Sunday, June 14, 2009
This parenting thing
I'm just a woefully inadequate mother.
Either that, or parenting teenagers is like trying to do brain surgery while walking through the fun house wearing 3" stilettos and without my glasses.
I'm either doing too much and ruining their lives, or not doing enough and ruining their lives. I haven't figured out the exact perfect balance of supervision and neglect. Something tells when that when I finally do, they will be 23 and it won't matter anymore. It's no small wonder that one of the most popular books about raising teens is titled "Get Out of My Life, but First Could You Drive Me and Cheryl to the Mall".
And I remember being the teen, don't you? I remember when my Mom would walk into the room and ask me to do something and all the hair on the back of my neck would jump to attention. I'd be laying on my bed in my groovy lower level basement room that they had lovingly provided with lime green shag carpeting and white/gold paneling. I'd hear her knees cracking all the way down the stairs (like mine do now!) and I'd get ready for the fight. She'd ask me to do something simple, like fold some laundry, and I'd whine like she had invited the firing squad over after lunch.
My parents would do horrifying things in public, like talk to my friends or yell out the car window to hurry up because they'd left supper on the stove at home. And their CLOTHES! Geez, Dad would get off the lawn mower for a quick trip into town to pick up my lazy ass AND my bike while wearing his sweaty shirt, plaid bermudas, and the sweat rag he'd tied around his head.
Parents and teens. It'll never work