Oh. My. Dear. The teen creature.

Here’s the thing, it’s nearly impossible to not love an infant, a toddler or a preschooler. What’s not to love about a chubby being whose arms can barely connect over their heads? But as these children age and gather a bit of momentum some of that sweetness wears off until they morph into teens and become hot messes. Oh. My. God. But they can be awful. This isn’t a complete surprise, I can still recall the power of knowing I could trash my mother’s evening simply by being the biggest bitch I could possibly be. So maybe some of this is now karmic payback. Who knows?
What I do know is that my teen? Tonight it sucks to be him and it sucks to be his mom. He is horrid and selfish and self-indulgent in his spoildness. As for his mother, I would imagine he fancies me to be an uptight bitch bent on making his existence as crappy as possible. All I ask, well not all but most, is that he bring home a weekly progress report to give me some bit of evidence that he is no longer failing biology. The consequences for not bringing home said report are immediate grounding. No questions asked. So why is that the questions have been hurled at me like death darts only to be followed by silence? Please, please, please somebody somewhere give me the strength to make it through this madness.