Having raised one daughter to adulthood, I’ve been through it once before.
I have experienced the highs and lows.
I have thought I wouldn’t survive it;
but I did,
and I came out mostly unscathed.
However,
I have not gone through the pre-teen phase like THIS.
I currently have two pre-teen girls;
Chloe, who is 11,
and Tessa, who is nearly 10.
From the time these two were infants we have all joked,
“Just wait until they’re hormonal at the same time!”
But, friends,
this is not a joke.
This is not a drill.
This is not a test of the emergency broadcasting system.
As their mother, I am warning you that you would be wise to proceed to the nearest underground bunker and to bring lots of canned goods.
Leave the radio.
You don’t want to hear what’s going on outside the hatch.
I have spent this entire last week opening doors merely a *wee* crack to make sure of these two girls’ whereabouts
in order to dart room to room as if I’m avoiding raptors.
Because I am.
These two have wilted, cried, and slammed doors.
They have glared, and then immediately maniacally laughed.
They have fought over a singular index card.
They have wailed about bread crust.
There was one scene two days ago that almost required a tranq gun over not being able to close the freezer all the way.
It has been a whole THING.
When my oldest was their age I thought I wouldn’t make it through.
Every up-close of me from those years looks clammy.
But now, looking back at her years at that age feel like looking back at photos of when I first thought I was fat.
Ha!
I thought THAT was bad?!
That was NOTHING.
If I had only known…
I sigh a lot now.
I have a deep breathing app on my phone.
I have prided myself in conquering the Pre-teens already because of how I handled it my first time through.
I buffed my nails on my shirt collar afterwards.
I thought I had it down.
Little did I know
Emotional Armageddon was coming.
Here is an example of a standard pre-teen girl interaction:
ME: “Hi, Honey. How was your day!”
HER: “Fine.”
*scowls*
*claws at her face*
(clearly NOT fine)
ME: “Did something happen? Are you OK?”
HER: “Why do you ALWAYS think something happened?!
*sobs* *mumbles*
*buries face in bed*
*skin glows green*
I TOLD YOU I’M OK!”
ME: “Alright. I’m sorry if I upset you.
I am here if you need me.
I’ll just go out of your room and let you have some space….”
*pets her with a long, thin stick*
HER: “Wait….You’re LEAVING ME?!
SEE!
I FEEL LIKE YOU DON’T EVEN CARE ABOUT ME!”
ME: —-^—-^—-^———————————
*inhales steadily for two solid minutes*
*backs out of room*
*retreats to own room*
*resumes plan of only coming out after checking through wee cracks in doors to see if pre-teens are lurking*
There is just no winning these days.
These days are tic-tac-toe with only Os,
and inside of every O is the sobbing emoji,
followed by the butcher knife.
Then the poop one.
Then the unicorn head, just to completely throw you off.
And you know,
that unicorn might make you start to feel like hey,
maybe they’re back to being cute!
Maybe they’re that girl I love ,
and know, and cradled once again!
But that is the trap, friends.
That is a trap,
and I tell you because I care.
That preteen unicorn has razor sharp teeth underneath its closed, velvet-looking cartoon muzzle.
That unicorn horn that glistens there in the sun of that clover field will soon turn towards you and impale your midsection Braveheart style.
I have several friends with kids just now going through the transition from 2 years old to 3,
And I get it.
That transition is very hard.
Society has always told us that two years old is the horror show.
But they neglect to tell you that horror show is actually SESAME STREET compared to THREE years old;
But I am here to testify that two and three years old are an absolute daisy field with a soft-focus filter compared to 11.
Those pre-teens…
They come in quieter, and stealthier,
but with bigger weapons.
They wait until you’re feeling like you can relax because you KNOW THEM in that recently 8 year old sweetness with soft strawberry scent;
and just when you’ve let your guard down…
maybe you’re nuzzled up with your popcorn together on the couch…
You in your comfy pants…
Them in their Justice jammies…
They will bite into your jugular vein and
they
will
run.
Today my husband Justin went to pick the girls all up from school.
I sat in my leather chair at home waiting to greet them.
Chloe came in the door scowling and went straight to her room.
Tessa cried and slammed a door within 5 minutes of being home.
I saw through the front window Justin trudging behind them all looking defeated.
Then he merely peeked his head in the screen after they’d performed their Parade of Woes and said a quiet,
“I’ll be in the front yard if you need me.”
Worried to be left alone with them in their state I asked him,
“What will you be doing out there?”
To which he answered a surprising but also totally not,
“Digging my own shallow grave.”
I laughed, then said,
“Make that a double,”
before I headed back into battle
because you guys-
WE HAVE FOUR GIRLS.
I can’t give up now,
Someone has to demine the fields.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
