“Damn, she’s tall!” I marveled as Sophie stood beside her friends the other day. She towered over her 10-year old peers by several inches and although her rapidly increasing height wasn’t news to me, it was still startling to see the contrast.
Many parents bemoan their teenagers’ moody personalities and ungrateful, complainer-puss attitudes. I am no different – I joined that club years ago, long before Chloe was even officially a teen (she’s always been precocious in that way). Chloe drives me batty sometimes. It’s the job of these half-children half-beasts, isn’t it, to drive their parents batty?
The ‘S’ word in our house is not ‘shit.’ Nope. We curse so frequently (yet another reason why we’ll never win parenting of the year awards) that the girls are completely immune to all the expletives that regularly spew out of our mouths like torrents of Vesuvius lava onto Pompeii.
The ‘S’ word that causes groans, glares of disdain and sometimes tears is ‘sports.’ Dr. Seuss may not like green eggs and ham, but we do not like sports. Our kids do not have the benefit of role models when it comes to physical activity. My husband and I occasionally and reluctantly exercise to help minimize our chances of premature death and make us feel less guilty about our addiction to chocolate, but we don’t exert ourselves with anything resembling enthusiasm.