Dear Princess,
I know that I have annoyed you. Yes, despite your best efforts to hide your feelings this morning as you stomped down the stairs, then turned to glare at me before slamming the door, I picked up a subtle vibe of unhappiness.
By the way, the foul cloud of doom that followed you as you drug your backpack to the drive way left scorch marks across the lawn. A skull and crossbones is permanently etched in brimstone where you stood and grumbled while waiting for the bus. I can only hope the heat of your ire didn't permanently weld the doors of the bus shut.
I know you think I'm being unreasonable. You can not understand why (yet again!) I have not given in to the argument that "everyone else gets to." Or its corollary, "no one else has to." Or the "no one else's mom does that" argument. Or the "that's so unfair" argument. You have yet to play the "I hate you" trump card (out loud), but let me advise you, that won't work either.
I annoy you because I love you. There are spoiled-rotten children everywhere who would love to have a Mom that annoys them. No, I don't have any proof of that, but my "Mom-sense" tingles whenever I see a pack of teens roaming the mall texting the person walking next to them because they can't carry on a conversation with ear buds in and the volume turned up so loud I can hear it over the music pouring out of Abercrombie and Fitch. Sure, they're all giggles and smiles on the outside, but inside they are crying out for a Mom Who Says No.
I took the full series of "Annoying Mom" classes at Mom School: "Annoying Mom 101," "How to Annoy Simply by Breathing," "Advanced Annoyance Techniques," and "Annoying Moms in History" (George Washington's mom annoyed him, and look how well he turned out! On the other hand, the vast array of current pop culture "celebrities" is evidence of a decline in the ranks of Annoying Mothers.)
I graduated at the top of my class. SummAnnoy Cum Laude. The Queen Mother, an Annoying Mom herself, was so proud. We come from a long line of Annoying Moms. It's that strong German heritage -- big butts and Annoying Moms.
All those tales you've told me of other people who have "lost this expensive, electronic gadget," "broken that expensive, electronic gadget," "had such and such expensive, electronic gadget taken away," have put me on High Annoyance Alert. I never got to take even a single expensive, electronic gadget to school. Granted, that was because the carrier pigeons weren't housebroken and the console stereo didn't have wheels.
Some day you'll thank me.
No, not really.
That's just something they taught me to say in "Annoying Mom 101."
Some day you will forget about this. Yes, really. Of course, it will be only because I will have moved on to bigger and better ways to annoy you.
But I hope you will remember I only annoy you because I want you to grow up to be responsible and well adjusted, without having to mortgage the house or sell your little brother to help pay for repairs and replacement plans.
And because I love you.
What could be more annoying than that?
I grew up in a house where there was much stomping up the stairs and slamming of the doors. Not by me of course, the thought never entered my mind, but it did enter the mind of my little sister who was very loud in storming up the stairs/slamming doors. I suspect it was her form of exercise if you think of the force needed to pound each step and then take door in hand and slam. She probably had great thighs and a very toned arm. Ah the memories . . . at least I have memories because the hearing is gone. But then I've digressed.
ReplyDeleteYou're doing a great job Jo, keep it up. You're right in that your little princess won't thank you, but the future dividends will pay off in spades. My little princess was a pill from the get-go (stomping and slamming etc) and I managed to squeeze every ounce of piss/pith(?) and vinegar out of her before she entered high school. (Well not every ounce, she needed some for all of those annoying people out in the world that need to hear her ‘two cents worth’.) Those four years were blissful and I dreaded the day she’d graduate and leave home.
Hang in there!
I am sure if you call Connie, she can give you some tips. The scene you described seems very similar to several in my teenage past. That said, I am glad that my parents raised me to be self-sufficient, an independent thinker, and a generally nice person without aires. The G will thank you one day.
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