One More Day

Today she told me I didn’t “understand” her. She said I was “too old” to remember what it was like to be her age. She accused me of making fun of her when I mocked her attitude (oops!). She rolled her eyes at me when I asked her to clean her room, and when I asked her to get off the phone she grumbled that her “MOTHER” (insert attitude) needed to use the phone. She shut the door a little to hard in anger and balled up her fists at her sister. She said she was “annoyed”.

 

I called my mother and thanked her for raising me, I told her I didn’t know how she lived through the teenager years – here we are at preteen with Brittani and I’m already consumed with the idea of running away sometimes. I reminded her that Brittani has always been THE perfect child. I’ve always taken pride in the kind of kids that I raise, and sort of brushed off everyone who raised their kids by reading parenting books and following “methods”…I’ve always been really good at this. She reassured me that it’s just part of the job, kids grow in to teenagers, and even the most perfect ones have their moments.

 

Tonight Brittani and I curled up on the bed and watched wife swap, she let me French braid her hair, and we sat by the fire, Therman snapped a picture, because we both know that it’s uncertain how many more times she’ll sit in my lap, or let me play with her hair, or eat popcorn and hot chocolate and watch television with me. It’s all going away, and there is nothing I can do about it. Even the best moms lose their kids to the changes of life.

Advertisements

I get excited for your comments. Come on people, don't let me down!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s