Teenager in da house

Yes, it's true. We have a teenager in our house. My oldest daughter turned 13 this week. I've said this before, but every year, when her birthday approaches, I get sad. It doesn't happen with my younger two girls but I've decided it's just because she's my first and a reminder every year of how fast life flies by and how soon she'll be grown and gone.

Well this year was no different. I could feel that sense of blues welling up in me as her birth date got closer and closer. I was excited for her so I tried hard not to dwell on it in my mind. What made it worse this year is that I had to rifle through her baby things to find her birth certificate for insurance. I tried to not to focus on each precious little baby item but I couldn't help it. The lump in my throat was as big as a grapefruit, as I reminisced over the last 13 years. I allowed a few tears to escape but quickly wiped them clean before she saw me and asked why finding a piece of paper was so emotional.

Well, those blues only lasted a few more days until the weekend, when I was quickly reminded of all those warnings from other seasoned parents who survived their child's teenage years. That sweet and innocent baby girl I had idolized in my mind reminded me that her selfish and sassy teenage hormones were consuming her body. We went out of town for her basketball tournament and the combination of entering a larger city with ample shopping opportunities, mixed with hanging with other 13 year old friends and the addition of some tough sporting competition created havoc with her emotions.

The first day she got so angry watching her little sister play that she refused to be in the same room with her and claimed if my poor 10 year old continued to play that bad, she'd no longer talk to her. Then two hours later, after her own game, which they won, she was bawling uncontrollably with no legitimate reason. That evening we hit the mall, and the respectful girl I had two days ago, morphed into a self-centered, bratty whiner that accused us of NEVER buying her anything and insisting her friends get to buy whatever they want ... blah, blah, blah. She was pushing her limits but not to the breaking point ... yet.

The next day, her disrespectful hormones had camped out in her brain and the monster was let loose. She started her day by back-talking her dad and her coaches in the middle of her basketball games, more than once. She refused to look at them when they spoke and turned her back and walked away when all they tried to do was help. Sitting in the stands watching, I couldn't have been more proud ... not! Then, letting her anger take over, she chose not to shake hands with the opposing team after her game. The end of my rope was quickly approaching, as was the end of her fun weekend. The straw that broke the camel's back is when she asked after the game to go to Sonic to get her a treat. I calmly said with teeth grit, "NO, were going home!" She replied with a sassy, "Wow, Mom."

The end of my rope burnt up and I whipped around and proceeded to give her a reality check. A nice rousing speech on respect, attitude, and behavior all at the decibel that could make a prisoner cry, and with a heavy dose of finger pointing. After a lot of crying on her part and some agreements to apologize in writing, the teenage hormones were diffused and the loving, caring daughter that I'm trying to raise re-emerged once again.

I guess this is just the beginning of the dramatic life of having a teenager in da house!