Mediocre Mom of the Month

I ran away yesterday. I did one of those swipe-everything-off-the-kitchen-counter-onto-the-floor deals then grabbed my bag and left. The Offspring were miffed and Spouse seemed unaffected. I drove ACROSS THE STREET and parked in the unoccupied library lot where I turned the radio up loud, cried out loud and attempted to scream louder than Joan Jett and the Blackhearts. I let out a few good banshee calls before I thought better on injuring my already damaged vocal chords. Then I promptly fell asleep. Yup. I woke up an hour later in the dark. Aside from coming to terms with the fact that I have no where to run besides a vacant parking lot I realized that I don’t want to go anywhere else. I want to feel cold and hoarse with a kink in my neck just to remind me that running away is over rated. Remembering the pink suitcase I packed as a 3rd grader; the one I had just in case the open road of an eight year called. I never ran away. I always seemed to have an exit strategy though.
I drove home. I announced my apologies. They were met with tears and understanding.
Mediocre Moms come home.

“I think I’m gonna go get a mini laptop like the one we bought The Teenage Girl.”
“What?! No way Mom. That doesn’t feel fair. I waited a long time for that and worked really hard. I deserved it.”
Putting my arm around my hard working-well-deserved daughter I explained. “You deserve that laptop for your writing and blogging. You worked hard in school and waited a long time for this gift that “I” bought for you with MY hard earned money because I love you. I made a financial sacrifice for you and I think I’ll make a financial sacrifice for my hard work as well. My gift to myself doesn’t minimize the value of my gift to you. Now drink your decaf Starbucks and shut up.”

The bad choices we made as teenagers DO NOT transfer over as wisdom in our own teenagers.
All those things we do to keep our kids out of trouble only read as restrictions with no real reason.
All the homework, all the dishes, all the bills, groceries, shoes, bikes, skateboards. It doesn’t count when you pick your son up at the police station.
It just breaks your heart.
It doesn’t make sense.
You start to question nature vs. nurture.
One has to think there is a breaking point.
This Mediocre Mom would like to think there was some rhyme or reason to any of this.
My best friend is the kind of Mediocre Mom who has done everything a single mom can do for her fatherless son.
But sometimes none of it counts.

The Teenage Girl said, “I could get done with this homework a lot faster if you helped me”
“You mean if I did it?”
“Uh…yeah.”
The other day I thought I’d read over her essay and make some syntax changes. What a monumental error on my part! First off there is no such thing as a proper essay any longer. The changes, although correct, were not what the instructor wanted. After much drama and tears and a near ‘I hate you’ from the Teenage Girl I resolved myself to never correct her work without a written request from said Highschooler. Yikes! When I dropped the red-eyed, just finished tearing up Teen off at school I offered the traditional ‘I love you’
Silence.
“Your proper response at this point is ‘I love you too”
“I’m really mad at you Mom”
“So how many points is that?”
“What?! C’mon mom! I mean it.”
“So like, 8 points?”
She cracked a smile.
“6. Tops. If we’re on a point system now then I love you about 6 points.”
I’ll take 6 points.

So I bought a beautiful backgammon game at a thrift store this weekend. I taught The teenager WAY TOO WELL. She kicked my butt! You could say I had the PIP kicked out of me. Backgammon jokes. Who knew?!