Some young drummer is ricocheting in the neighborhood like the juvenile he is. It's 9:35 a.m., and I need more beauty sleep.
Last night, I made good a birthday promise and drove my teenager and boyfriend to the Green Day concert in St. Louis. The boyfriend inclusion created earlier waffling. Last time, we had talked, I was in my robe screaming at him because of a mother's worst nightmare infraction. Four months later, he gets in the back of my van, and, truly, it was alright. Although smelly (why are teen boys so smelly?!), he was polite, amusing, and intelligent. And, it became apparent that I was still in the running.
The radio did it -- we were singing, we were scanning, suddenly a compilation of Music Man instrumental showtunes came on, and my daughter and I gasped in delight and sang them with great comraderie and glee. She's still mine, I thought happily, despite the 16year old grunts and hideaway and BF-frenzy-focus. He was left out. Oh how we mothers grapple as we try to hold on. Score! :)
While they were rockin', I drove across the bridge to my sister's house who lives a mere 10 minutes away. She and I sat out talking before her teen daughters came home. She had a fight and a makeup with one; the other medaled at a regional's track meet which we celebrated. It was a lovely little visit; I love being the welcomed aunt.
The drive home on the interstate took two.5 hours. How come there's so many people out at 2:30 a.m.? Where are they all going? We dropped Stinkie off, and at home, my daughter expressed her gratitude to me. Parenting, what a warm&fuzzy schizophrenic life!