His teenage-ness started when he was 11 and I was no longer allowed to talk to him in public. Oh, how I miss those days. Whenever I tell someone about what a difficult time we've been having with him, they ask his age and say "Oh, that's a tough age." It's been four years now and they're still saying it.
Sometimes I think it's going to have to be military school for Sam or AA for me in order for us both to survive his adolescence.
But then, every once in a while, there's a little glimmer of the sweet boy he used to be that makes me think I might not have failed utterly as a parent. Sometimes he forgets he hates me and tells me something funny that happened at school or gives me a flash of the dimples when I joke around with him. Then he slinks away and yells at his sister, but not before I recognize my son in there.
A couple of weeks ago I was waiting to pick Sam up from soccer practice (in the car of course--teenage handbook clearly states all parents must wait in the car) when I noticed one of the kids talking to the coach. This boy was returning some borrowed gear, talking and smiling, all the while looking the coach in the eye. Wow, I thought, wouldn't it be great to have a son like that? Friendly, responsible, and respectful of authority figures. Then I realized it was my son! Apparently his mother did teach him some manners, he just chooses not to use them at home.
So Happy Birthday to my baby boy. You taught me how to be a mother and a lot about patience. I'm hoping one day we'll look back on this and it will all seem funny. Sometimes it's even funny now, but only after a good glass of wine.
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