I officially have a preadolescent. I know this because One Direction has taken over my house. Also we are having trouble getting anywhere on time as a family.
It’s no secret that kids hit puberty, and that preteen and teen years are tough for kids and parents. But knowing and living through are two different things.
Now that my girls are 9 and 11, we have a much more refined getting-out-the door process and, thanks to my husband’s penchant for being early, we are never late (well, if he’s with us, anyway) and we usually are all wearing pants and shoes.
My oldest daughter has the misfortune to have inherited my fine, straight hair. It is not what she wants. She would like hair that holds a curl and will stay in a style longer than 10 minutes. Therefore, our departures are often held up by hair crises.
I empathize, I really do. After all, I had straight hair in the 80’s when it was supposed to be big and curly. My ten-year relationship with the Ogilvie home perm left me feeling broken and used, but not with better hair.
Now that I have the benefit of maturity and modern hair-care products, I have a different perspective. It is not a tolerant one. It is a what-are-you-trying-to-do-you-will-just-wind-up-crying-anyway-and-make-us-late one.
We also have accessory crises (“My bracelet broke and it’s the only on that matches this outfit!”), laundry crises (“Where are my jeans!”), and my parent’s are impossible crises (“I can’t believe you want me to clean my room!”).
Rainbows and unicorns here, people.
But then, as quickly as the emotions surge, they recede and my sweet girl returns. She helps her little sister. She bakes cookies. We get notes telling us how sorry she is for her behavior and how she is thankful for all we do and will we please write back.
It’s nice, but I think I’m getting whiplash.
The most frightening part is that we are only currently dealing with girl number 1 and she’s not even into puberty yet. Just as we tentatively forge peace agreements with number 1, girl number 2 will hit that wonderful age.
I mentioned this fact to Bryan the other night in the midst of a raging door-slam fest. He said that he might see if work will send him out of town for the next 720 days. Nice try.
There is no way that he is getting out of running this marathon with me.
It’s just too bad we didn’t get a chance to train first.