The Horned Teenage Beast Approacheth

I haven’t written anything here for a long time. It’s funny how sometimes certain things in our lives get dropped when we are experiencing stress. For myself, when stress hits, I tend to forget I own a vacuum or duster, quietly waiting to see how long it takes before the entire house is consumed by laundry. Through this rigorous and studious research, I have discovered it takes precisely three weeks before our carpet dons a colorful and happy coat compiled entirely of wee little socks, knickers, along with various other items of dirty clothing.

Children seem to know when their mothers are residing on the edge of a cliff, and make it their business to push them off that cliff onto the jagged dirty little socks below. This past month, I think my daughter has managed to get her behind into bed and to sleep at a decent hour precisely one time. I’d like to be optimistic and assure you that the one time she did head to bed at a decent hour; she did as a show of love for her rather shattered mother. The truth of the matter, however, remains that Puddin’ fell into bed exhausted that night as a direct result of being up for the entirety of the night prior.

I.seriously.yearned.to.cause.someone.bodily.harm.

My little one is also fast approaching that horrible phase of life commonly referred to as ‘teenage-hood’. I prefer to think of it as ‘the decade in which my sweet little daughter was replaced by Zulu, Queen of the Evil Dwarf People.’ This afternoon, I suggested that, considering I didn’t feel sticking to one’s computer chair by the force of one’s own stench was normal, little one might do well to perform that radical act we mere mortals refer to as ‘bathing.’ No sooner had the suggestion escaped my lips than my daughter’s head began to spin around and the demon within ventured out long enough to say: “There will be no bathing for the Lord of Darkness, you mortal fool….wahahahahaha!!” When I did finally wrestle her into the tub, I swear the water sizzled.

Dung beetles have an interesting habit. When their children reach teenage-hood, the beetle’s parents quietly dig a large hole in the ground, shove their young into said hole, bury them, and then promptly forget about them until they have reached adulthood. This, my friends, is where the insect world teaches us human beings a thing or two. Imagine never having to endure the teenage years again!! The streets void of green hair, Mohawks, and adolescent speak. Words such as “sick”, “off the hook”, and “my Holmes,” reverting back to meaning “unwell”, “a coat that has fallen” and “more than one residence.” Parents would no longer be forced into hours of argument in order to retain the use of the home phones they both own and pay for.

The freedom!! The freed up time!! The lack of annoyance and stress!! Oh Sweet Jesus, YES!!

IF the option was really open to us, though, how many of us would actually take it? I know I wouldn’t…for two reasons. The first being that I would miss my little grump ball far too much whilst she ran in her pen underground, and secondly, children kept underground cannot be bitched about or at…and really, doesn’t that sort of suck all the fun out of having them in the first place???