Another One of Those First World Problems

I feel complaining about insignificant things and labeling them “FWP” exonerates me from being a whiny spoiled person living in the best place in the world.  I’m also a jaded ex-catholic, so there is already a layer of guilt underneath everything I say and do.  

I want to post this for another reason.  With the hell I’ve been going through for the past year from medication side effects, divorce, being ostracized by my children and doing all of this in a delicate mental condition, I welcome superficial trivial problems. 

Here is one now:

Well, so far this is a very good day! I colored my hair this week from an online hair color boasting it is just like the professional color. I don’t know why I bother. The brown of my hair turned out beautifully but the white came out a light brownish reddish. Anyway……I used the last of my root concealer two days ago (forgot all about covering my roots on Tuesday and was out doing errands for four hours). Luckily I wasn’t aware so had all of the confidence of a good looking person. Back to my roots (pardon the pun) I was even debating wearing one of Allison’s hats to hit the Walgreens early before too many people were there to get a new can of concealer. In the bathroom I took one more last ditch effort, fingers crossed, to look in the bathroom closet.  There it was buried under cold medicine…..half a can!!!  Halejuha!

Dear Life:  please keep bringing on those kind of problems.  I really need a break.  xoxo

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Have I done this?

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Sad Today

I’m stressed out and sad today. My youngest daughter is having behavioral problems above and beyond normal puberty mood swings. Remember I have already raised two older successful children, so I know the drama of the teenage years up close and personal.

My daughter has never been easy. Even as a toddler she was throwing tantrums and was hard to control. She went to testing and was in a special preschool program for such behaviors. It worked and we had some pretty good years for a while with only minor incidents along the way. I was not taking it for granted, I loved it. I was finally, even though intermittently, having a relationship with her.

Fast forward to twelve. Temper tantrums have resumed …. preteen style. New to the mix is lying and being sneaky. Yelling and swearing at me.

I’m so tired. Sad, I think today. I don’t usually cry, but it comes on unexpectedly lately. I’m not talking a sobbing session like earlier days in my life, but just a few quite tears.

 

The Sanest

Self-confidence has never been my strong suit, but when I feel I’m right, I’m right!

This comes from a mini argument I had with Tristan. Now I realize that most 18 year old boys think they know everything. Some boys think they know more about parenting than their mothers do! Yes, that is the crux of this argument. Now we are not talking parenting him, but his little sister, Allison, aged 12.

Allison is in the throes of a rebellious phase and consequently had her galaxy phone (I never wanted her to have it in the first place) and all electronics taken away for two weeks.

She was just on the verge of getting the electronics back. Tonight I discovered she had only deleted the Instagram app, not the actual account she was not allowed to have. She had been logging onto her account from my phone! I found out because the notifications of people viewing her photos were popping up! I played around with several more punishments and let Tristan in on them. Shouldn’t have done that.

Now, the sanest one in the house doubts me! Tristan thinks I am being too hard on her, although he is the one who discovered how to track down her Instagram account. I believe he was feeling a little guilty ratting her out. Even as much as he calls her crazy and fights with her nonstop he must have felt that he had betrayed CAPA (Children Against the Parents Alliance).

I called him arrogant and he called me delusional. I said something like, “Whatever”. And the next thing I looked up from the phone and he was gone.

Had I hurt his feelings? You never know with him, he cried last year over being grounded.

I called downstairs, “Goodnight, Tristan.”

“Goodnight, Mom”

There is a reason I think he’s the sanest.