By Tracy Winslow
Contributor
Congratulations! You have survived the toddler years - not an easy feat. Years 4-11 are the parenting calm before the storm.
By now, you have earned a false sense of security and believe you have a pretty solid grasp at this whole parenting thing. You have heard horror stories about the dreaded tween/teen years, but you foolishly believe, not my baby, they’re so sweet! And then one day, your child stomps in as if they have been replaced with something hateful and mean. (Googles: “has my child been demonically possessed?)
They hiss at you when you ask them a question. They argue with you about stealing their sister’s mascara- while holding their sister’s stolen mascara. They skulk from the dark recesses of their bedroom at odd hours to pilfer snacks and hoard water bottles.
You love them ridiculously - yet there are times you wonder if you will survive until they leave for college. (Googles: “just how expensive is boarding school?”) And pray they will use this new found attitude for good instead of leading a prison riot. You are soooo dumb: It doesn’t matter if you have a Ph.D. and are an expert in the subject or have been performing whatever task since you were a fetus. You are so wrong with everything, that you are practically a burden to society. Even when she announces she “loves the chicken” at Thanksgiving dinner - she will argue when corrected. “Whatever, Mom. Turkey is a type of chicken. Like, you know how ducks, turkeys, and chickens quack?” And defending yourself is futile. I could have called the CEO of Perdue to get a definition for types of poultry - and my offspring would still be convinced I am wrong because I am a complete and utter moron. (Googles “recipes for a Xanax-tini.”)
You are little more than an ATM: “I need $20.” “I just gave you money this morning!” “That was for Moe’s. And I needed to get the new Nyx eyeliner before they are sold out.” Where’s your money from work? “Didn’t I show you the outfit I got at Aerie? I am soooo fire in it! Go like my Instagram post!”
Where are the spoons?: Remember that set of dishes and silverware that you got in your 20’s and managed not to lose for decades? Yeah. They somehow “disappear” and nobody knows how. When you ask them to bring missing items from their rooms, you are met with “STOP ACCUSING ME MOM! YOU BLAME ME FOR EVERYTHING! WHY DON’T YOU ASK MY SISTER TO BRING DOWN HER DISHES? SEE WHY I HATE LIVING HERE?” Yet the missing utensils mysteriously appear in the sink when your angel is told they cannot go to the football game until their room is clean. (Googles: “am I having a nervous breakdown or is this a heart attack?”)
They speak a language you don’t understand: “What the Sigma, Bruh? You’re being real Kevin. TSPMO, Imma crash out, if you keep asking me about my grades. ICL, I’m locked in, so I don’t get cooked for real. Aight?” (Googles: “teenager to English translation”)
They have developed hearing issues: You can kindly call up the stairs to get them to come down. Nothing. You yell their name, which you KNOW they can hear because you don’t live at the Biltmore. Crickets. You call them on their phone - goes unanswered. When you finally stomp to their room and angrily inform them that you have been trying to get their attention, their response is “OMG Stop yelling! What is your problem?”
Sibling rivalry becomes epic: Remember those brawls about Barbie shoes? Yeah, they’re just the appetizers of arguments to come. Now they fight about everything you can imagine - and some things you cannot. It’s never anyone’s “turn” to do anything. Nothing is ever fair. Everything is the other sibling’s fault. And the other one is always “the favorite”. Did I mention the door slamming?
CHILD 1:“That is MY bikini top! I don’t care that I gave it to you last week. And stop stealing my pants!”
CHILD 2: “I don’t have your stupid pants. I would never wear your weird clothes. Why can’t you dress like a normal person?”
CHILD 1: “At least I’m not basic like you.”
CHILD 1 & 2: “MOM!!!!!”
MOM: Handle it yourselves.
CHILD 1 & 2 Stomp off and slam bedroom doors
Whatever you do, don’t laugh: Or be near them, or pretend to know them in any capacity. Because you are like, oh my Gawd, so embarrassing (and did I mention stupid?). But it’s hard not to laugh - especially when you hear exchanges like this:
FRIEND: I need to get spelling good. I mean, good at spelling.”
DAUGHTER: And apparently grammar.
(proud Mom moment)
But, you will fall apart when you miss out on big things in their life because they are spreading their wings. Senior year is a blur of hormones, college applications, and difficult goodbyes.
Your heart will shatter when theirs does. You will cry when you see pictures/videos of them when they were little. And wish you could hang out with their toddler version just one more time, because the years keep flying by. And as they approach the time to leave the nest - you will mourn the loss of the tiny person they were, as well as the person they have become. And while the idea of my baby not waking me up at 11pm to “dish about the latest tea” is heartbreaking, I know that she is ready for her next exciting chapter in life, and that I am sending a smart, kind and hilarious woman into the world.
Congratulations to the Class of 2025, and to all the people who stood behind these babies to make this monumental milestone possible. It truly takes a village, a strong sense of self, and Google to help get your littles to this important accomplishment.
Tracy Winslow is a mom who is trying to hold it all together while her baby graduates high school with top honors in all of her classes - except for Spanish. Which she almost failed. If only she knew one person… just one…that could have helped her in her time of need. I mean, apparently other than her MOTHER WHO IS A SPANISH PROFESSOR AND HAS BEEN TEACHING SPANISH GRAMMAR SINCE SHE WAS BORN. God help her and save her. Oh, and come buy gorgeous yarn at Low Country Shrimp and Knits. Which is Tracy’s clubhouse when she is not a college professor or arguing with her daughter about the fact that she should not be failing Spanish. www.shrimpandknits.com
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