A Day in the Life of a Teenager

What is a day in the life of a teenager like? Well... we were all teens once, so I could tell my "story;" however, it would be so much more fun to tell that of my teenage son!

Monday through Friday, he gets up (at the last, possible minute- of course;), rushes to get dressed and grab the few books and papers he did bring home and run like superman to catch the bus. Then, he's at school for the day (calling/or texting me, periodically, to ask if I've done something/gotten something he wants... which- of course- I haven't). Note to self: Ask (son) why he's calling/texting during classtime anyway. Aren't there, uuuuuh, rules against that sort of thing (YUP!)?

Fast-forward to 3:15p.m... when he's hopefully on the bus riding home (sometimes- oftentimes- he catches a ride home from one of his newly-licensed buddies. All, hail the road warriors!). This is usually when I receive another "lovely" call. "Mom. Can you make me (whatever food happens to sound delectable to a moody teen at the moment)? Can you do it NOW, so it's ready when I get there (rephrased: Can you do it NOW, BECAUSE I WANT YOU TO AND BECAUSE I WILL BE A REAL, EVIL BOY WHEN I GET THERE IF YOU DON'T?)?"

Then, it's my turn! Que the Lone Ranger music! As I fly through the house, grabbing the wall as I turn the corner to the kitchen, I catch site of some leftover crackers my son has lovingly left for me (did I mention, they're still open?) on the dining room table- gotta get those!!! I snatch the crackers as I dart toward the kitchen, high-jumping for the cabinet door like Cobe Bryant doing a lay-up. I grab the cabinet door handle and twirl around in a pirouette-like turn (maybe it was more Matrix-like... hmmmmm?!) and as I complete the turn, toss the bag of crackers over my head... landing them, precisely, on the shelf I meant them to land!

With the crackers put away and the clock tick-tick-ticking, I proceed to search anywhere and everywhere (o.k... not really- just, the cabinets and frig., bypassing the catfood and spray cleaner), to locate something remotely edible... as I have yet to hit the grocery store this week! I find a couple of eggs, 3 pieces of bread, some margine and coffee. Let's see... he can't eat the eggs- he's allergic. He doesn't like coffee, so... that leaves bread and margerine. I'm creative, but not that creative;) I settle for some buttered (o.k... margerined!), toasted bread with cinnamon and sugar. What kid wouldn't like that after school? Honestly??? Mine!

By this time, I hear the bus outside (I'm considering locking the door and pretending no one's home at this point. Oh, yeah! He's got a house key;( Darn it! Why didn't I just say, "No! You don't need a house key when it's 20-below outside!," and follow-up with one of those, "When I was a kid" stories?!). Then, the key is in the keyhole (I better move my head away from the door or I'll get it by the big, bad, angry teen!). The door opens, and there I stand... frozen.

As usual, my son proceeds to mumble something that faintly resembles, "Hey," and goes to his room. Now, what goes on behind that bedroom door for the next couple of hours (and the ones proceeding dinner) is anyone's guess! You're probably wondering why we don't talk. We DO talk... when he calls me from his cell phone (in his bedroom... because, it's waaaaay, too important to interrupt an online X-box 360 game of (whatever he/his friends are playing that day) or an online music session of whatever-that-is-they-listen-to-these-days!) to tell me when to bring his dinner plate to him.

We also have lovely mother-son conversations (does it count as a conversation when I'm yelling and he's listening or he's talking and won't shut up and I have no choice but to, exhaustedly, listen?) quite a bit. I enjoy those times we have together.

I suppose, the last thing that happens in his "productive" day, is... as he's lying on his bed, cup of soda that he's not supposed to have upstairs in his hand, remote control safely close by (in case of a disastrous, television emergency!) and music so loud our neighbors in remote California can hear it (by the way... we live on the east coast!), he- eventually- falls asleep. Lucky me!