Yup, we're all mixed up, time-wise. In case you were wondering. And I had the pleasant experience of being woken up by Anna yelling at Rachel to "Get out! Just get out!" because Rachel was trying to get dressed at the early hour of 8 (well, 7, but I'll stick to Daylight Savings Time for this little anecdote, since Anna went to bed in DST, and really, 10 hours should be enough not to get too annoyed).
I don't remember when I agreed to relive high school. I had to spend an hour and a half in the car with 3 14-year-old girls this afternoon and I hated every minute of it. Funny, but until today, I had assumed that parents tell their kids that screaming and yelling in the car (at least over the age of 2) is out of bounds. And, while they're at it, that listening to an IPod when no one else in the car has one is sort of rude and immature. Maybe they could even find time to tell their darling little IPod-wearer that her hearing could be damaged when that thing is playing loudly enough to make the driver think that the car radio is on.
Okay, I'm jealous. I don't have one. Yet.
Do you remember in high school, hating being near the obnoxiously popular kids and praying they would not notice you and make you feel even nerdier and less cool than you already felt? Now, imagine that you feel like that at home, all the time. I'm living a nightmare and I can't wake up. And Anna thinks that the time until she can go away to college is passing too slowly? I am so ready to send her.
Tell me, is there anything - anything at all - about raising teenagers that is rewarding? I mean, babies and little kids are lots of work, but then there are those moments when they laugh and smile and say, "I love you" that make it all worth it. And when they are learning to walk and to run and to ride a bicycle, it is all so exciting and I feel so proud of them. I just don't get those same warm fuzzies when I'm teaching Theo to drive, or when Anna is getting visibly annoyed by my mere presence. Where's the fun part?
I got started on my next pair of socks while waiting for the girls to finish flute choir rehearsal. I'm very proud of myself for learning how to knit socks this year, and I've showed them off to lots of people; but I must admit that no one is exactly begging me to gift them with some handknitted socks for Christmas. I haven't quite learned the technique whereby the socks actually look attractive. They each have a heel, and an interesting-looking toe, and they sort of fit; but they lack a certain je ne sais quoi. But no matter - I start each new pair with hope springing afresh that these will be the ones that make people ooh and aah in admiration (right now my friends just sort of stare at my finished product in a puzzled fashion and then exclaim, "Oh! It's a sock!"). You know, Edison tried a hundred different materials for the innards of his incandescent light bulb before he hit on tungsten; and I'm only on my 5th sock.
That wasn't a great analogy, but it was the best I could do. I'm tired, because although the clock says 9, it is really 10. And I wish someone would just abolish this clock-switching routine, it gets on my nerves. As if life weren't complicated enough....