Apparently, I am not a perfect parent. Oh, I know. There are those of you who already knew that. However, I have spent the last 17 years living under the illusion that I am a perfect parent. Honestly? I know in my heart I’m not, but this is really a survival mechanism. The only way to survive parenthood is to believe you will get out of it alive, with your sanity intact.
Oh, and that your child will grow up to be a decent human being, of course. Can’t forget that part. Yep. That’s the most important part.
Anyway, apparently I am not perfect. I know this because my teenager spent spring break at my sister’s house and after one day of staying with my sister and brother-in-law, he decided he wanted to live with them. Which was sort of understandable until he told me why he wanted to live with them.
No. 1: They allowed him to eat microwave burritos for dinner and did not insist he add broccoli and milk to his dining experience.
No. 2: They allowed him to play Call of Duty on a 60-inch 3D television.
Seriously? That’s all it took for him to want to leave his own dear mother who adores him? I’m replaced by a dang microwave burrito and a 3D TV? Come on. I at least want to be replaced by something more substantial. I don’t what, exactly, but I know that I am worth more than a burrito and a big screen. And really? Everyone knows microwave burritos taste nasty.
But my years of perfect parenting are apparently going to be sacrificed for some frozen beans wrapped in an old tortilla and then zapped into oblivion.
I’m telling you, this messes with a parent’s head. Look, the truth is, once your child becomes a teenager, you expect to turn into an idiot overnight. You expect to become uncool. You expect to be told that you dress like a grandma who shops in the old lady section of Polyester Pants and More. You expect to be told that your taste in music stinks (although let’s be honest here: Bon Jovi vs. Lil Wayne; there’s no contest). You even expect to be compared to other adults and come up short.
But you do not expect to be replaced by a 3D TV.
I mean, I’m trying not to take this personally. After all, he’s a teenager. They change their minds with their moods and they are very, very moody. But seriously, I think I would take this better if my sister bought him a yacht or took him to a music festival with all those rappers or at least freaking bribed him with something better than some beans and cheese and the opportunity to play Xbox on the biggest TV he’s ever seen.
For Pete’s sake, people. We paid for half of his car. Wouldn’t you think that counted for something?
OK, fine. I’m taking this personally and I shouldn’t. After all, we only raise our children so that they will leave the nest and become decent adults. And of course he cannot live here forever – seriously. I have plans for that extra room. I’m going to take up scrapbooking. Or possibly welding. I’m still deciding.
So I’m fully prepared for him to leave the nest. I just never thought he’d want to leave. I kind of thought I’d have to kick him out … gently, of course, using my old lady shoes to nudge him. I didn’t think he’d be eager to go. But then I remember myself at that age. I wanted to live anywhere but with my parents. I wanted to take the next Brontosaurus out of town and be on my own.
So it’s not the perfect parenting (cough, cough). Or really even the microwave dinner (although it might be the lure of the big screen, to be honest). It’s just a teenager wanting to grow up. And that’s how it should be.
