There Are Plenty of Reasons to Envy Me

Yesterday was not the best day.

In typical misleading fashion, it started out exhibiting best day attributes. Exhibit A: A successful five a.m. two mile run outside in twelve degree weather, and I didn't even die. Exhibit B: All of the laundry is clean AND put away. Pretty good start, yes? Then we had to wake up Seventh Grader.

Oh, Seventh Grader.


It never stops puzzling me how my wonderfully sweet and loving firstborn has transformed into something that, were I a small child, I would want to make absolutely sure was not lurking in my closet before the lights went out at night. I swear, she used to be kind. And moldable. Not so yesterday. It began with her inability to get out of bed, despite being summoned multiple times. Then, once she arose, she encountered a hair crisis. The hair crisis required twenty plus minutes of confrontation with the straightener, although at this point she had only fifteen minutes to spare. No matter. It was a CRISIS. As the seconds ticked by, and Future Husband (her ride for the week) finally said "I'll be in the car" with an air of resignation, I began to nag. Hey, you know what I hate doing more than just about anything? Nagging. Particularly the Tornadoes. We might as well just spray each other with nitroglycerin once nagging enters the picture. There is much muttering under the breath, to which I helplessly roar in response "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?" which, you know, is such an effective communication technique for a grown woman to employ.

Eventually, Seventh Grader made her way downstairs, with icy daggers shooting out of her deeply black-lined eyes and her hair a marvel of straightened perfection. I made an attempt to change the subject and nag her about something else completely, namely her after school plans and homework. There was, of course, no agreement on either of these fronts. So I was forced to play my parental "this is how it's going to be" card. Always a crowd pleaser. Then she left, and I wept gratuitously.

I have always loved school. Historically, I have loved it for the learning aspects, but now I have a new reason to love school. And that reason is that Seventh Grader and I are forced to take a seven hour hiatus from one another. It's my recovery time. I use it to remind myself, and to be reminded by others, that I am in fact not a horrible person. Fifth Grader I still miss during the day. She still thinks I'm fabulous. True, she has begun to exhibit the occasional twinge of tween monsterness. The difference with Fifth Grader is she is incredibly self aware, and wishes for nothing more than to not grow up, not because she wants to remain childlike - although there may be a little bit of that going on - but because she has so much to do and see and try and master. She doesn't have time to dwell on her looming hormonal madness. She has a master checklist and she must complete it. Sound like anyone else we know? Seventh Grader lives in a perpetual state of annoyance with us both.

Ultimately, the school day had to end. Fifth Grader dutifully came home, followed instructions regarding taking her allotted snack/tv/computer time and then finishing all of her homework before going outside to play. Seventh Grader naturally modified her homecoming instructions to suit her, lingered endlessly over a bowl of cereal, and necessitated my leaning against the kitchen counter for ninety minutes to ensure that she did at least ninety percent of her homework, which of course "ruined" her Tuesday. Didn't do anything marvelous for mine either, but who am I? We agreed that she could finish her homework today, a snow day that was all but guaranteed. I wiped the blood and tears from my eyes and made dinner while she slunk off to the computer to tell her friends how awful her life is. Fifth Grader made intermittent appearances during this time. She was a bit mopey. She didn't want to talk about it. "What happens at school, stays at school" she recited at one point. Not altogether reassuring to my ears, but I didn't press.

After dinner, Seventh Grader and I put the gloves back on for the day's final round. The issue? Taking a shower. I was in favor. She was against. There was howling. Howling. I kid you not. At this point, my nerves were so completely shredded that I let it go. If the child truly wishes to shower every third Sunday, I say fine. This could ultimately be the answer to my fretting over her disproportionate social life/purposeful use of time ratio. If she stinks to high heaven, who is going to want to hang out with her? Stink away, little girl. Stink away.

Mercifully, bedtime arrived. After all of that, Seventh Grader and I did still manage an affectionate and even tender goodnight hug. So there's that. Fifth Grader capped the night off with the following:

"I didn't have the best day today, mom. But I still love you a lot." Aww.