You don’t have to suffer to suffer to be a poet. Adolescence is enough suffering for anyone. — American poet John Ciardi, 1962
Especially for the parent.
Changing teen brain has taken to answering my questions and requests with "what the hell MOM!?"
I shake my head not really understanding why innocent requests such as "call me when you get to your friend's house" or "take your wrestling outside, you've already broken a lamp and ruined the carpet" or "stop beating up your brother" or even the casual "stop with the attitude - what is wrong with you?" always have to result in "what the hell MOM!?" Actually the response to "take your wrestling outside" also included "why are you so mean to me MOM?!" because the ground wouldn't be quite as soft as the aforemented ruined, expensive, felted-wool carpet from Pottery Barn that makes me want to weep as I mourn its lost beauty.
I can kind of understand why my mother isolated herself in her room reading fiction and eating chocolate from 1977 to 1986 because I kind of want to hide out at the neighbours, drink wine and read magazines (or hide out in my room and read the pile of books I'm desperate to get through).
But I won't. I will hopefully instead figure out how to successfully manage this new relationship - and mark off on the wall each day until he turns 18 - with the help of my friends (real and virtual), books, and perhaps this article:
and have a few skills and tricks in place before the 8 year old's transformation begins, because after all he's always been the more difficult one...god help me.