I am moving into my closet. Don’t tell the teenagers.

This is about kids and what other parents don’t tell you.

You see today I was trying to write a different blog post. I wrote a story that I need to pull the pictures off my laptop to share within it.

I started writing this post from my cell phone.

It is a cry for help as well as a warning to all those mamas and papas with kids at home that still wear pajamas with feet.

Because…
I can’t find my laptop cord.

I want to insert pictures from my laptop.

But I can’t.

I can’t because I live with a species called “NonSensical Emotional Arse-Painage Teen-is-Trying-to-Kill-US.”

You may have had one of these at your house at one time too.
Are you still alive?
Is your “NonSensical Emotional Arse-Painage Teen-is-Trying-to-Kill-US” still alive?

Oh you parents with pacis in your cup holders of your minivans are judging me.

I remember. I judged parents of teens too when my kids were small and angelic.

“My teens will be cool like me. I was a cool teenager and I will have an awesome relationship with my kids because I am cool and I will navigate those years like a pro. Me cool equals teens cool.”

Nope. Didn’t happen. 

If I say something funny to lighten the mood when their eyes start rolling back in their heads and just before the green stuff starts flying out of their mouths while their heads spin I am met with, “Who do you think you are, Aunt Maura? She is funny. YOU are NOT.” Aunt Maura is my baby sister. Why can’t we both be cool?

Thinking of having cable run into my closet and putting a mini fridge in there. 

This was that one moment the closet was empty. Waiting for the chandelier to be installed. 

I see a bean bag and a mini fridge and a decent size television.

The “small house” movement is HUGE.

I could be a trend setter. I could start a “house within a house” movement.

Why must I have a teenager who walks in a room, sees a computer cord and shoves it under a couch cushion so he can call us all pigs?

I have found a single shoe under a garbage can. My husband was late for work trying to figure out where his second shoe was. I have found a banana peel behind a chair. I have cried when filling three bags and setting them by the garage door to take donations to Goodwill, clean sheets back to the barn house, and one bag of unused school project supplies to return to Michaels…all GONE.

They were by the door for me to grab as I left. I asked him where they went. He said he has no idea and that he ever touched them. They were there, then gone. When I sat on the stairs with tears in my eyes because despite all my efforts to get things done that day there I was now running late and all was lost.

Then he thought about it and went upstairs and retrieved them from behind a sofa.

 Like he was doing me a favor.

Behind a sofa.

He threw them up the stairs without even a thought. He just didn’t want to see them by the door.

One step forward, two steps back.

Babies are easy. Changing diapers is a mindless task.

Teenagers don’t sleep either.

They walk into your bedroom at 1:30am and announce in a voice one would use, at say 1:30pm, “Hey, do you know where a phone charger is?” as they unplug your phone off the nightstand and take your cord.

 

Toddler fits are kinda cute. Teenager fits are always ugly.

No one tells you this because when you are thinking of throwing the baby out of the window in the middle of the night you hear little voice saying, “it will get easier.”

What you don’t hear the little voice finish saying is, “…in 25 years.”

Did I just write another blog post I can’t post because I have a teenager with neurosis?

And no, he isn’t “clean” or “cleaning.” It is his way of insulting anyone in the room breathing and then hides your things for spite.

This may also be the mental state he has left us in. I am paranoid.

I love him. I made him.

I am sure I am responsible for this latest neurosis.

I hear it gets better when they are twenty-five.

Abbie Gale 

All That Makes You…

allthatmakesyou.com

PS I am writing this from my ten year-olds laptop. His brain is still functioning AND he no longer poops his pants. Ten year-olds are the best yo.

If you like this one you might like 

“My kid is funnier than your dad. The $hit MY kid says.”

“Secret Guilty Mom Confessions” because I really have secret hidden cabinets where I hide things from the kids

 

 

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