Today the pre-teen hormones of my sweet daughter reared their ugly head.
Lets roll the clock back by about 6 hours. My children arrived home from school to find that I was not there. This isn't completely unusual since school has started and the kids know the drill: call mom. They called and asked if they could play and I said no because I dont' want them toodling around the neighborhood when I am not there to keep track of their whereabouts. I did tell them that they could go to my friend's house and stay there until I get home. They were weighing their options and I said, "Call me when you decide what to do." In the meantime my friend's kids were on their way to my house and I was fine with that. Let me explain, my friend Karen and I were out together so if our kids want to get together to wait for our arrival that is fine. Soooo, my kids go over to Karen's house and never call. Okay, fine, I said they could do that. The errands we were on took longer than we thought and while on our way home we are both calling our houses to try and get the kids. It takes about 3-4 times of repeated calling and finally there is an answer at Karen's house. My daughter is there and I ask to speak with her. I say, "Where is your brother?" and here is where things gets sticky, her reply, "I don't know."
WHAT???? Since this story has become super long, the short of it is that my son is literally running around the neighborhood, unsupervised and no one is sure of his exact whereabouts. I tell my daughter to get her butt out the door, find her brother and get the heck home. "Can I still play?"
WHAT???? Are you on drugs? I mean, was there a stranger at your elementary school today handing out special candies? Come on!
Then it was a he-said, she-said game of blame and I was so ticked I sent them to clean their rooms, which was BADLY overneeded.
Here's the good part. "NO!" she cries! Over and over again. Then she is screaming and crying and becoming a limp rag as I try to haul her upstairs myself. Then once she is in her room, there is slamming, banging and kicking on her door. I was patient and after several kicks and the kicking calmed down I said to myself, one more kick and I will go upstairs. Yep, she kicked again. I marched up and told her the next time she kicked the door on my house she was going to be making the house payment for the month. (I know idle threats don't work but when this kind of hormonal rage is going on, who has their wits about them, answer me that!)
All in all I spent a good hour today listening to the crying and carrying on upstairs while I put headphones in my ears and watched a webcast of some show on NBC.
I am pretty sure this was the tip of the teenage iceberg, but dang that tip is frigid.