In earlier times, the idea of dropping my last child off at college made me sniffy.
Today the reality is this: I’d be ok with slowing down the car, giving my Son a shove, hollering ‘bye’ and watching his possessions flutter down around him from the rear view mirror.
Yes Dear Reader; I am at that stage of parenthood for the first time.
Thank Gwad this is a very recent development in Empresspattiland. More than ever, I realize how easy we've had it during the teenage years.
But I digress from my bitching.
For the first time ever I have witnessed an enchanting combo of petulance, irritation and know-it-all sulks. It aggravates the living shit out of me.
Its almost as if he’s 14 again, only taller and his room smells so much worse.
He’s survived because there are rare moments of sweetness, where I find Him again. The other night he came home late, flopped down on my bed and said “all the rest of my friends leave tomorrow.’
“You’ll see them again, at Thanksgiving and Christmas.” I told him.
“It will all be different then,” he huffed marching back to his room. 11:30p on a work night is a bad time for attitude and loud music.
I will not kill my Son. I will not kill my Son.