It's Tuesday, Confession Tuesday. Today, I don't want to vent; I want to medicate. I want to go back to being the weekend warrior. Parenting a teenager, full-time no less, is purgatory on Earth. Really, couldn't I get, I don't know, 500 Hail Marys instead of the incessant chatter, sulking and "Yes, Mother?" Maude, please can we rewind and renegotiate my penance?
Overly dramatic? Tell you what, you move in and if you're not reacting similarly in a week, let's make the substitution permanent, and I'll live your life. Okay, it's not that bad but now I fully appreciate why mothers hide in malls, lunches with girlfriends and work.
Today my DQ was actually in a good mood (until I asked her to break away from her group and go to the store). She spent the majority of her free time with her clique and after she graced me with her presence for dinner, she provided me a little entertainment: her impromptu dance performance, a hodgepodge of "Flash Dance" and "Fame," moves. The former movie she swears she's never seen. She said she obviously channeled the moves which confirms her destiny is to be a star. If only she had been born to different parents who truly supported her dreams ((close-up, sigh)) she would have been discovered by now.
She's the tortured, hidden talent and I'm the middle-aged, weary mom determined to be the better mom, resisting the urge to pull on her mommy sweats and power walk to the downtown Starbucks to nurse the over-priced coffee she doesn't even enjoy. ((hand to forehead))
Until our next episode, I sit here comforted by the soft sound of keystrokes, knowing you my dear friends, do understand me. Next week, please send out good vibes that I get 500 Hail Marys instead.