Middle School

Yes, my child is in middle school. He shows all the signs including, but not limited to, his preocupation with video games, stories of the very dramatic happenings in his social life with the girls he likes or doesn't like or just plain happens to know, socks conveniently left in the living room to provide yet another reason for me to nag him, and the ever present blow out.

The blow out is the best part. Or maybe I should say the most obvious symptom of his new disease - Middleschoolitis. For example, the other day Bug and I were standing at the kitchen table reviewing an article sent by my mother in Colorado concerning lavender, and how it can be used in recipes. Bug has shown an interest in cooking more and more lately and even stated that he wants to be a chef when (or if?) he reaches adulthood. I, personally, liked the idea of him becoming a designer of video games, but I'm sure he'll change his mind a billion times before becoming what God intended for him anyway.

So, there we were, looking at the article together, bonding, feeling close, discussing fascinating topics such as the places we know of that lavender grows, when I happen to ask if he had vacuumed the livingroom rug. His response is that he did not because he just did it three days ago. I then explained that the rug needed attention again and to please do it. And then it happened. His face squirmed and wrestled with itself before finally settling on a look of absolute disgust and unbelief. He then took two steps back, splayed his hands at his side and yelled at the top of his voice,"Now I hate you, Mom!"

Well, seeing as how it obviously is a moment by moment choice for him as he didn't hate me then, but he does hate me now, I did the best I could to keep my face from showing any hint of the amusement I found at his choice of words, told him that he can hate me while he vacuums, and then went into the bathroom where I could silently snicker behind the closed door. Yes, silently, because what is worse than telling a middleschooler to vacuum? Laughing at them. Oooooh, that is the worst, and the "hate time" might just last a whole 30 minutes.

Ah, yes, you gotta love being the mother of a middle schooler. If there is nothing else, there is entertainment.