Teenagers are dicks.

Teenagers...

I remember being a teenager.  I remember being angst-ridden and sullen, too cool for grown ups to understand, and certainly too cool to participate in any of their stupid, nonsensical conversations.  I remember resenting being told to clean my room, wash the dishes, do my homework.
Because, fuck you, Grown Ups.  You don't understand me.

Now I'm the parent of that kid.  And some days I kind of want to gouge my eyes out with splintery sticks.
Today I kind of want to gouge my eyes out with splintery sticks.
Because, fuck you, Teenagers.  You don't understand me.

This afternoon, I'm taking off on a long-ish road trip, alone.  I've never done that before.  A few years ago, I did fly to Florida to visit my friend, but that was different.  That was flying.  That was surrounded by people.  Even if I would have crashed to my demise, I wouldn't have been alone.  They might have been strangers, but at least people were with me.  For someone as grossly codependent as I, that's important.  Very.

Today I'm driving across the state in my rickety old van, in places where I will likely have no cellphone service.  I'm afraid.
And I'm hardly ever away from my family, so I am sad about being away from them for the rest of the week.

My son, however, could not be more unimpressed with me this morning.
His refusal to even look at me, to acknowledge that I was speaking, was hurtful.
I have no doubt that he meant for it to be hurtful.

Just as I meant for it to be hurtful when I did it to my own mother.  "I'm too cool to talk to you.  You have no idea what it's like to be me.  Go away and stop trying to relate to me."

My daughter, still little, and still allowed to miss her mommy, wrapped me in hugs and shaky goodbyes, trying to hold back her tears.  She'd miss me terribly, she said, and she loved me.
The boy, however, couldn't be bothered.  He even tried to walk out the door without saying goodbye to me.

Visions of my sweet toddler boy, fill my thoughts this morning.  Planted in my lap, and showering me with silly, slobbery kisses as he grinned out from behind his single front tooth.  While I know he's still the same person, I miss that little boy terribly at times.  Days like this, where he seems determined to prove how much he *doesn't* love me, wring my heart a bit.
And I miss him.

But I know that eventually, he will shake his teen-angst-funk, and he will flash me another smile, or treat me with another sideways hug when I least expect it.  He will share a silly story with me, wanting my approval, and I will be back in his good graces.  He will remind me that he's still the funny bald-headed little boy who used to drool on his shirt, and smack my puffed-up cheeks, making raspberry noises, at which we both giggled endlessly.

He can't help his hormones, and I get it.  I'll be happy to see him again when his fog lifts.

And in the meantime, I'll shrug off his fart-face-ness, and maybe write it down in his baby book under the milestones..."Teenagers are dick bags."

Aww.  Aren't your mood swings cute :D