Our family is fortunate enough to live in a community which often offers fun events for the residents; during the summer, they offer weekly live music in a local park along with food trucks and a small Farmer's Market. The Family of No likes to go there and hang out with friends; the Parents of No like it because it is good entertainment for the low price of free, and the Son of Never Stops Eating likes it because there is always a snow cone truck.
Now, before I continue with the rest of this story, some background information: Dancing is not a Mom of No strength. I have known this from an early age. Somewhere in the family archives there is a photo of me, maybe 5 or 6 years old, in a leotard and tights, looking absolutely miserable. I like to dance when the song is right, but I'm honestly not very good at it. I'm fairly certain that other people are watching me going "what is she doing?". Apparently my dancing is so bad that no one else realizes that is actually what I am doing.
The closer I get to AARP membership eligibility, the more I don't care.
At the last outdoor concert, the music was right, so I moved up to the stage with some friends and started dancing. Right after the dancing festivities commenced, the Teenager walked by with some friends and saw me dancing. It was apparent from her body language that she had seen me and that she was embarrassed by her mother's admittedly bad dancing.
You know what? I am fine with that - because as a parent, I consider it part of my job to embarrass my teenagers. I would be remiss as a parent if I did not, at some point, between the ages of 13 and their departure from under my roof, do something to embarrass my teenagers. I would be missing out on some great opportunities for stories to tell my grandchildren while feeding them huge bowls of ice cream for dinner and telling them that Grandma thought that they should, indeed, be able to get a pony from Santa Claus.
This is why I had kids in the first place: I knew that in return for having my bladder kicked incessantly for two trimesters, maternal weight gain, late night feedings, endless diaper changes, cleaning up projectile vomiting residue from the upholstery in my car when someone ate too much sugar, soccer games in the rain, softball games in blazing heat, school projects involving hard to find materials, endless hours of chauffeuring offspring from place to place, staying up late to pull tooth fairy duty, getting up early on weekends to take offspring to (insert name of activity here), and all the other sacrifices that are part of rearing human young, I would one day get my revenge and the time for that revenge is now.
Paybacks, kids. Paybacks. Remember the time you told that nice police officer that Mommy had started saying bad words that started with the letters "S" and "F" the second she saw your lights in the rear view mirror of the car? Paybacks. Remember the time you threw a huge fit at the grocery store because Mommy said no to Oreo cookies? Paybacks. Remember that time you kept throwing Legos at the sweet older couple in the pew in front of us at church and they were so nice about it but I could tell they thought I should be investing in a big wooden spoon? Big time paybacks.
It is my parental right and privilege to embarrass my teenagers, and I plan to take every opportunity to do so until the moment that they move out of the house- and even then, I may not be quite ready to stop. Teenagers, you have been warned. Not that I actually need to take any positive action on Operation Embarrassing Adolescents; sometimes I suspect that just my mere presence on the same Earth as my teenagers is embarrassment enough. That's okay, too; it doesn't change the indisputable fact of life that She Who Pays the Auto Insurance Bill Makes The Rules.
So, teenagers, I'm not sorry that you're embarrassed. One day, you will have the same opportunity; what goes around comes around. Meanwhile, I need some Aleve or Tylenol or something; dancing is hard on the middle-aged knees. Embarrassing teenagers, however, is so worth it.
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