I have a Teenager.
I also have an Almost Teenager.
I am selling them both at one low, low price.
No, I'm just kidding. Mostly. Unless you're willing to make me an offer. In which case, let's talk.
So, this was our afternoon:
The stormclouds, aka my offspring, roll in as soon as I pull into the school parking lot.
As The Teenager approaches my car, she holds up her elbow, which is covered in bandages. Then the other elbow, also plastered in bandages. Then she holds up her palms; they too are covered in road rash.
During "track and field" day, my kid wiped out on the asphalt. That'd be enough to put anyone in a bad mood, right?
But... it was her sister, An Almost Teenager, who had a colossal conniption when, upon discovering that our trip to the mall would be postponed until her sister stopped bleeding from her multiple wounds, embarked on a silent treatment. The highlight of the treatment included a long half hour in the car, during which she refused to stop pouting and come into the house. Eventually I went to the car, unlocked the door with my remote (as she was trying to lock me out) and hissed, "Get.in.the.house.now."
After a lengthy time-out, I allowed Almost Teenager to come out of her room for dinner. Her cheerful personality had returned and she announced proudly that this fall, she would be old enough to play in the school band and wanted to take up the trumpet.
The Teenager's head exploded.
OK, I'm exaggerating. But it did spin around in circles in a style that would have made Linda Blair weep with pride.
Now, I understand the kid was sore all over and probably embarrassed on account of what had to have been a magnificent wipe-out on the asphalt. BUT... there was no excuse for the Absolute! Freak! Out! she had. It went something like this:
"You can't play in the band I play in the band and I don't want my little sister in the band with me that's my place not yours you're such a baby you always get your way and I never do I can't believe you're going to take this away from me Mom I can't believe you're going to let her be in the band why can't you ever be on my side?"
I don't know what she was complaining about. We are still paying off her clarinet and now we have to shell out cash for a trumpet, too.
For the rest of the night, that kid was trolling for a fight. When she wasn't yelling, she was wailing in her room about what she had done to deserve such unfair treatment.
I sent them both to bed at eight o'clock with the words "You are both going to bed because you're both being extremely melodramatic and you're driving me bonkers- now SAY YOUR PRAYERS AND GO TO BED!"
That's me- Mother of the Year 2011.
Anyway... I realized tonight that this was what No, this isn't an abrupt subject change- it's relevant because I was a teenage drama queen. Oh, boy. I was the queen of yelling and screaming and gnashing my teeth. Of course, I never do that anymore because I am An Adult.
But as a kid I was extra-special melodramatic. And I distinctly remember my mother hissing, "I hope you have children and I hope they're JUST! LIKE! YOU!"
She cursed me. It's like in Freaky Friday when the mother and daughter wish to be each other, and then the music strikes an ominous tone and then WHATM! their wish has come true and their lives are miserable.
It was pretty much like that when my mother cursed me. And now Karma has arrived at my doorstep, carrying a big bouquet of flowers and smirking.