Being the parent of teenagers is kicking my ass. I won’t lie. I prefer to substitute #$% for the s’s in that word so as not to offend anyone, but these days I must tell the truth.
I cannot tell you how disappointed I am in Charlie. He has been lounging around all week long since the boys started back to school, not even feigning nostalgia for the wild days of summer when they were creating chaos in his midst all day long. He doesn’t even pretend to miss them. He snores, eats, takes another nap, eats again. It’s pathetic.
It is always with mixed emotions that I send my three boys back off to the institution known as school each August. Tomorrow the madness begins again.
Though I will look back at this summer with fondness, (mostly) I am more than ready for a bit more structure in my daily life. And also some peace and freaking quiet.
Obviously I leaned back quite a bit from my own interests in the past few months; simultaneously I was kicking a$% in the domestic side of life. This mom stuff is the hardest work of all, and I really buckled down and took care of business in that regard. I felt it was time to lock down again on the behavior front in anticipation of sending two off to high school and the other off to his next-to-the-last-year of elementary school.
After too many days straight of painting, we dropped out brushes yesterday and headed out to the beach for some much-needed rest and relaxation.
Yes, these are my dirty sneakers. I am too paranoid to wash them, because I don’t want the midsole to break down any sooner than it will. Currently they are residing on the back porch until I feel comfortable running again.
The youngest is in the double digits and I am officially old.
He is the one who was born screaming and continued to do so for one year and eighteen days, until my left eye twitched and most of my hair follicles gave up on trying to grow amongst the cortisol being released into my bloodstream 24 hours each day.
(Middle is wearing red. He doesn’t look like he is about to sit down when he runs.)
When I wasn’t looking spring sprung and brought with it our practice track meet (I coach and serve as Director of Communications for our club) and spring break. In other words, the time of year when the house falls apart around me is here!
So I mentioned a few days ago that we have recently added another runner to our group. She is newly married and totally adorable. She also doesn’t have kids. Yet.
So I was thinking, as we were all running along using curse words, talking about some of our worst moments as mothers, complaining about our husbands and targeting marathons based on how long we would get to be away from our families, I wondered: what must she think of us?
While I was folding laundry the other day, my living room was transformed into a Rainbow-Loom-how-to-video-studio.
We kicked off the weekend with a single moment of brilliance, as MFP and I finally figured out a parenting strategy to cope with the twisty arguments of Oldest.
I had agreed to help with the middle school track practice, and MFP had some car repair things to take care, but for the moment we had a relatively calm house as Oldest had begrudgingly attended a tempo workout for the upcoming track season.