Smells like teen spirit

I rarely, if ever, get sympathy from my parents when I despair about thee mind fuckery that is raising teenagers. I believe this is because I caused them a lot of sleepless nights. I don’t think I was as moody as my siblings (one of five here) but I sure was the naughtiest.

Which is why I can read Horatio like a book. Don’t bullshit me, son. I wrote the rules.

I always have said looking after babies and toddlers is exhausting in the physical sense, but corralling teenagers into the general direction of becoming a decent human is the most emotional SACK (sick chore) that I have ever attempted.

It is like swimming in the ocean. Everything appears calm, with a few little waves causing you to remain cautious, the relax as you bob around in the calm, clear water. You take your eyes off things and shut them, enjoying the sunlight on your face and for just a moment, everything is perfect.

Having shut your eyes, you cannot see the massive wave that is thundering towards you, and you don’t know that you are about to get absolutely fucking slammed! The wind is knocked from your lungs, while an evil rip grabs you by the ankles and drags you out to your death. *

That’s what it’s like having teenagers!

But I am not telling you Gen Xers anything you probably don’t already know, so I will pass on one lesson that I learnt the hard way. Actually, there are about 1674 lessons that I have learnt as a teenager parent the hard way, but this one is probably the most important.

One of my kids is notorious for taking off his school shirt in the kitchen and flinging it onto the washing pile, which is not a bit deal really BUT THAT IS THE CLEAN MOTHERFUCKING WASHING PILE. I am not always there to witness it so I am not sure of its status. So you do the sniff test….

Small sniff, little to no evidence detected.

Large sniff and your nose hairs immediately disintegrate as the vapour hits the back of your throat. You stagger and stumble to the bathroom as your body continues to be poisoned, as waves of nausea rush over you. You wonder why the bathroom was a good idea. There is nothing in there that can help you. The smell permeates every pore.

Run into the kitchen and stick your mouth under the tap. You consider calling the poison hotline. You call your partner who is in an important meeting but you insist on speaking to him because it is an emergency. *

Recover slowly, taking deep breaths while laying on the back lawn. You notice a freshly laid dog turd that you have narrowly missed. Then you go inside and drink some vodka and cry.*

The End

* Can sometimes be over-dramatic. Much like a teenager.