Angst

I've heard that word many times when someone struggles to describe the emotional world of a teenager. Let me point out that it applies just as perfectly to the upside down world of a mom desperately and clumsily trying to parent one of those teens.

Yes, I'm blogging (all about) me again. Sigh.

I'd heard of moms locking themselves in the bathroom to reign in anger, but had a hard time picturing myself doing it. Running away from your teenager...even if momentarily...seemed so ridiculous. But, oh my gosh, that was me just one hour ago.

Good thing I'd heard of the suggestion because there is no telling what I would have said (that I totally wished I hadn't come tomorrow morning) if I hadn't escaped to my bathroom.

So, it was either let another day pass by with no blog entry or blog about what life is really like for me. And since I really hate being a stranger, this is what you are getting. Plus, I'd really love if one of my local (lurking) readers would invite me over for a glass of wine. You think I'm kidding...totally not.

But don't get me wrong - life is very good. I know what I want to be, how I want to get there. I know what matters to me and what no longer does. I get that life is hard and that the messy stuff is what makes you real. I like that being real is much more fun than the stress that comes from being forced and plastic.

But...having a teenager, no - your teenager, looking at you and saying things you could swear you never ever said to your mother, makes even the most sure of us quake in our boots. (Yes, we wear boots in Florida...in January...while we drive down the street blasting our A/C.)

So "Angst" is something (probably the only thing) my freshman daughter and I have in common at the moment. What freaks me out a little is the thought that it could be the only thing we ever have in common. We seem like foreigners to each other. Aliens trying to survive in a world neither of us knows well. Wondering if we ever knew each other at all.

Anyway...recently, I found a box full of old college papers and books. Funny thing. I took a creative writing class my last semester and wrote of my teenage years whenever the assignment allowed. My writing was rough in (many) places but it was totally honest and so my papers weren't all that easy for me to read. But they did give me perspective and hope that, maybe, within 5 or 6 years, my daughter and I won't seem like such strangers to each other.

And that is my prayer. Along with a good glass of wine here and there...that is my constant prayer...that we will get through this and be better women because of it. You think?

Thanks guys for reading.

:-)