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11:39 a.m. - 2011-05-17
My Son, the man-to-be (maybe)

Jeeze. Kids don't let you enjoy them or rest on your laurels very long. You'd think I'd have gotten used to this by now. Been in the mom biz for 27 years. I know darn well as soon as you get them through a stage or a problem then way before you're finished relaxing and being proud of them the dang kid starts in with some new thing to be a pain in the patoot with. Oy.

It's not that Wolf is misbehaving in any major way, it's the 'TUDE. A repellant attitude which is developmentally normal and hey, right on schedule!

As a (about to be) 14 year old human male, one who is growing straight up like bamboo and has the physique to match (the child looks like a drinking straw with a head), and who has so far not manifested any really obvious secondary sex characteristics like a beard or a gravelly basso voice, Wolf's options are fairly limited.

He can't be physically menacing. Can't thunder his displeasure. So. He's taken to glaring and muttering. Oh, and looking absolutely at Death's door in agonies of shame and loathing over being seen anywhere in public with me or Mick. Me, especially since I'm the Mom and true manly men don't go places with their dork-ass mothers. This is, of course, according to the Adolescent Handbook. (It's Chapter 4, I believe. 'Why Mothers Are Humiliating Burdens and Avoiding Them In Public At All Costs'.)

I am very grateful the Teenage Glare has no real power. I'd be stone dead on the floor by now. My beautiful son has made glaring into an art form. The narrowed eyes. The truculently thrust out lower lip. The rigid shoulders hunched forward. He's got it down.

Muttering too. At no time will a comprehensible answer leave his mouth, no matter how innocuous the question. Seriously. I'm not talking about questions that should merit a mumble and a glare like, "Have you brushed your teeth?" or "When's the last time you changed your underwear?" I'm talking about questions such as, "Would you like another pork chop?" or "Is it still raining?" Even these, the most innocent of queries are painful beyond belief to my son.

Frankly I'm sick of his attitude already and he hasn't even started rolling his eyes yet. Something I know is coming. The Eye Roll, a teenage boy's best weapon to drive a mom bonkers (outside of an unsuitable girlfriend). That stunned sarcastic incredulous ocular acrobatic move that is guaranteed to both plainly state the child's displeasure and outrage over his mother's pathetic stupidity and turn said mother from a peaceful Earth Mom into Joan Crawford in a nanosecond.

I am not looking forward to the Eye Roll stage in the raising-a-son-to-adulthood festivities.

Oh, I know it's coming. Just like taxes and a colonoscopy for your 50th birthday. A wildly unpleasant, yet sadly inevitable thing one must endure, the punishment for being alive.

It's a good thing I don't believe in a deity. If I did I'd be certain this deity was male. Why else would He schedule our offspring turning into teenagers exactly when we poor mothers are going through menopause? Be pretty chuckalicious to some fat-head misogynistic God up there watching. Take a woman who just that morning discovered her jowls hang over the edge of her favorite turtleneck like some horrible fleshy ascot, is on her fourth hot flash of the day and has misplaced her purse again and force her into the care, feeding and company of some miserable sullen twerp of a half-grown human who's made it his life's mission to be as unpleasant and uncooperative, as vague and surly, and as smelly as road kill as at all possible, this while maintaining a smug superior smirk on his face that says plainly that HE and HE alone is the keeper of all things smart and necessary and mothers (especially his) are poor dimwitted creatures who should be set adrift on the nearest ice floe for the good of humanity?

Yup, a man God would think it's fucking hilarious.

Me? Not so much.


Soldiering on, but not liking it right now, ~LA


6 Wanna talk about it!

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