In the comments from yesterday, Anonymous wanted to know what to say when a teen screams, "You hate me!" Tempting as it may be to trot out Rule #5 ("Yes, dear, we do hate you")(or better yet, "Who told you?!"), it may be better to just say, "Cut the crap" - because the kid knows it isn't true. Surprisingly, Anna has never screamed that at us. She has screamed, "I hate myself! I hate my life!" when informed that she is not allowed to go to some social function which she had her heart set on attending, to which we always replied, "Well, we love you, sweetie," just to bug her.
Drama, thy name is girl teenager.
I'm a tad late posting today, as I have been laid low, once again, by cellulitis. Luckily, I remembered what happened when last I Googled this particular disease and so I have stayed far, far away from the search box at the top of my browser. Of course it didn't help to have the doctor talking about MRSA and IV antibiotics, either. I guess I could drop dead any minute. In which case, I should be editing family photos, not talking to imaginary friends.
The good part about being sick is I have an excuse to lie in bed and neglect the children; the bad part is I have to put up with the blank stare Anna gives me when I inform her that I need a little extra help around the house. You parents of teens know that stare - the "You talkin' to me? Why? Do I know you?" look that is probably the cause of more military boarding school enrollments than all the other reasons put together.
And, in case you're wondering, the answer to that look? "Yes, I just came from outer space, dimwitted Earthling; now get your butt off the couch and look busy."
Can you tell it's been a rough week with a certain someone who used to be the cutest little girl on the planet? Sigh. Maybe I should look through all the old photo albums again, so I can remember what her smile looked like. Or maybe that would only make me feel worse.
Ha - she just asked to check her e-mail. I don't think so, sweetheart. Mommy can be waaaay bitchier than you. Just ask Daddy - he knows. And it doesn't help that I am missing Knit Night this evening.
Time to go - the Tylenol bottle is calling my name.