|In my memory, this iconic sign said "Strike."|
Okay, I'm not really on strike. I'm just considering it. Having a pre-teen daughter and a teenage son is not all it's cracked up to be. Not that many people think it's tons of fun but I guess I thought it would be. Well, that's not it either, really. Here's what I thought, honestly. I thought that my OWN teenage years were so recent that not only would I be sooooooooo understanding, I would also be an ally instead of Other.
I'm sure those of you who have already been through this just fell off your chair at how dumb I am. But I really did think that. I can remember, almost tangibly, how tortured I felt--stuck somewhere between I Want My Mommy and Why Won't She Just Leave Me Alone. Because I remember it so well, I thought I would understand from the parent perspective as well.
Turns out it hurts. A lot. I didn't realize how much it hurts my feelings that I seem to be the punching bag for my daughter and invisible to my son. This is just one of many moments that I wish I could talk to my mom about how she felt. And to hear that Everything Will Be Okay.
|She looks nice here. Don't be fooled. She crazy.|
Since, short of calling up that Medium wanker (and what a bee-eye-tee-see-aitch she turned out to be!), I can't talk to my mom, I'll have to lean on my friends. Lynn, Judy...you've been warned.