Monday, March 9, 2015

Welcome To The Crazy Train

In my writing I have a few 'muses' so to speak.

One is my mother and the other is my daughter.

I'm learning a lot from both.

My daughter is turning 13 in 2 weeks. Welcome to the crazy train,  the teen apocalypse is being unleashed, the full moon is rising. This is happening and I'm in major denial.

  I swear I was in the hospital just a couple days ago, giving birth. I remember hearing the astonishment of the medical staff that the only thing they could see emerging from my nether regions was this creature with a FULL head of hair.  Then their voices turned to fear because apparently my daughter was born not breathing.  Details....details...

Anyway...here we are...

I've written lots of pieces about my daughter being her own girl, paving her own way and making choices that I never would have the guts to do at her age.  I've also written that she seems to be avoiding the norm when it comes to cliques, snap chatting (uh...no way) and boy drama.

Give her a microscope and some Animae, a sketch pad, a copy of The Hobbit, maybe a Thor t-shirt thrown in for good measure and all is good in her world.

I say all this in order to lay the foundation for what my daughter shared with me last night.

She has a TV program she is absolutely, without a doubt, addicted to.  Just call her a fan girl because everything stops when her beloved program comes on.

My Daughter: 
"Mama, I think I'm going to stop watching my show."

Me:
  (Major intake of breath and dizziness over this announcement.  I tried to remain cool and calm.  Just so you know, this is huge.)

Me:  "OK.....what's up?"

My daughter:  "Well, the plot is getting really boring and predictable but the main thing is there is never any diversity.  Week after week the characters are portrayed by white straight guys and the women are viewed as sexual conquests.

Fair enough, I'm sold.  Go for it, girl.

Course just as I'm reeling in my good fortune as the mother of an awesome almost 13 year old, she pulls a yelling fit in the car over how much she hates the latest Bruno Mars song, how school is completely pointless  how much she can't stand her brother, everyone at school is a loser and my singing drives her bat crap crazy.

This is my cue to turn up the Bruno Mars song to full volume, sing just a wee bit louder while reaching across her to open the car door and telling her to have a great day.

If looks could kill, I'm not sure which one of us would die first.









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