Who knew mothering daughters - teenagers... could be such a challenge. Where is my big, red "EASY" button when I need it most? Must be with the missing tap shoes.. snickering. Hmph.
I woke up one day and my baby had disappeared. In her place was this tall, curvy fourteen year old. She just showed up, I swear. I looked around, under and behind to see where she dropped the "Instruction Manual" I am SURE she must've came in with - but, again, things seem to go missing around here... just ask the socks.
At first I said, "I am just not sure what happened."
But I am. I am sure.
You've seen my MOTHER OF THE YEAR Trophy Collection, right? At first it was pretty small and we just stored them on the mantel. I would receive one or two for sending kids in costume to school on non-costume days... for missing dentist appointments... forgetting what days were "early release" from school... Those were kinda funny.
Then it grew so big we had to build a Trophy Case for the living room. For some reason, we Mamas just never learn. We keep right on screwing up and humiliating our kids or making them go to school when they really have strep throat. And the trophies just pile up. If we learned when they were sick then we were sending them to school in shorts on an otherwise very chilly day... with blue jeans that were too short... or without breakfast. Battle scars.
Now, we have built on a seperate wing to the Farmhouse for my collection. Mother of the Year "Trophies" from floor to ceiling. I'm startin' to get a little embarrassed.
The biggest trophy arrived a few weeks ago. Instead of showing up in a nice little package, this one dropped right outta the sky and hit me on the head. It knocked me out for a while. Ignorance is bliss, afterall.
I dusted off the plaque on the front, and it says, clearly,
"FOR GIVING YOUR TEENAGER EVERYTHING SHE WANTS. DUMMY. "
And I was sure then. Sure what my part in this new, rather-distatesful version of my daughter I was responsible for.
Since the stork dropped off the toddlers two years ago, I have done my very best to be a COOL MOM. THE mom. EVER POPULAR FUN mom. This worked. There are teenage girls here every weekend - lots of new, name brand clothes all over the floor, an empty checking account, a couple of failing grades (that are OF COURSE not HER fault) and a house ruled by a teenager. I wanted her to grow and do and be. Instead, I have a teenager who really doesn't care about brushing her teeth. And that's the least of my worries. Can you say FAIL?
This trophy came with an envelope. It was a little note that said,
"You better clean this mess up. And by mess, we don't mean her room.
(oh, and enclosed are her failing math grades. Enjoy.)"
That's the hard part.
Wish me luck.