Toddlers and Teenagers.
I stepped out of church this morning with my three-year-old. We were knee-deep in a power struggle and the volume had escalated enough to warrant a cool-down session in the foyer.
I sat down in a chair and calmly explained to Jack that if he could sit on my lap quietly for two minutes, we could return to the chapel to sit with our family.
He wasn’t having it. We ended up outside the building to minimize witnesses to the tantrum that was unfolding. Quickly.
On my way out, a friend remarked, “Be strong, mama. I was there once.” I laughed out loud, thinking to myself. Yeah, me too.
In fact, I’ve been there for 16 years (almost without interruption), my dear. She was trying to be supportive, and I appreciated the gesture. But I couldn’t help but find the humor in a mom who is two years younger than me reminding me to “be strong”.
You see, this toddler thing. I’ve got it down. Sure, I was inconvenienced that I was missing my 14-year-old’s talk because the 3-year-old thought it would be a good time for a meltdown.
But I was calm. Collected. Just biding my time until the kid decided being inside the chapel was better than being outside. Which he did within minutes. And I was barely ruffled.
Yep, I’ve done toddlers five times over and while I don’t claim to be an expert, I’m wise enough to not lose my head over an ordinary tantrum. There’ll be another one tomorrow, after all.
It’s the teenager thing that’s got my head spinning.
Boy, oh boy.
If you ever wanted to feel like a fish out of water, try raising a teenager. Or two or three.
Raising teenagers means that sometimes you feel like a human punching bag.
Other days you’re left scratching your head at the idiocy of these creatures who sure look like adults (and think they’re adults) but are anything but.
Some of them are master manipulators, appealing to the side of you that wants to be the nice guy by saying, “everyone else’s parents let them do this. Or that.”. It’s the oldest teenage trick in the book but it still hurts.
They keep you up late at night, then claim to be too tired to go to school the next morning. They eat you out of house and home, expect you to run them to and from multiple activities almost every day of the week.
Teenagers possess an uncanny tunnel vision that persuades them that everyone else in the world is tuned into their every failure or moment of awkwardness. While failing to consider that others feel the exact same way.
Teens bite the hand that feeds them and place a higher value on the opinions of pretty much everyone they don’t call mom or dad.
It can be brutal.
I have friends who LOVE raising teenagers. (At least that’s what they say on their social media accounts, so I suspect it’s partly for show). Or they’re just remarkably gifted in ways that it would seem I am not.
And while I adore my teenagers I can’t say I have wrapped my head around how to shape them into the amazing humans they can become. I can barely come up for air right now.
The other day Lily (one of my teenagers, who was a very “spirited” toddler and preschooler) remarked that she felt sorry for me for how difficult they (meaning she and her sisters) were as little kids. She doesn’t know how I did it.
Neither can I. But here’s the thing. Difficult children become difficult teenagers. And they’re much bigger. And less open to suggestion (and threats, for that matter).
And yet, just like the tiny babies I cradled lovingly as infants, they are full of greatness. In fact, they’re closer to it than ever before.
I sometimes feel like the little blue engine in The Little Engine that Could when she says:
“I’m not really big. I’ve never even been over the mountain. But, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.”
Actually, I’m not always convinced I can. And though I would go back to having unruly preschoolers in a heartbeat, I don’t exactly have a choice. So I guess I’ll just plow through in my inadequacy until I get over this mountain.
See you on the other side.
