I
sense that I’m losing control. Okay, maybe I never had control in the first
place, but I sure thought I had it. Now I feel like a passenger in a car being
driven much too fast over those hills that make your stomach do that droppy
thing.
I
no longer have any say in what my teenagers wear, eat, or choose to do with
their time. My opinion is not one they welcome and only on a good day even
tolerate. Luckily, there is still one child left here with me on the island,
but even he is inching across the sand, searching the horizon and forgetting to
put on his life vest despite the fact that I have a stack of them right here
beside me.
I
knew this was coming. We all do, right? We joke about when our kids will be
teenagers, right up until the point where they are teenagers and we stumble
through our days of empty cupboards, stinky laundry, unset alarm clocks, music
we don’t understand, and the daily reminder that we know NOTHING and all we can
think is – how did this happen?
