After breaking up a ridiculously petty argument that turned into a full on fight between my step son and my oldest son(again), I sat down at the kitchen table. Spent. Emotionally drained. Exhausted from being a Mom to hormone and testosterone filled people. In dire. And I mean DIRE. Need of a vacation. Without a single person who refers to me as Mommy, Mom, Momma or Melissa.
Oh the drama. Internet, you have NOTHING compared to what goes on in a house full of teen/tween kids. Now THAT is drama, suspense, mystery, intrigue, horror and sometimes, although more infrequently, comedy.
Sitting at the table with me were my oldest and youngest sons and my daughter. All were bitching about something or another. Me, I just sat with my head in my hands, silently praying. Pleading. For the ground to open and swallow me up. Just so I could get some peace and quiet.
I pick my troubled and weary head up (yes, I’m looking for pity here). I look at my son. Who was doing the most complaining about how much he doesn’t like this one. And how annoying that one is. And blah. Blahblahblah.
His anger, a constant dark cloud that envelopes me. Tormenting me. I say to him, “You fill me with constant worry.” Simply that.
He smiles. Yes. Smiles. He tells me, so sweetly, that it gives him a strange sense of satisfaction to know that.
I bang my head against the table in hopes of knocking myself unconscious.
What? Was I thinking when I had kids?
Those very informative “What To Expect When You’re Expecting” books fail to mention the fact that these cute babies that we get ourselves knocked up with get big. They get mouthy, bitchy, angsty, testy, bratty, smelly, obnoxious, dramatic.
Terrible twos have NOTHING on terrible teens.
I wish someone had warned me. Because I’m thinking that cats would have been much easier.