It’s really best to get all As and a B . . .

Dear Diary,

Remember when I told you I wanted children?  And how I went ahead and had them because you didn’t tell me not to do it?  Well, that shit is not working out so we’re going to need some ground rules going forward.  The next time I tell you I want a living creature you are to stop me.  You are to say – Really?  How are those other living creatures you already have working out for you?  At which point, I’ll review the following entry and run away:

It is with great pride that I announce that the boy who lives at my house is graduating from 8^th grade.  Not only he is graduating but he achieved ALL As this year and was asked to write and deliver a speech at the commencement ceremony.  At first I was extremely pleased, what parent wouldn’t be?  But I was about to be brought down to earth in a fiery crash just like the parents of all teenagers experience at least once a day.

Boy:       This is your fault.

Me:        What? Fault?  What fault?    

Boy:       I have straight As and now have to write a speech.  That’s your fault.

Me:        Oh, I might take a bit of responsibility for that, you did get your brains from my side of the family.

Boy:       Are you going to help me or not?

Me:        When did you ask me for help?

Boy:       Why did you think I told you about it?  And you’re a writer, jeez, Mom.  (Whine when you read that last part.)

I don’t know, maybe because I’m your mother and I should be told these things?  Really, Diary, that’s what he said.

Several hours later, we’d hammered out an acceptable speech.  We made it funny, quoted Steve Jobs (the boy’s favorite human), checked some grammar with Amylynn, removed the word “trepidation” because no one wants to get beaten up after graduation (?), read through it many, many times to check for any awkward sentences and running time.  It was very late when we were finally done and way past my 8PM bedtime.     

And so you see, Diary, had you stopped me from having children I could have been in bed a long time ago instead of quoting Steve Jobs and trying to make a fourteen year old boy use the word “trepidation”  – out loud, in public, in front of other fourteen year old people.  I blame you.

Sincerely,

Me

Teenagers. Ick. And yet we tried so hard to have them. What’s the last thing your kid did that had you considering getting out the warranty paperwork to see if they were still returnable? Or was it you? What did you do to your parents? For shame!