A Confession

The Mom of No has a confession to make.  It's something that I need to say, but some may find it to be heresy.  At the risk of being strung up by my toenails in the town square, here it is:  I like my kids better now that they're older.

It isn't that my kids weren't cute babies and toddlers.  They were both adorable.  I have plenty of funny stories and great memories from those years.  But young children are also high maintenance.  Going anywhere, even to the grocery store, was a logistical nightmare.  I don't think I ever did get the whole car seat thing straight.   Talking to other mothers was like walking through a minefield. Every issue had potential for intense disagreement, whether it was breastfeeding, working or not working, or where the baby was sleeping.  For the first three years of my daughter's life, everything sent me running to "What to Expect The Toddler Years".  I suspect that the Grandma of No did a lot of eye rolling when I'd talk to her on the phone, because I was the Mom of Clueless. 

I remember people telling me when my offspring were small that the teen years were some horrible stage where one night your sweet compliant child went to bed and woke up looking and acting like something out of The Exorcist, and  that he or she stayed like that until they hopefully moved out of your house at 18, at which point (if you were wise), you would change your name and move.  The teen years are God's way of preparing you for the empty nest, people said.  Enjoy them now while they still want to talk to you.   

Then the dreaded transition started happening to me. My daughter outgrew girls' sizes.  You'll have to go over to juniors', the saleslady said.  The registration forms for sixth grade showed up in the "go home binder".   One day, she -gasp- ROLLED HER EYES AT ME.  The situation was dire! I was about to become that most pitied of creatures: the parent of a TEENAGER.  Even worse, her brother was only a few years behind her. It was time to start thinking about running away from home.

However, I also started noticing that she was becoming more independent, as was her brother.  If I needed to run to the market for a dozen eggs, I could leave her and her brother at home. She got braces and when I asked the dentist what she needed to do to take care of them, he said "We've already talked about it, Mom- it's her responsibility to do it". No one expected me to help with school projects (not a strength of the Mom of No). 

It's not all happy fun times.  Eye rolls, attitude, the stress of high school academics, the looming specter of young adulthood.  Teenagers use all your data, eat all your food, and cost you a fortune in auto insurance.  They use slang that baffles the Mom of No. They seem to prefer clothing stores that play really loud music. As a parent, you pray that they can get to adulthood without making horrible life-changing mistakes.  Their risk-assessment skills are not yet fully operational. But talking to teenagers can be fun.  They have interesting ways of looking at the world.  They have amazing amounts of energy, and they often have the willingness to use it for good causes.

Teenagers can also bake.  One night last summer, the teenager suddenly said that she wanted chocolate cake, and she went into the kitchen. I went to bed. When I woke up the next morning, there was a half-eaten, freshly baked chocolate cake in the kitchen.  The sink was full of unwashed bowls and measuring cups, sure- but there was chocolate cake.  Chocolate cake that someone who was NOT the Mom of No had baked.

Toddlers don't bake chocolate cake.