photo credit: ~mindninja~ Guest Author: Deanne Blackhurst I consider myself a fairly educated person. I speak both English and Spanish, have passed several psychology classes, and got an "A" in logic and persuasion. I thought I was prepared for anything life could throw out at me. I didn't know about teenagers. When my son was a toddler I dreaded taking him on the weekly food shopping expedition. If he was riding in the grocery cart he wanted to be walking, and if he was walking he wanted to be in the grocery cart. He took great pleasure in grabbing things off shelves when I wasn't looking, and once while I was searching for a particular brand of deodorant he pulled ten packages of condoms from an end rack and dropped them in the cart. I didn't notice the extra items until we were checking out, and the clerk, her eyebrows slightly raised, asked if I wanted my condoms in a separate bag or just thrown in with the rest of my groceries. I was mortified. When I tried to explain that they were picked up by mistake, she glared at me and then yelled to a bag boy three crowded checkout counters away. "Hey Bud, I got a bunch of condoms over here. Lady changed her mind. Can you restock them for me?" At the same moment, my little angel decided to dive head first out of the cart and into the display of candy bars. I caught his wiggly little body with one arm while trying to steady the tilting shopping cart with the other arm and one knee. "Without the condoms that comes to $45.76." said the cashier expectantly as if I might somehow sprout another set of arms with which to reach in my purse and writer her a check. I was so frustrated I just wanted to run and hide. The lady in line behind me, her hair slightly gray and the first signs of crows-feet showing at the corner of her eyes smiled in amusement. "Enjoy it now while they're little dear, because it gets harder when they're teenagers." To be honest I thought the woman was a little senile. With the passage of time she must have forgotten what it was like to leave the house lugging a ten million pound bag of kid stuff to cover every possible situation that might arise in the thirty-minute trek from the house to the grocery store and back. How I dreamed of the day when my child would climb into the car, shut the door and buckle his seatbelt without any help from me. Fourteen years later, I have come to appreciate the wisdom of that woman in the grocery store. Have you ever tried to reason with a teenager? It's like they live in a Wonderland world where normal common sense has no meaning. They speak their own language and are surrounded by a culture that is completely incomprehensible to the over forty world - namely me. "Why do you have to drive me to school? Everyone will see you drop me off and they'll think I'm a freak." "They will not. They will think how nice it is that you have a mother who cares enough to want you to get to school on time." "You don't understand. It's so wrong to be seen with a parent. Especially a mom." "Look, everyone in your school has mothers. What's the big deal?" "Everyone in school has to pee too, but it's not like we want everyone to know about it." The child that I had endured sixteen long hours of labor with just compared me to urination. "Fine then you can just walk to school," I responded full of motherly indignation, and it wasn't until he was out the door and half way down the street that I remembered, this was what he wanted to do in the first place. I wish I could still pick him up and plop him in a playpen like I use to do after he emptied all of my bottom kitchen cupboards in the time it took me to put on my make-up. The outfits I used to buy for him were always met with smiles and appreciation. Now I don't even dare buy him underwear by myself. When he was in kindergarten, he'd run into the house his little arms outstretched waiting to give me a huge, sticky hug and kiss. Now a-days kisses are completely out of the question and a hug must be handled with the utmost care. "Look I just ironed this shirt Mom, don't mess it up." "I'm sorry but I'm a mother and we hug. It's like moths and light bulbs, or lemmings and cliffs. We know we shouldn't but we just can't help ourselves," I said grabbing him tightly and squeezing. "Are you done?" he asked, rolling his eyes. "For the moment, but watch your back!" Still, every now and then he does something that totally surprises me, and reassures me that my parenting isn't a waste of time. The other day the two of us were in the grocery store standing in line behind a young mother who was struggling with a basket full of groceries, a whiny toddler and a fussy baby. My cool teenage son, all on his own, stepped forward and began helping the woman unload her cart onto the counter. She thanked him gratefully and then turned to me and said, "I just can't wait until my kids are older. It must be so wonderful." I looked at her for a moment and then smiled and nodded my head. "It is." About the author: Deanne Blackhurst is a freelance writer for twenty-five years with her work has appeared in magazines, newspapers, newsletters and web content. She's the author of two published novels including Sleight of Hand, an eBook. She is a stay-at-home mother of six children. She specializes in short humorous antidotes relating to children and home life. Visit her website at http://www.deanneblackhurst.com