On Sunday morning, after the 12th “GEEZ, MOM,” and the 17th “WHATEVER, DAD,” and the 45th time he made that cat-ralphing-up-a-hairball sound of teenaged disgust, I sent the large boy child to his room. He said, “GREAT!” and grinned maliciously in my direction with a sassy little shake of the head, so I said, “You can stay in your room for INFINITY!” And he said, “I WANT to stay in my room for infinity!” And I said, “FINE. You can stay in your room for LONGER than infinity,” because I think it’s important for the parent to always remain calm and set an example of mature authority.
On Sunday morning, I sent a second kid to her room for lying about personal hygiene. Did I care that she hadn’t showered? No, I did not; I was just wondering. Did I care about the lying? Well, of course. You know, theoretically. Or only because Caring About Lying is in the Mama Manual, but whatever. But you know what really got my goat? What really sent me over the edge? THIS —> When I asked whether she lied, she responded with a proud, gleeful, “YEP!” <—THAT. In other words, she’s totally me as a kid, which we all know is GAH. Terrifying! Does anyone know which stage of childhood it is when kids finally internalize the fact that faking is important? ‘Cause sometimes you gotta sell a “sorry” even though you’re not really sorry at all. And sometimes you gotta sell a “sad about lying” face even when lying secretly makes you feel powerful and giggly. LIFE LESSON, KIDS. LEARN IT.
On Sunday morning, I took a third kid to the doctor. Did I mention it was a Sunday? So I took the kid to the expensive, immediate care kind of doctor because her mouth hurt and was visibly swollen so I knew she probably had mouth cancer or an infection threatening to enter her blood stream or an extremely well-hidden penchant for chewing tobacco that we needed to discover STAT so we could get her into a top-notch juvenile chewing tobacco rehab center. Yeah, I’m not always rational when my kid is in pain.
On Sunday morning, while I took a kid to urgent care for a canker sore, Greg taught our preschool Sunday School class without me. I told him I was sorry I couldn’t help him, and my face looked very sad.
P.S. Yes, I know it’s Wednesday and I just wrote about Sunday. I started this post on Sunday. I meant to finish it on Sunday. I feel like this is an accurate demonstration of my ability to finish things on time.
P.P.S. Sunday was actually fine. Weird. But fine. Our family rescued us, as usual. My cousin, our pastor, covered our other church responsibilities. My cousin, the middle school teacher, took charge of the large boy child and jostled him out of his funk. My parents showed up with a chainshaw and a bucket to tame my yard.
And my son wore plaid Bermuda shorts, a Superman t-shirt and fashion forward transportation rain boots to dinner.
What’s not to love?
Dear James Harbeck,
Phonetic Descriptions of Sounds Teenagers Make
by James Harbeck
Chime in! How was your weekend? (‘Cause that’s a fun question to ask on a Wednesday.) Or, if you’re already so over the weekend… what’s happening right now at your house?