Oh boy

11-YEAR-OLD: “Mom, I went to the library today with a girl, but don’t worry about it – it wasn’t a date.”

ME: “OK. It wasn’t a date. And you weren’t supposed to be there. You don’t just get off of the bus and hang at the library. You have to ask me if you can do something that keeps you from coming straight home from school.”

11-YEAR-OLD: “Oh.”


ME: “You took your medicine. You have on deodorant?”

11-YEAR-OLD: “Yes! I’m ready for school.”

ME: “You washed your face, brushed your teeth?”

11-YEAR-OLD: “Oh.”


ME: “Are these your books on the kitchen floor?”

11-YEAR-OLD: “Oh.”


“Oh?” “Oh?!” Is that the most appropriate answer to basic hygiene and house reminders? Basic, simple rules that have been in place for hmmm… all of his life?! Yes, he’s an ADD/ADHDr. So am I. And yes, I space on some things – but I’m not talking about me. And I’m canceling out the ADD/ADHD because that’s not what I’m talking about.

I’m talking about my second (and last) child talking that long walk into the brain-numbing puberty zone.  I see it coming and I’m not excited about it for all of the reasons one my find it difficult to get excited about being told a cardboard box is going to be responsible for your food shopping.  <-- That doesn’t make sense, right? Exactly.

I already have a 13-year-old whose mind is on rapid boil in grinning-girl sauce. And now the baby boy is falling into the prepubescent abyss. A place where children cease being able to think clearly about anything other than...

Oh, no.


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