***warning, if you are the parent of a baby, toddler, preschooler or elementary age child, this post may burst your bubble. Read at your own risk!***
Back when I was in the trenches of early motherhood- you know, the poop smearing, temper tantrum throwing, what is in your mouth?, don’t eat your boogers, sleep deprived, having to come up with answers to the never ending why (is the sky blue, milk white, do I have a penis?) questions days, I wistfully looked forward to the days when my kids could be more independent and I would be able to rationalize with them.
And I did get a reprieve for a couple years, first grade through fourth, those were the days. My kids still needed me (and didn’t fight that) but could brush their own teeth, wipe their own butt- life was good.
But then, the double digits occured. May I ask why no one warns of the Invasion of the Body Snatcher type metamorphasis that takes place when your little sweet boy turns 10? And, may I say for those of you who have not yet been warned- from what I can tell it’s all going down hill from here.
Here is what conversations sound like in our house lately:
12 yr old- Mom, can I go to the movies with Jen this weekend? (Jen being the 12 year old female he refers to as his girlfriend this week).
Mom- Are her parents going to be there?
12 yr old- (sighing disgustedly and rolling his eyes) uhh, No.
Mom- them, uhh, No.
12 yr old- Mom! (which sounds more like this muh-ha-wom)
Mom- an adult needs to be there. If her parents can’t go, your dad and I will go. We don’t have to sit in the same row but I’m not dropping my 12 year old off at the movie theater with a girl. Not going to happen.
12 yr old- You are so mean. (stomps off)
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Mom- Matt, you need to go take a shower.
11 yr old- Mom! (which sounds more like muh-ha-wom) I took one (hesitates, trying to remember the last time water and soap came in contact with his skin) last week.
Mom- go take a shower, I will be smelling your head for shampoo and arms for soap and if you don’t use them I will come in there and scrub you myself.
11 yr old- Ewww, you can’t give me a bath. (saying this with disdain, forgetting that I did just that not even three years ago)
Mom- then ya better go give yourself a good one. Don’t make me bathe you.
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12 yr old- Why can’t I have a cell phone? Everybody else has one! My friends call me sheltered.
Mom- (secretly laughing inside that his friends call him sheltered. It’s not like we are Amish or something and avoiding the urge to turn into my mother and ask if he would jump off a bridge if all his frends were doing it) Your dad and I don’t think you need one. When are you ever somewhere where there is not an adult with a phone.
12 yr old- ahhh, uggg, (walks away muttering under his breath, “she just wants to ruin my social life)
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I miss the temper tantrums. Just so you know.
