The other day I turned into the stupidest person on Earth.
Really. Frankly, I’m shocked I can get out of bed, I am so stupid.
In fact, it’s a miracle I can function at all, given that I have
only one brain cell that’s actually working. And why you may ask,
am I stupid? Well, I’m stupid because my son is 12. And apparently,
that’s the age of children when their parents suddenly become total
and complete idiots.
Yes, lucky me. I’m the mother of a tween.
The other day I turned into the stupidest person on Earth. Really. Frankly, I’m shocked I can get out of bed, I am so stupid. In fact, it’s a miracle I can function at all, given that I have only one brain cell that’s actually working. And why you may ask, am I stupid? Well, I’m stupid because my son is 12. And apparently, that’s the age of children when their parents suddenly become total and complete idiots.
Yes, lucky me. I’m the mother of a tween.
If you don’t have a tween, let me first congratulate you and then allow me to define tweenhood. Tweens are the scary beings balancing the seesaw between child and teenager. They fall somewhere between SpongeBob Square Pants and Alien vs. Predator. And other than teenagers, tweens are quite possibly the most frightening humans ever.
One day they adore you with all the power of childhood. The next day they wish you were dead and aren’t shy about telling you that repeatedly. In loud voices. In public. One day they love having mom cook for them. The next day they will only eat Chili’s and it has to be takeout because heaven forbid someone from school should see them with you.
Tweens are exactly what you think they are. They are “between.” I remember my own tweenhood as a time between wearing a training bra and finally moving to the coveted “AA” cup. Although, I must say, I don’t know what I was training for. Because frankly, if it was perkiness training, I failed. Just in case you were wondering.
In any event, having a tween is just as difficult as being a tween. You see, when your child hits his tweenage years, you suddenly morph from a semi-cool mom to a complete idiot they are embarrassed to have any contact with whatsoever. Sort of. The problem with tweens is that they are still young enough to want to be around their parents – and old enough to know that their parents are uncool. And stupid. Did I mention I’m suddenly stupid?
I wake up every morning not knowing what is going to happen. I could be loved and respected or treated like a creature from Planet Lame Brain. And there’s no way to predict the many moods of my tween. It’s not like I have a Doppler radar system telling me it’s going to be raining smart talk in my kitchen. And smart talk is something that tweens really excel at. In fact, they are second only to teenagers in their mastery of it.
So I try my best to gauge moods, but frankly, reading a tween is darn near impossible. The only real method I have is what I call the “good morning.” It works like this. If Junior actually says “good morning” to me, I can be reasonably certain that I am not among the unwanted parents of the world. If, however, he grumbles past me, slams down on the stool and shovels his breakfast into his mouth, I am among the shunned. I may as well close down the kitchen right then, because it’s Exile Island for Mom.
But even if I am vacationing on Exile Island, I still get a hug when he leaves for school. Which makes me melt. On the other hand, he usually gives me a hug and then mentions something in that snotty little tween voice that makes me want to squeeze his head until it pops. Of course if any child protective services people are reading, I want you to know it’s only a temptation. I wouldn’t actually squeeze his head. Well, maybe just a little. But never, ever until it pops. OK, I do admit there are mornings when that is one tempting fantasy.
Anyway, my thrilling fantasy life aside, I have a tween. And he is typical. He smart talks. He hugs. He thinks I’m the smartest mom ever. He thinks I am so stupid it’s a miracle I can brush my teeth without a training video.
And I’m going to cherish this. Because I’ve heard that the tweens have nothing on the teens. After all, teens are just taller, scarier tweens, armed with smart mouths, drivers’ licenses and girlfriends. And I am so afraid I will not survive. Or maybe Junior won’t. At this point, it’s all up in the air. Lucky me, I’m the parent of a tween.
