Will You Miss Your Teen?
As I’m cleaning my teen daughters’ rooms (Don’t judge: I need to recover my dishes, clothes, and various pilfered items somehow.), I’m growing increasingly frustrated. How many bobby pins can they own? And how is it they can’t seem to put them anywhere else BUT the floor!? Did she really wear my belt again? All of this quickly stacks on the morning’s clash about grades.
Ugh.
I remind myself I am choosing to take on this task; I can turn around and simply close the bedroom door at any time. I breathe. I find the “Have a Great Day!” moment on Spotify and shuffle the songs in an attempt to shrink my irritation.
Ravaging the girls’ rooms is a dangersous choice. Who knows what I might find? Heck, who knows if I can be found after an hour lost in the heaps of clothes?! With each year they age, the risk becomes greater. These are definitely not the rooms of toddlers.
Gone are my little ones I could dress in the bright, funky Hanna Anderson outfits and cuddle and kiss endlessly. Gone are the angels that listed the ways I was the “best mom in the whole wide world.” Gone are the sweet pumpkins who, for the most part, actually did what I asked of them. Yet, if I’m completely honest, there was a plethora of drive-me-crazy moments then, as well.
I remember begging for just a half hour where sticky hands didn’t need something. I remember the stealing of each others’ toys, and the high-pitched bickering that surely followed, erupting in my ordering of time outs because, honestly, I needed one. I remember grumpy and sullen days where tears--the girls’ and mine-- just seemed to be on the verge of every moment due to, well, who ever knew? And I miss those times; I miss every one of them.
Now, tags are still left on clothes I buy them, and it's, "Mom, what are you doing? Don't kiss my face!" I barely get a "Thanks," for thwarting near catastrophes, and if I make a request or a rule, there's no guessing how many exasperated eye rolls and grunts I'll accumulate.
As I vaccuum up another one of those dang bobby pins, and, again, feel that surge of irascibility, I begin to wonder if I will miss this, too. I imagine my world without worrying and arguing over missing assignments. I imagine a clean house void of hair paraphenalia and rashly discarded shoes. I imagine all my dishes stacked predictably on their shelves.
When my daughters have moved out and on with their lives, will I be wishing for all the annoyances just so I can feel them—like today-- all around me? And then I know: You bet.
I love the independence, silliness, and resiliency of my teenagers. There’s no doubt that the messiness and moodiness still exists, but, I relish them, and am so grateful for the time I have with them. So much so, I took a two-year leave from work so I could enjoy their last years of high school.
I will definitely miss these days; I miss yesterday already.