Sunday, September 9, 2007

Mothers + Disobedient Teen= Lectures

Yes, I have done the unthinkable. I, a teenage girl, have revealed my very own, personal blog, to my mother!!!

Told ya I was weird.

When I told her that both Sara (my buddy) and I have started a blog, she mentioned the fact that other people let their mom's read their blogs. Oh, yes, and she added one of those sarcastic, pitiful, pouty faces. She learned that one from me. So I wrote down the address to my blog here and gave it to her, on one condition.

"This is my personal blog- it is where I write down thoughts I have that may relate to people, or planes, or pickups, or purple-people-eaters. Whatever I may say in here, does not get spread around. I may write something about how annoying you are, or how unfair you are, or how you are just sooooo mean, and even though you may not be, that is what I think at the moment so that is what I am going to say. You are now allowed to read my blog- but we do not discuss it. I will hear not one word about my blog."

She has agreed.

My mom really is a fair mom, she is very nice and sweet and thoughtful, and she does respect my privacy. Certainly alot more than most moms, I am sure. But, hey, I'm fourteen! Of course I'm going to get mad, and think she is the worst mom ever, and nags and won't listen to me and doesn't care about my feelings. None of that may be true- but that is what I may think at the moment. So that is what ends up in here. Nobody is perfect, but it sure seems that my momma is pretty durned close. I can only find a few flaws, but who am I to nitpick people when I have my own ginormous flaws?

What's that? Ginormous isn't a word? Of course it's a word! It's a combination of "gigantic" and "enormous". Hence, the word, ginormous. Kind of catchy, eh?

So having that said, Mom, I mentioned in the below post Lecture #4. Ahhh... Lectures. What we teenagers dread so. My mom, for one, always has a reason for her lectures. A pretty durned good one- I'm a goody-two-shoes, I don't do anything wrong like drink or sneak out of the house or get naval piercings behind her back. But like I said, I'm a teenager. I do things wrong and rebel... to and extent. For example, here is Lecture #2 which is very similar to #4.

"Caitlin *middle name* -------!!! Have I not asked you to pick up your shoes 5 times today already? We have company coming today and we all need to pitch in together to clean up. Please, PLEASE fold your laundry and the bathroom is a mess. Every time you use the hair dryer, you won't put it up! Your clothes are on the floor of the bathroom, AGAIN, and your hair scrunchies are all over the house. You only do things around here that you want to do, but there are things that need to be done as well!"

Of course, it varies. But this is an example. Things that she tells me over and over and over but I refuse to do until she blows a gasket and is forced to become angry. Yes, I admit and take full responsibility for being the cause of this paticular lecture. My Mom is really a good mommy... She is! Like I said, very sweet and understanding. The above Lecture sounds very harsh and common and makes her sound mean, but she isn't. (And I'm not just saying this because she is reading my blog now.) Like I said, I am the cause of it of course.

It's plain and simple logic. You take a mother, no matter how understanding and kind, and a disobedient, stubborn and dramatic teenager, and you'll end up with some kind of lecture or 'discussion'. It's kind of like, you take one male betta fish and you put it in with another male betta fish, no matter how docile one or the other might be, you will end up with a fight. It's just going to happen, and in my case, I will say that I am the betta fish who is causing the problems.

But I don't get those kind of TALKS (I was getting tired of the word lectures) that much anymore. The common "pick up your shoes" or "do your laundry" or "please vacuum, for the tenth time" of course, but Mom hasn't had to get really mad in a looooong time. See- I'm such a good little teen. *pats self on back*

Oh, dang. I also inherited my guilty conscience from my mother. It is now screaming at me.

Go do your history! go do your history!


Go do your history! go do your history!

I will! ...later...

No! Now! Mom asked you to.

But I don't wanna!

You only do things around here that you want to do, but there are thi--

Fine! Fine... I'm going...

No you're not.

Mom says having a guilty conscience will help me to live a better life. I say that guilty consciences stink.

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