Storm Clouds Coming

Photo of Hurricane Rita used by permission from wikipedia/commons

My summer hiatus was more that just a hiatus it seems.   Sorry about that!

The tantrums have some what subsided and I am not sure why and have decided that it must be the calm before the storm.  I feel sure Hurricane Ten Year Old will arrive as a category 5!

I don’t even have a tantrum to talk about today.  I do, however, have the dread of her growing older.  I realized this over the Thanksgiving vacation while peeking at her Christmas list.  It read:

  • IPhone Six, with case
  • an MP3 player
  • earrings
  • a bikini
  • lip balm
  • a laptop
  • pink earbuds
  • hand sanitizer

What I realized is that my ten year old, deep down, just really wants to be an actual teenager for Christmas.  Not only can I NOT give her that, but I wouldn’t want to.  It’s funny how, when your child is very small, you look forward to a slightly more independent little person because you’re so damn tired all the time.

All you want is for this little infant to be able to tie her shoes, pour her own cereal and help you out!  Then it happens.  Soon, even more happens. You’re talking about menstrual cycles, buying tween size sanitary products, and listening to talk about wanting to be a YouTube sensation.

You’re setting parental controls on the computer, reminding them about internet privacy, and you just want it all to slow down!   You want to replace the desire for electronics for blocks and puzzles.

I want my infant girl back because the time really did go by too fast, and I’m not ready the tantrums that will come when the hurricane arrives.



Don’t you want to be a bad mom?

Since I’m the most hideous of all moms ever created, I thought maybe you’d like to join my club.  If you’ve been sitting around being the greatest mother in all creation, you’re missing out!   Stop sipping on your wine and being your kid’s best friend and follow this basic rule:

Say no!    Do it often and do it with conviction.   When you’re standing in the check out aisle in Target and it’s close to dinner time and your kid starts complaining about everything and wanting chips and soda because they are hungry, don’t give in.  It’s that simple.   Will they cry and call you hideous?  Yes.  Will they stomp their feet and proclaim that you’re the meanest creature on the planet?  You bet!   Will other mothers look at you with disdain?  Possibly.  Should you care?  No.  You know that you live less than 10 minutes away from Target, and you can get home to actual real food before your child dies of hunger.   You know this and so does  your child.    While you may be tempted to give it, don’t do it.  Not even once.

Just don’t let them see the Snicker bar you snuck in the basket to eat later when the children are in bed.

“You don’t care about my happiness!”

I don’t care about my daughter’s happiness anymore.  Allegedly.  In my defense, however, when your 9 year old gets angry at your phone because it’s stuck due to the space hog Facebook Messenger and consequently throws your phone across the room out of anger, you have no choice but to put your own phone in Time Out. I’ll be honest.  I want to throw my phone sometimes, too.  It happened the other night when the GPS completely rendered my battery useless.  I wanted to throw it across the room and curse out Samsung, Google Maps, and the makers of my battery.  I didn’t though.  This is partly because it was my fault for actually using my GPS in my own hometown.  Well a lesser suburb really.  How was I to know people actually lived that far South of Fort Worth?   Still, I didn’t throw my phone.  I didn’t have a tantrum.  Nor did I panic when I realized I was practically in another county without a reliable phone or its charger.  I didn’t do any of those things because I am an adult. I can hear my phone dinging now in the other room.  It’s clearly unstuck.  However, my daughter is now quiet in her bed.  I still hear her mumbling that I’m the worst mom ever.    Hopefully in her dreams she’ll remember that we also laughed today, but for now I’m okay with being the worst mom ever in the history of moms.  I believe in boundaries and consequences.