Confessions of a mom that actually does remember what it was like to be a teenager and therefore totally astounded that her parents did not kill her.

This morning is a prime example as to the title.

 

The morning breaks clean and crisp, full of promise. At least, I thought that was the case until I realized that the chirping of little birds, on the cusp of spring, were in fact my husband and teenage son locked in low-grade battle. Rolling over to cover my head with my still warm fuzzy red blanket, I realize by the, now elevated, tones of the senior party of the first part, that I was indeed hearing the siren song of war in my beloved home.

Upon arising I find the junior party dressed in only underwear sitting on the edge of his bed, looking most pathetically for sympathy toward the now unflappable rolling thunder of his father’s anger.

Jumping head-long into the fray I question the junior party of the second part on the offense committed, and am astounded to find that it is the same issue that I supposedly dealt with just the night before. (Now, I ask you, Parent, how many times has this happened to you?)

Hoping to save the day with my usual panache of gutsy footwork and uncanny memory for every hiding place of missing objects d’famile I begin to look, in earnest, for the errant clothing item that will allow the sun to shine and roses to bloom on this day. Racing around the house like a stock car driver late for the Daytona 500, it occurs to me that the article of clothing cannot and will not be found—because it is not in mi casa!

Turning my, now effervescent, fury upon the young lad I realize exactly what he did with the needed item. It is the same, no the exact, crap that I pulled on my parents. (I am sure that at my moment of enlightenment that my own parents must have felt some strange sense of completeness with the universe!) The dress shoes and clothes that were meant for another teen-dress-up-character-building-experience are hidden in the deep recesses of a long since tidied school locker.

Quickly through clenched teeth and pasted on smile we send the errant youth to his doom on the field trip bus…it is still yet to be seen if he went as-is to his conference d’jour or if he donned the wrinkled items from under his piles of gum wrappers and discarded text books.

Mom and Dad, now, I am beginning to understand the strong temptations that you must have somehow overcome. Thank you for allowing me to live to see the error of my ways, and still loving me in spite of myself. My only hope is that my son will come out of his teen years with the same sense of love, loyalty and family that you instilled me.

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