Live your life in such a way that when your feet hit the floor in the morning, Satan shudders and says "Oh shit, she's awake."

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Princess Tweenie, and The Bitchy Witchy Mommy

Once upon a time you would have thought it was a fairy tale. I assure you, it is closer to my daily nightmare.

Can someone please explain to me why it is so much harder to drop dirty clothes into a clothes hamper than it is to drop them on the floor next to the clothes hamper? I am asking myself this question...again...as I contemplate what cocktail I will be having this evening. It’s not 9am yet. I don’t care.

Such is the life with a “tween” daughter. It is no mystery to me why I drink. Maybe it is because from the moment my feet hit the ground in the morning, I am speaking in a tone of voice that does not evoke thoughts of calm and peacefulness. Mostly, I am yelling. It could be any number of things that has caused me angst, but generally speaking it revolves around “the dirty clothes” issue, the “clean up your room” issue, or the “I’m not your maid so take your own dishes to the kitchen” issue. There are others, but those are the ones that pop into my mind with alarming frequency.

Admittedly, I am a neat freak. I like things to have a place, and it is my fervent wish that if any particular item is removed from it’s designated spot, it is returned to said spot when it is done with its little field trip. I do not want to find said item under a piece of furniture, shoved in an inappropriate drawer, or (my personal favorite) lying in the middle of the floor as if it were the latest in teen d├ęcor. Now, before you give me the “she’s a kid, they are all that way” speech, it should be noted that I have already given up on my requests to her about making her bed. I got her a loft bed, so now I can’t even see what is in her "bedroom stratosphere", so problem solved – outta sight, outta mind. If she wants to sleep on the same sheets for a month, well, then so be it. I do routinely take her bedding down to the basement for fumigation and a brisk washing, but generally speaking, if it’s a mess “up there”, it’s not my problem. I have also let go of the fact that unless I dust her room, it will never be dusted. Sometimes her room is so dust-laden, you’d swear her roommate was Miss Haversham. There could be dust bunnies rolling around in there so large that she could easily give them cute little names, but she’d go to hell with gasoline britches on before she’d ever get rid of them. I am more about “neat” than “spotlessly sanitary.” What annoys me to the point of wanting to send her to military school is the fact that “mess” just seems to grow...everywhere and in every corner. Really, is it so difficult to throw away a piece of paper? What makes dropping it on the floor soooo much easier? Please, enlighten me because I am DYING to know. In my mind, now, in addition to the original act of dropping whatever piece of trash on the floor, you get the added benefit of listening to me scream about it, followed by actually STILL having to pick it up and throw it in the trash can...not many timesaving steps in that exercise, is there? I try to drive that home with my beloved offspring. I have now come to the conclusion that she is deaf, or at least unable to hear anything that is on the same decibel level as my voice.

The beauty of all of this screaming, yelling, drinking, and banging my head against whatever wall is handy is that someday, in the not soooo distant future, she will be an actual teenager, followed by adulthood. With those years comes dating, friends, and some semblance of a social life. That is where my fun truly begins. If she thinks I’m a loon now, wait. I will have no mercy. I will talk about every embarrassing moment of her life...loudly. I will fart and or burp unashamedly in front of her boyfriends and I will make sure the statement she hears most frequently from her friends is “Dear God, your mother really is batshit crazy, isn’t she?” She has no idea how truly creative I can be in plotting my revenge. She’ll learn though...she’ll learn. And then, she will wish she had dropped those clothes in her hamper, and not on the floor.

2 comments:

  1. God bless you...you are NOT alone! I have a 13 year old that thinks her shit is ice cream and smells like roses!!! I am the same way you are..people keep telling me it will get better and pay itself off in the future...but all I hear is my mom's voice in my head saying, 'you'll get back 10x what you gave us'!!! UGH...I'm going for a drink now...

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  2. Ladies, Ladies....want to feel better immediately? Read on....

    #1)Multiply yours X 2.
    Welcome to my world. Tween Twins...one extremely smart but lazy; the other a whirling-dervish (has ADHD)that can only feel alive by creating chaos (otherwise existence is too mundane for her.)

    #2) Both suffer with anxieties (one w/out ADHD has started pulling out her eyelashes!) So along with their very own brand created mess we have high-pitched, ear-piercing audio accompaniment reaching decibel levels that would break normal sound registering devices. Ladies, that's nothing though...
    I'm saving the best for last...
    I promise you, you will see your teens in a new, appreciative light...ready for #3???

    #3) Add smell to the mess. Not dust smell or old food smell...I'm talking....

    URINE SMELL. That's right. One of mine has been urinating on her rug. YUP!
    "That's what she wrote!" in black&white.
    PEEING ON THE CARPET OF HER ROOM!!
    (Yes, we're getting professional help.)

    Just know that however bad it seems...someone out there has it worse. So go ahead, plot your revenge (I love your ideas!); bitch & moan to your friends about all your frustrations but make sure...YOU LOVE YOUR IMPOSSIBLE YOUNG ONES UP AND WHEN THEY PUSH YOU AWAY, GRAB THEM IN A BEAR HUG SO TIGHT THEY CAN'T GET AWAY AND WHISPER LOUDLY IN THEIR MULTIPLE-PIERCED LITTLE EARS THAT NO MATTER WHAT..YOU LOVE WHO THEY ARE AND ALWAYS WILL.

    I've just read about that very successful Connecticut ad executive who'd been living in her $1.7 million dollar home along w/her three young daughters...her parents visiting for the holidays. Everything up in flames...her life was spared. She made it out (probably master suite on first floor.) GRAB YOUR KIDS AND HOLD THEM UNTIL THEY KNOW HOW MUCH YOU LOVE THEM!

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