Dear Elli,
I'm pretty good at stuff most of the time. When I find something I want to do, I work my ass off until I figure it out. That's the way most things work for me. If I work really hard, eventually I'm pretty good at stuff.
But parenting isn't like that. At all. Being a mom is hard. Really freaking hard. It has never been easy for me. It wasn't easy when you were an infant, a toddler, a preschooler, an elementary school kid, or now. And no matter how hard I work at it, it never gets easier. And believe me, I work really freaking hard at it.
It's been especially tough lately. You're a middle schooler. I've always found middle schoolers to be especially horrifying. They are hormonal and awkward and have foul attitudes. They have a lot of big opinions, and not a lot of big reasoning skills to go with them. They aren't really children anymore, and they aren't teens. They are some bizarre hybrid between those two stages. They look weird. They act weird. They are weird. And yes, you are absolutely weird.
I love you. More than anything. But you're really pressing my buttons lately. Tonight at Chipotle, we were discussing a variety of social issues. You have big opinions of course. You asked my opinion, so I told you. And then you proceeded to explain to me that my opinions are "invalidating" because I don't agree with you. And furthermore, I should change my opinions because they are wrong. My opinions, because I am your parent, should always make you feel "validated". I'm not shitting you. You seriously said that to me.
Now I'll be honest and admit that I'm wound a little tight these days. In 2019 I probably would have laughed and then had a conversation with you about how everyone is free to have an opinion and that's what makes America the best place on the planet. However, 2020 is a real shitshow. I'm not feeling particularly free lately. And now a middle schooler is telling me what my opinions ought to be.
So I looked you dead in the eye, told you that intolerance of differing opinions is a small and incredibly shallow human quality, stood up, remembered to put my mask on because I was now standing instead of sitting, and walked out of Chipotle.
You ran after me a minute later without looking both ways in the parking lot. You're lucky I work really hard at this parenting thing and therefore I knew you wouldn't look both ways because you were panicked that I walked out of Chipotle without you. So I calmly stood in the parking lot in front of the driver you didn't see so he wouldn't run you over as you hurried outside without looking. Jesus in Heaven... I probably just saved your life.
Then we got in the car. I told you I didn't want to hear another word or you were going to lose your phone. I was super mad at you. And even more mad at the world. But you were on a roll to prove that you were right and I was wrong. That you were merely showing me the error of my opinions so that I could change them and be right just like you.
So you're sitting there all self-righteous in the passenger seat, telling me that taking your phone isn't going to solve any of our problems and clarifying your position on my "invalidating" and "wrong" opinions. You've got guts. I'll give you that.
You had your phone in your hand, passionately articulating your point of view after I told you I was done with the topic. You clearly were not concerned about losing your phone. So I watched you out of the corner of my eye as you continued your speech, waiving your middle school arms around as you spoke. And when your hand with the phone in it gravitated toward my direction, I swiped it out of your hand and stuck it under my thigh in one perfectly fluid movement. It was beautifully executed. Superior athletic reflexes while operating a motor vehicle. I told you I'm pretty good at stuff. I was utterly gleeful with my phone swiping prowess. For a minute.
Then you started crying. Middle schoolers aren't very tough without their iPhones. Oh Lord help me.
You didn't understand why I was so mad at you. You wanted to know what you could do to get your phone back.
I told you to never assume another human being has an obligation to agree with you in order to make you feel "validated" ever again so help me God. And clean your room.
Your room is clean. Your logic is still shallow. My phone swiping victory was also pretty damn shallow. Because I shouldn't be mad at a 6th grader for thinking like a 6th grader just because 2020 has me wound tight.
Parenting is hard.
I keep telling myself you won't be this weird forever. And I will never stop working really hard. We will have a mature conversation tomorrow. A conversation that doesn't include me gleefully swiping your phone like a 6th grader because I don't like 6th grade logic.
We'll get through middle school, but somebody should probably pray for us. And you should probably start looking both ways before you panic run into parking lots.
Someday I'll be pretty good at parenting. Maybe tomorrow.
I love you.
Mom
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