I’m a wife and
mother of two teens and a cat. It’s kind of a toss up which is the most interesting
of the mentioned relationships. Oh, also a lizard. I don’t count the lizard
because he just hangs out in his little terrarium and stares down the cat.
Cat-TV.
Anyway, so,
teens. Yeah. If you don’t have one of your own, or have never had one, don’t.
Kidding. Up until my youngest, we’ll call him ‘The Boy’, hit third grade, I
wondered what exactly was wrong with me. I mean, the kids were perfect. My
oldest, we’ll call her ‘The Girl’, was almost a perfect baby. She slept
through the night at a month. Everyone adored her. Smart, pretty, polite,
considerate, thoughtful, talented – I know, something’s wrong here, right? The Boy was a
little more demanding as a baby, but still just about as good as you could get
in a little boy. It was like Walt Disney was watching over us or something.
Then the tween
years started and someone tipped off The Boy (the school’s sex-ed program, I
think) what was expected in the teen years. Being the introspective child that he
was, he realized that Hubby and I, as parents, would be missing some vital
experiences in our lives by having such perfect children. His sensitive little
soul just couldn’t let that happen to us. The Girl clearly had already shrugged off
the problem, but he would rise to the challenge for our sakes!
So The Boy has
single-handedly undertaken the task of being the tween and now the teen migraine
for both himself and his sister. It’s been a load on him, and his grades have
slipped with the strain. I’ve tried to tell him it’s okay. I’ve got a taste of
the teen experience and I’m good now. I can scrapbook it and move on. He can
stop. I don’t think he believes me.
Sometimes I
just want to march into The Girl’s tidy little room and ground her for making The
Boy do her job for her. But I’d have to
walk by The Boy’s room to do it, and there’s this odor…
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