A shout out to a group of special moms this Mothers Day! If you are the mom of a teenager, bless you my child. If you are not sure that your child has blossomed into that glorious age, in the light of Jeff Foxworthy’s “You Just Might be a Redneck if…” you just might be the mom of a teenager if…
You are sorting dirty laundry and discover a supposedly dirty shirt that is still neatly folded.
Your daughter rides you about your horrible taste in clothes, yet you can’t find your top hanging in the closet because it is hanging on her.
If you beg and cry and plead with your son to tell you what is on his troubled mind and when he finally starts to share and you breathlessly say, “Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?” He calmly replies, “I knew you would eventually get it out of me,” then you must be the mom of a teenager.
You’re the mom of a teenager when your kids don’t completely make a mistake; they just “sorta” do it. “I sorta forgot to put the milk away” “I sorta spilled Spaghettios on the carpet” “I sorta left my book at school.” You are the mom of a teenager when your child is singing the lyrics to a new song. You start to sing along and to her horror she discovers that song is not new; it has just been redone.
And, if you have developed a personal relationship with a closed bedroom door because you discovered yourself saying as you stare into and caress the fine wood, “Hi dear. How was your day? Do you have any homework?” Wel- l-l, you must be the mom of a teenager!
My children are adults today. Sometimes glimpses of those days come back in the form of I told you so as in the example of us trying to teach them to manage money. Brooke was sharing on the phone about how she was saving money. I thought, “My daughter is really maturing by being out in the real world. She is developing her vocabulary. She has the word ‘generic’ down.”
I wonder if I enjoyed those years so much that I really didn’t want to let them go. Maybe that’s why we experienced the “boomerang syndrome” a few times. (You know, when they move away but come back) I remember sweet melodious sounds like the dryer tumbling. Bill and I would smile and quip to each other, “Brian is ironing again.”
Janet Jackson
