Friday, April 13, 2007
The other day, the youngest boy decided to try out his testosterone. Wasn't the first time, and at 18, it's likely not going to be his last! After a long day's work (double shift), I walked into the house, intent only on vegetating in front of the TV with a book. Then, the youngest boy comes home - just about the time I'm in my jammies and ready to wind down for the night. He starts in. "Why can't I......?" "You always..." "I never get to...." I told him that if he wanted to start an argument, he needed to pick his time better, and not start something that I was too tired to finish. "Oh, so now, it's MYYYYYYYYYY fault???" (Can't you just hear the whine there?) I said, "You know, fighting with you at this point is like being pecked to death by a duck. Knock it off; I'm tired and I'm going to bed. If you want to continue this, do it in the morning, when I'm awake." I read a book once, called "Pecked to Death by Ducks" - and it was hysterical. I think I still have it hanging around. It was Dave Barry-esque and a really good read. And it was appropriate. Ever have a fight with a teenager who was ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN that you were, by doing (or not doing) whatever it was at the moment, TOTALLY RUINING his or her life? And isn't that kind of like being pecked to death by a duck?? I can't wait till he gets to the age of the older one, who, every once in a while will tell me, "You know, mom, you were right about...." As a mom, you live for those days.