Pamela's Column for Pacific Publishing June 18, 2008
Although I do not condone mothers eating their young in the wild, now that I have teenagers, I fully understand the impetus.
Grandchildren, so they say, are God’s gift to you for not killing your teenagers. If that’s true, then I’m leaning towards forfeiting my chance for descendants in a big way.
I am not by nature a violent person. No, really. I’m not. I’m a pacifist of the first order. I always have been. People have called me a peacemaker, I would have put daisies in the rifle barrels of guns in the sixties had I been there. I even refuse to kill bugs.
Ok, I make my husband do it for me, but that’s beside the point. I personally do not do it. Just like Bush isn’t actually doing any of the killings in Iraq. I hold myself blameless for the deaths of spiders and such that have squirmed, crawled or flown into my home.
However, I am being pushed to the limits lately.
I have teenagers, two to be exact. One lives here at home, one is far, far away in another state attending college. I have two younger children who have been warned on penalty of death and/or dismemberment that they cannot enter into puberty. Ever.
The teenager who is far, far away is not raising my blood pressure. I love her from afar. Distance, in this case, is a beautiful thing. The other teenager, known as THE BOY, resides with us. Mostly we know he’s here because as he sweeps through the kitchen, much like a swarm of locusts decimating entire crops, he leaves nothing edible in his wake. Also locust-like is THE BOY’S ability to avoid the cause and effect train of thought.
For instance, he’s mad that he’s a whopping seventeen years old, in the prime of his life and he doesn’t have a car to drive. What he conveniently fails to remember is that he did have access to a car until he totaled the thing while he was text messaging his friend and took out a steel mailbox and then slammed into a tree.
Somehow the fact that he does not have a car to drive has become my fault. Well of course it’s my fault. I’m the mom! Global warming, the Iraq war, flooding and tornadoes, hurricanes and the zits on his face are also my fault. I’m quite certain that if you asked him he will tell you that I am somehow at fault for his wrecking the car. His train of logic will go something like this: she gave birth to me and if she hadn’t given birth to me I wouldn’t have been text messaging and crashed the car. Ipso facto, I am the cause of all bad things in this universe and quite possibly in several alternate universes as well. I really must learn to use my powers for good instead of evil because I’m really upsetting THE BOY.
If you’ve ever seen a teenager in a snit, you know what I’m talking about. You know the kind where they’re sure that something is entitled to them and they’re not getting it? Yeah, that’s it.
If a pubescent lion cub put on a snotty attitude with his lioness mama because he was told he couldn’t run down that tasty looking antelope over there by the tall grass because the last time they let him in on the hunt he did something stupid and alerted the entire meal, I mean herd, to their intentions, she’d more than likely swat him into the next life without paws. I mean pause. And with paws.
It’s a good thing I’m not like that. Nope, I’m a pussy cat. No, wait. Even pussy cats sometimes eat their young. I suppose I’ll just have to settle for being an imperfect human mama with a very slight case of wild-mama envy.
Although I do not condone mothers eating their young in the wild, now that I have teenagers, I fully understand the impetus.
Grandchildren, so they say, are God’s gift to you for not killing your teenagers. If that’s true, then I’m leaning towards forfeiting my chance for descendants in a big way.
I am not by nature a violent person. No, really. I’m not. I’m a pacifist of the first order. I always have been. People have called me a peacemaker, I would have put daisies in the rifle barrels of guns in the sixties had I been there. I even refuse to kill bugs.
Ok, I make my husband do it for me, but that’s beside the point. I personally do not do it. Just like Bush isn’t actually doing any of the killings in Iraq. I hold myself blameless for the deaths of spiders and such that have squirmed, crawled or flown into my home.
However, I am being pushed to the limits lately.
I have teenagers, two to be exact. One lives here at home, one is far, far away in another state attending college. I have two younger children who have been warned on penalty of death and/or dismemberment that they cannot enter into puberty. Ever.
The teenager who is far, far away is not raising my blood pressure. I love her from afar. Distance, in this case, is a beautiful thing. The other teenager, known as THE BOY, resides with us. Mostly we know he’s here because as he sweeps through the kitchen, much like a swarm of locusts decimating entire crops, he leaves nothing edible in his wake. Also locust-like is THE BOY’S ability to avoid the cause and effect train of thought.
For instance, he’s mad that he’s a whopping seventeen years old, in the prime of his life and he doesn’t have a car to drive. What he conveniently fails to remember is that he did have access to a car until he totaled the thing while he was text messaging his friend and took out a steel mailbox and then slammed into a tree.
Somehow the fact that he does not have a car to drive has become my fault. Well of course it’s my fault. I’m the mom! Global warming, the Iraq war, flooding and tornadoes, hurricanes and the zits on his face are also my fault. I’m quite certain that if you asked him he will tell you that I am somehow at fault for his wrecking the car. His train of logic will go something like this: she gave birth to me and if she hadn’t given birth to me I wouldn’t have been text messaging and crashed the car. Ipso facto, I am the cause of all bad things in this universe and quite possibly in several alternate universes as well. I really must learn to use my powers for good instead of evil because I’m really upsetting THE BOY.
If you’ve ever seen a teenager in a snit, you know what I’m talking about. You know the kind where they’re sure that something is entitled to them and they’re not getting it? Yeah, that’s it.
If a pubescent lion cub put on a snotty attitude with his lioness mama because he was told he couldn’t run down that tasty looking antelope over there by the tall grass because the last time they let him in on the hunt he did something stupid and alerted the entire meal, I mean herd, to their intentions, she’d more than likely swat him into the next life without paws. I mean pause. And with paws.
It’s a good thing I’m not like that. Nope, I’m a pussy cat. No, wait. Even pussy cats sometimes eat their young. I suppose I’ll just have to settle for being an imperfect human mama with a very slight case of wild-mama envy.
Yeah i didn't get a car until ohhhhhh almost 19 when i bought it from u and Unc Lance tell him the bus works great ;0)
ReplyDeleteDid you take pictures??? My hubby says you should show the BOY every time he bemoans his fate and remind him very CALMLY that it's his fault...grin. Good luck...Our 18 year old barely survived. Have you been told that boys are easier than girls??? HA!!
ReplyDeleteHeather, I remember! Now that we're going to back in Seattle where the buses actually run I'm sure he'll be more....receptive to the idea.
ReplyDeleteYes, we took a LOT Of pictures. While he survived and didn't have a scratch on him (thank you airbag technology) I don't think he fully appreciates just how lucky he was. Just to make sure he does, we take his paychecks to help cover the cost of the repairs.
My brother-in-law's brother was ejected through the roof of a Volvo while still strapped to his chair at about 80mph. A tree stopped him. He lived but he's a complete psychopath as a result although he did get almost half a million in compo off the driver's insurance. Teenager is lucky, carry on taking the paycheques and get him a bus pass.
ReplyDeleteAnother brilliant post by one of the best mom's I know. Thanks again Pammy!
ReplyDelete