Little boy toys are like Barbie shoes: nothing has its match, and there seem to be 80 pairs of one. Clutter had overtaken me once again.
"My house is trashed. Trashed, I tell you."
I was being melodramatic, throwing myself across the kitchen counters, very reminiscent of 15-year-old me when I didn't want to do whatever I didn't want to do.
My mom (also reminiscent of the parent she was of a melodramatic teenage girl) didn't look up from the computer. She said, "You'll survive."
I held my splayed pose and turned only my face toward her, with further drama.
"What?! I thought for sure you'd give me sympathy for this, after all those years I spent trashing your house."
Still, she didn't look up. Deadpan.
"That's how I know you'll survive."
I loved this! I laughd out loud when I read this. I'm a grandma. I felt compelled to forward this to my daughter (the mom of a 5 and 1 1/2 yr old)! Love your blog!
I love your mom! I learn so much from her. Tell her I say "Hi!".
Hahaha! I LOVE your mom!
I love my parents. I SWEAR I do! But I would like, for a brief time, to be 15 again and have your parents. I think THAT would be a hoot! 🙂
They were a good time. I promise you they were. 🙂 Their goals were to maintain the most fun house in the community (so Rob and I would bring all our friends home and my parents wouldn't have to wonder where we were at night) and to have us fully independent by 11th grade (although they didn't tell us we didn't have a curfew or rules, they just stopped talking about it and communicated trust instead). They were (and are) the Best.Parents.Ever.