Sarah Nigbor

I’m trying to be patient and understanding, I really am. Unfortunately, patience isn’t my strong suit. My grandmother preaching to me that “Patience is a virtue” just never really sank in. She also said I had selective hearing. She may have been right.

I’m trying to be patient as my daughter enters the dreaded teen phase. She will be 13 in July but is already exhibiting signs of teen behavior in the form of mood swings, sleeping late, and believing she is right about everything. How will I survive the next however many years? We’ve barely started and I’m ready to hoist my white flag high in surrender. I asked my esteemed colleague Greg Peters how he and wife Jenna survived three teen girls. He jokingly (or unjokingly?) said Captain Morgan. Publisher John McLoone and wife Lorena also survived raising three teen girls. I wonder what his secret was? If I know him, it might have been Bacardi.  

I miss the days when I’d walk into my daughter’s room and I’d see her smiling little face peeking at me from between the crib slats. She was always so happy to see me each morning, lifting her little arms up so I could get her out and give her a hug. Now my gentle good morning is met with snarls, grunts, wicked glares and sometimes stony silence. Cajoling her to get out of bed is daunting to say the least. I’ll admit, I take our fuzzy little cat as a bodyguard. Even a crabby teen can’t be mean to a sweet cat purring in their face in the morning.

Trying to get her out the door on time is also daunting. I need to turn into a drill sergeant to make sure the routine of breakfast, shower, skin care, brushing teeth, getting dressed, and gathering homework and sports gear stays on target. My reminders are usually met with an eye roll, sigh and “I KNOW, Mom.” If we leave the house late, of course it’s MY fault for not giving her minute-by-minute reminders of the time. Somehow human teens have a hard time looking at clocks.

I understand that teens are going through intense physical, emotional and mental changes. I was not a fan of those years myself. I try to remember how I felt or treated my mom back then. I’ll just say it right now: Mom, I’m sorry. I’m sure I was a pain in the you know where. However, I did know how to look at a clock and even get up to my own alarm. My mom was already gone for work when I woke up, so there was no one to snarl at. I also didn’t spend much time in front of a mirror primping. My hair looked like a tornado ripped through a bleached straw stack.

Teen girls should come with a warning: Buckle up, because you’re about to embark on a human rollercoaster ride. One minute they’re laughing hysterically at something you said. The next minute they’re weeping about something a friend said at school. In the next breath they’re angry at a different friend or you and blame you for the world’s problems. In the next minute the world is ending because they realize they’re out of moisturizer or deodorant. Suddenly they turn sweet and clean out your car for no reason except to help out. I feel like a cartoon character that looks like it was run over by the Road Runner by the time the day is done. Who am I? What happened? Am I in one piece?

So if you see me looking a little dazed, like I don’t know what’s happening, you know why. I can be revived with coffee. Maybe throw some Bailey’s in there.