Fifteen. 15. Fifteen.
You say that word to any experienced mother and she will just sigh, nod, whisper "I understand" and hand you a tissue. As of this week, I will not have a single 15 year old in my house. I will have a 17 year old. A 16 year old. A 14 year old and the 3 littler ones. BUT for 6 blessed months I will not have a 15 year old.
Twice I have survived this journey. More importantly, so have both my oldest boys. Barely.
Just think, I only have 4 more kids to go.
Parenting a 15 year old boy is similar to running into a brick wall. Think the Great Wall of China sort of brick wall. You can't go over it, you can't go under it and trying to get through it feels close to impossible.
I advise a good friend you can vent to, a case of red wine and a really, really good therapist.
Because if you survive it, the payoff is apparently 17. 17, when the glimpses of the adult your child is becoming become more frequent. 17, when they offer you a chair in a crowded waiting room. 17, when they thank you for cooking them dinner and they know, almost, how to have a polite conversation about something other than themselves.
I had heard stories about being the mother of teenagers. I really thought that my 'spectacular' parenting and strong desire for harmony would mean we could sail through these years in a sea of calm mutual respect and personal growth, working together towards our combined goals of my peace of mind, and their maturity and independence.
All the mothers of preschools just hopefully smile and nod. All the mothers of teenagers laugh.
Parenting teenagers. Never dull. Never easy. Always rewarding.
And now I have two that drive. Where is the Ativan when you need it?
PS Sorry for disappearing for the last, well year or so. Hockey season absorbs everything. Teens and Toddlers absorb the rest.
