I recently became the mother of a teenager and now realize why they call it teenAGEr: because they AGE you.
I’m not one for complaining about my age–God knows with breast cancer beating down my neck I appreciate every day I’m here, it’s much better than the alternative–but honestly, the condition by which I have to direct a young life to, say, phone me when I don’t have to pick you up rather than drive across town to find you don’t need me for another hour is a new one to me.
Like you can’t call me to tell me the event is going long–on that cell phone I bought you? The one in your pocket? The one that you do mad texting every waking moment with, the one that costs me beaucoup bucks each month? The one that….aw, forget it.
So now here’s another problem for me with my TEENAGER. This teen can read. You shake your head and say DUH, let’s hope so–
but for a blogger, that makes writing difficult. I can’t just explode the personal lives of my family on this web page–not only is that insane and likely to land me in Mommy-I-Hate-You-Land but it’s rude. I wouldn’t want anyone to do that to me and lucky I’m not growing up in this generation. The worst my mother ever did to me was write notes on my napkin in my brown sack lunch. I was never embarrassed by that, either–which tells you what a geek I was–
but my kids would FREAK if I did that today. It’s unCOOL.
Yet I blog….which is like public napkins in everybody’s lunchbox from here to Taiwan, Denmark, Argentina, New Zealand and….you get the picture.
So here I am, the new mother of a teenager–and all I can say is that I will try with utmost sensitivity and compassion to not bleed the inner life of my child here in cyberspace. And I’ll start now by revealing only this:
if I have gray hair before my time, you’ll know I did not AGE myself….I had help.
From my teen- – -r.
|Posted May 16th, 2012 by|