perception of an earring if you ask me.
I asked him if he liked girls, he said no. I asked him if he liked boys, he said no. So I explained that he doesn't even know if he is gay and even if it turns out he is, being gay isn't a bad thing and it was wrong for someone to call him that with a negative connotation. He said that the boy who called him that apologized later.

So as I'm dealing with this when I hear a horrific scream from the shower upstairs from Fin. Apparently he had another tick.  Yes, he had one earlier this week that had been feasting on his head for three days.  This one was on his stomach.   When I saw it I screamed just like I did when I saw the last one. I followed the instructions I had watched on youtube (again) and removed the reluctant blood sucker.  By the time I got it out I had an audience of 3 of his brothers and the dog in a tiny bathroom with the shower still running and a naked 8 year old screaming.
Which jogs my memory to earlier in the week when I had to take my 3 year old to the doctor for a urine sample because my Mother-in-law convinced me he had a urinary track infection and the 5 of us stood in the tiny office bathroom while I tried to force Oscar to pee in a cup and he wouldn't despite his brother's cheering him on. I got so frustrated I even tried squeezing him thinking that would force him to pee.  It didn't.
Again. not a good week. Not surprisingly he did NOT have anything wrong with him.  45 minutes of my life I cant get back.

The next day I think the nail polish storm had blown over and after a long day at work I was standing in the kitchen wondering if I should make frozen pizza or order it. That is when Parker walked by me with a hickey.  A HICKEY.  A HICKEY! I immediately stopped him and asked him in so many words, WTF is on your neck?  "A hickey" he said nonchalantly and continued walking. Don was quick behind him and mouthing to me " I will take care of it" because he could sense my mama bear claws starting to come out.  They disappeared into the bedroom to avoid little ear hearing the conversation and about 10 minutes later came back into the kitchen where I was still trying to decided on frozen or phone pizza.   Parker explained that the hickey was from a boy in his class, not only that, he gave the boy a hickey too.  They were playing vampire zombie and obviously very committed to their character development.  He said he didn't know what a hickey was until someone else told him that he had one.

In a matter of two days I have had to deal with my son wearing nail polish and now having a hickey.  Not exactly what I pictured I would be dealing with when my son turned 10.  Because it is the end of May I didn't feel that a turtle neck was appropriate so my son is walking around with a big red arrow pointed at him reading call CPS. 

After deciding that turning on the oven was just too hard,  I ordered pizza and sat down at our kitchen table across from Don. We just stared at each other.  Words were not necessary because we were both thinking the same thing. WTF?

Parenting is hard.  There is no easy way around it.  It feels like just when you feel comfortable and like you have everything under control you find yourself removing ticks, questioning sexuality, forcing a urine sample and explaining hickeys.

 It sounds to me more like my college days not elementary. I know there is so much more I need to learn. I'm enrolled in a Parenting University and the way its looking, I am on the eternity plan.