I realized the other day that when my kids were very young, heck, even when they were still in the womb, I was voraciously reading up on the best parenting practices. Compulsively so.
Then all three of the Picket Fence Post children hit puberty and it dawned on me that it's been quite a long time since I've read anything about childrearing. Two are of my kids are teens, the other's not too far behind. And all hell has broken loose.
After hearing some vivid tales from the Picket Fence Post household, a friend recommended this:
I now feel as though I finally understand why my house is suddenly filled with such loud melodrama ... or, conversely, the eerie silence of sulking and somber offspring. Reading Get Out of My Life But First Could You Drive Me & Cheryl to the Mall? is akin to stumbling upon a helpful translator who's explaining the goings-on that are occurring right in front of my eyes but seem to be in a foreign language.
The Youngest Boy, not liking the cover of the book one iota, was displeased to see me chuckling as I was reading it the other night.
"I'm gonna read that when you're not looking," he threatened.
"Go ahead," I taunted him, "at least you'd be reading a book."
"Grrrr," he muttered as he kicked a dog toy across the family room, "I hate reading."