As I see it, there really are only two main sources of stress in my home... Child Numero Uno and Child Numero Dos (although little Sassy with her kitty cold and infected eye is gaining as a strong third). And I treated you all to a little of my bilingualism just then because I was up past midnight typing Senor Moody Teen's Spanish essays he had previously hand-written, but realized at bedtime, needed to be typed. Since teen sleep is in short supply around here, I thought it best that he get to bed and I would type. What else did I have to do (Yes, sleep is the correct answer)? But Spanish isn't what we're talking about here... my children are. Oh, and my incredible parenting skills and insight.
So yesterday evening, I sat the older one down (I figure I have more time to save young Bean from himself, so he got shelved). I explained to Moody how important it was that he start to take on some responsibility for himself. Unfortunately, he was one step ahead of me, and politely agreed with everything I had to say (as it all went gliding smoothly out his other ear). There was no arguing. No negotiating. No threats of military school. But obviously none of it sunk in. He was just beating me at my own game.
I was highly suspicious, but what could I do? Just smile and wait until it all comes crashing back down again? I would think 24 hours would be sufficient time for that to occur, wouldn't you agree? Well that, my friends, is in T minus 2 hours. Do you think that is enough time to find, purchase and read a Parenting Self-Help book, or should I do what any self-respecting parent of teens would do, and have a stiff drink and a bubble bath?