Ahhhh...the terrible 13's

I had a friend recently tell me that her barely teenage kids are lacking in desire to do things like dishes, laundry, and housework in her absence. Hmmmmm....sound familiar to any of you who have raised teens and only slightly avoided killing them in the name of the betterment of society?

I does to me.

You see, being brand new teens, my friend is just now experiencing the first of many teenage stages, which follow in no particular order, but are still VERY real, nonetheless:

The Mall Stage:

This is when the mom or dad has the audacity to actually walk beside their child/children at the mall. The rule is this: Five paces in front, and never turn around or speak openly to the kids. Someone could notice, you know, and subsequently embarrass the heck out of your little darlings.

The Light Saber Stage:

This is when you the parent have had enough, and you stand on the cat-walk and have a daring sword fight with your offspring, eventually resulting in you severing their hand and in your best James Earl Jones saying, "Krrrrrrrrrrrrsh. I am your fa-ther! Krrrrrrrrrrrsh".

The Panic Stage:

This comes at age 15-16, and invariably follows the phrase, "Now that I have my licence mom, mind if I go see my friend 26 miles, 3,400 cars, red lights, and rolling stop signs away?"

Da Txt Stg:

This is where you realize that all the time, money, anguish, and late-nights you spent "getting the project done while they're in bed sleeping", results in your acknowledgment that your children ultimately failed to learn to speak English. A phone call takes considerably less time to communicate what Im gng 2 S's 2 eet dinr and wtch mvee be bck @10 by talking would take, but talking means they would have to actually talk to you which is no good to them ---- and who the hell is "S", by the way?

The How the Hell did you survive all these years? Stage:

This is when your children finally come to the realization that dad and mom are soooooooo stupid, the kid wonders how it is you were never run over by a city bus or electrocuted by dropping your crystal radio set or morse code machine into your bathtub.

All of these stages go into mysterious remission whenever they need money of course, and you are no longer the ignorant Cro Magnon person they treated you as yesterday...or 30 minutes ago, for that matter. You are their kind, caring, loving mom or dad, and could you please spot them say....50 bucks or so?

My friend will learn soon enough...and in doing so, she may actually rue the fact that the bus missed her when it did.

L8TR.