Oh sweet jesus can we not just skip this part of the book?
As many of you know I have three teenagers. The oldest decided back in the fall that he didn't like his mother's rules and moved in with his father. He turns 19 next week, he graduates from high school in June, he has a girlfriend apparently and I have been excluded from all of it. People keep telling me he will wake up someday and realize his mother isn't the witch he has made her out to be. I am not so sure that day will come. In the meantime I'm missing some monumental life moments.
The youngest (Ms. Noreene) who turns 13 in June has her very first boyfriend. I cherish the fact that she feels comfortable enough to tell me about this. I learned of it the day SHE ASKED HIM OUT! Dear sweet jesus she's her mother's daughter. He calls every evening, he shows up at concerts and basketball games. I can't understand how he's still walking upright really as I've killed the poor little fucker in my mind about 236 times. He's a nice enough boy, polite and speaks in full sentences. She is so in love with him, in that 12 almost 13 year old way. I dread the day he breaks her heart and I have to try and convince her that life goes on. In the meantime I smile and nod when she spends 20 minutes telling me about what Connor said and did. I revel in her happiness while hating the fact that my little girl is growing up.
My middle child, who in typical middle child fashion, has never given me a day of worry in his life, got home last night at 1:10 am. Blink, Blink. Blink. What the hell? Does he have any idea how difficult it is to call off the hounds and the air search party? This morning he explained in a calm rational way that he had lost track of time. Went to a movie with his buddies, out for chinese food afterward and didn't bother to look at a clock. He stood in front of me explaining this as though we were talking about the weather. He apologized for worrying me and said that I don't need to worry. When my head stopped spinning on my shoulders and my body stopped twitching from anger, I explained to him that worrying is what mother's do. It is our job. We have union cards. His response, "Well mum I'm really sorry, but your obsessive compulsive disorder is your problem not mine". Do I laugh or slap him?
So yeah, I'd like a please pass go and collect $200 dollars for this phase of child rearing, please?
All anxiety and tongue in cheek aside, I realize fully that I could be dealing with so much worse. I have never had to pick my kid up drunk in a public place (sorry Mom), I don't worry about any of them drinking and driving or doing drugs (sorry Mom). I've never had to go into a hospital to sign waivers so they could have surgery because they broke an ankle falling down a set of stairs...drunk (sorry Mom). It could be alot worse. Hell, I have done so much worse.
On the boy front - I'm going on the road next week with him. Yours truly is hanging up the heels, putting on the sneakers and living in a truck for a week with a boy - who may or may not throw me in the Mississippi at the first opportunity. You just know there will be stories. What else will I have to do but blog about everything he says and does? There may even be pictures.
THE Place For Jeans!
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