Oh! Those Sullen Teenage Emotions!

One more day.  If we can get through one more day, we may not have to kill them.

There’s a wide range of animals that eat their young.  The term “filial cannibalism” is used to describe animals that gobble their own kids.  Polar bears do it.  So do burying beetles (I gotta ask why they wouldn’t just bury them instead of snacking), hamsters, wolf spiders and a bunch of different fish.

All of them eat their young.  And it’s not for the taste.  God knows what a sweaty, hormonal 14-year-old boy would taste like, even with spices and a nice Chianti.

My point is, they eat their young.  And I know why.

It’s likely to just shut them up.

As I’m writing this, I keep asking myself, am I going too far this time?  I mean, I’m talking about my kids  here.  The same daughter that just 11 days ago I was all weepy-eyed about.  Ah, the vagaries of parenting, huh?

But like I said, we’ve put up with it this long.  I’m pretty sure I can get through one more morning.  Pretty sure.  Not positive.

What’s this crazy morning stuff I’m talking about?

I was afraid you’d ask.  Because, really, we have no one to blame but ourselves.

So, when our daughter got her driver’s licence, the one that allowed her to drive on her own (I can’t keep them straight any more) we started allowing her to drive herself to school.  Why not? we thought.  We have a car just sitting there in the driveway all day, and it saves us driving them.  So it was on the condition that she would drop her brother (who was then in Grade 8 and at a different school, albeit right beside her high school) off along the way.  Good deal right?

Yeah, well, for two seemingly intelligent adults, we’re reasonably dumb at times.

See, what this entailed was getting my son up and out the door in time for our daughter to drop him off and get to her own school on time.  And The Boy didn’t necessarily cooperate, as his morning classes started a good 15 minutes later than hers…which meant he was getting to school way early.  I mean, jeez dude, he had to occupy himself for, like, twenty minutes, dude!

So he tended to drag his ass in the mornings, cutting it right down to the wire.

So, this is what the last few minutes prior to departure sounded like.

The Girl: “HUUUUUUUN-TAAAAAAR!  Hurry up!”

The Boy: “Stop!”

The Girl: “UUUUUUUURRRRRRRGH!” (my best approximation of unbridled inarticulate rage)

Me: “Madison!  Relax!”

The Girl: “He does this every morning!”

Me: “So then you should expect it every morning.  It shouldn’t be a surprise!”


The Boy: “Stop!”

<Insert assorted bangings, thumpings and other sounds of teenage female displeasure>

The Girl: “Oh my God! He’s so irritating!

Me: “No, he’s just your brother and you love him.”

The Girl:  “Yeah, right.”  <insert more sounds of estrogeny displeasure>

The Girl: “I’ll be out in the car.” Then, louder, “HURRY UP!”

The Boy: “Stop!  You only slow me down when you do that!”

<insert sound of front door slamming>

Me: “Dude, seriously.  You need to kick it into gear.”

The Boy: “I’m not late!”

Me: “If you don’t leave by 8:10, you will be late.  It’s 8:09 and you aren’t even downstairs yet.”

The Boy: “I got lots of time.”

Me: “Dude, let’s get the ocean in motion.”

<insert the sound of the car horn honking>  The Boy takes his time, strolling out to the car.

So, this is my morning, every morning.  The Wife, wisely, chooses to stay in bed with earplugs in until they leave.  Obviously she’s smarter than I am.

And really, it doesn’t matter what we do.  We ask for The Girl to be nicer to The Boy.  You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, we say.  She says she doesn’t care about flies, she just wants Hunter to move his butt.

We talk to The Boy about moving his butt.  He says he’s not late and she needs to relax.

We’ve even had her leave him if he’s not out the door by 8:10.  The Wife goes nuts, and The Boy simply trots out the door and accepts that, this day, he will be late.

Monday morning, they both have their last exam.  Then, mercifully, my daughter never has to attend high school again, so there will be no more of The Dragon Girl/The Dragass Boy war.

Well, at least not for getting to school on time.

God I hope this is something we can look back on ten years from now and laugh at.

Assuming, that is, that I haven’t decided to eat them.


4 thoughts on “Oh! Those Sullen Teenage Emotions!

  1. At risk here: People who consistently make other people late when a favour is being done for them should be left behind. Take the stress out of your daughter’s morning (and your own). Let Hunter find his own way on his own time. Why should Madison have to drive him to school when he won’t take responsibility for being annoyingly late?

    But then I’m an annoying early person married to a late person and we have issues about the selfishness of people who don’t value other peoples’ agendas. He’s always dashing back inside for a forgotten phone, or map, or jacket, and I fume in the car because I was ready 15 minutes ago.

    I had a friend who was always late when I picked her up for out of town tournaments when we were youthful female jocks. It infuriated me that I could get my act together (cooler with beer) but at her house I’d have to do it for her because she overslept. One day I left her. It didn’t happen again. We laugh about it today.

    • That’s me as well, the annoying early person. Seems like we consistently get paired up with the annoying late people. I see it as a respect thing too, but funny enough, so does the late person. My son takes it as a personal insult that we aren’t allowing him to shave it down to the final seconds. All in the perspective, I guess.

      But yeah, I’ve been known to leave someone behind on occasion as well. And I’m ashamed to say I get some smarmy satisfaction as I leave. Don’t judge me.

  2. Growing up I was only allowed to have one pet ever, and that was one little hamster, known as “Hammie.” I had warm and fuzzy memories of him. I wish you hadn’t told me that hamsters eat their young because my memories are no longer warm and fuzzy but filled with despicable sights.
    Thank you.

  3. Sorry about Hammie the Hamster, Elizabeth. But, on the plus side, I am first and foremost a horror writer, so taking those warm and fuzzies and swapping them for despicable sights? Well, in the words of Charlie Sheen, “I’m winning!”

    My work here is done.

    But really, sorry about the hamster. Nom, nom, nom.

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