teens. parenting them.

I feel like I haven’t talked about too many hard things over here lately.

I think it’s because – they’re all hard things. This year has been full of hard things.

And yet.

We’re all okay. At my house. In this moment. We’re okay. Nothing is currently on fire.

You know what I mean?

Everything feels hard.

And nothing is really that hard.

That’s how cliche extreme my brain feels lately.

The teen years are vastly different than the toddler years.

(I mean, sort of. They’re both years where some kid is always hungry. And where some kid always needs you. But just – differently, you know. Teens are messy too, but not like spit up and spill food on you messy. Mostly. Toddlers spend their days testing your boundaries – does Mom really mean I can’t leave my room at nap time? Teens spend their days testing their boundaries – does Mom really mean she’ll take my phone away?)

I guess the years aren’t all that different after all.

It’s London’s senior year of high school and I’m borrowing all the trouble as I already think abut how sad I’ll be when she flies from the nest next year.

And you’d think I might be okay because I’ve done this once before. And that is true. I have.

But nothing being equal, because it never is, the story of my first flying of the nest child was quite different and this current situation has been so different too.

The reasons are many.

But also. There’s this one. I wasn’t parenting alone then.

And there’s a lot to be said for that bonding, camaraderie, we’re in the trenches together, sort of mentality that keeps you going one more day, one more conversation gone south, one more eye roll, one more questioning of why this or that isn’t allowed at our house when it is allowed at fill-in-the-blank friend’s house.

Sometimes kids are punks.

Sometime grown ups are punks.

Sometimes we are all punks.

We all say things and do things that thirty seconds later we wish we could unsay or undo.

When one has spent a day dealing with a punk or two (or six), it was a pleasant small bonus to lie in bed at night with another grown up who could look at you and offer a comforting word of experience, “Yep. They were punks. We’re going to be alright. Tomorrow’s another day.”

As a single parent you can sometimes forget that it isn’t You Against Them. (Especially when there are just so many of these cute teenagers here. And especially when it seems I am raising very very strong willed independent thinkers. Especially when I actually paid for them to take critical thinking courses so their logic is often sound and always passionate.)

It helps to be reminded that I was once a teenager too. I certainly thought I knew better than my parents. I certainly did not refrain from verbalizing those thoughts.

And my mom and my dad and I were all able to redeem our relationships, to thrive in good company together, to grow in respect and love and friendship.

That all happened, in due time.

I’ve always believed that most worries work themselves out, one way or another.

I’ve never been the sort to dwell in worst case scenarios. (Although I swim in the waters from time to time.)

I’m confident we’ll all make it to the next stage, the next phase, the other side.

But what a curious and hopeful and loud and sleepless and loving and moody and emotional and hungry and needy and hilarious journey it is until then.

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