It’s hard to tell these days if I’m raising a inventor, a mad scientists or a lawyer…My brainy teen, who’s completing as a sophomore his first two AP courses, going with his team to the robotics world championships on the other side of the country, R&Ding new CAD Design software over the summer for one of his engineering professors, and FINALLY doing the A/B-level work that’s endearing him to the teachers of his “softer” courses (like History), has now discovered his innate talent for negotiating and spinnng his considerable verbal skills to his own advantage. Well, he’s trying at least. Mamma’s first love is language, so you can imagine how many of our at-home conversations go.
“You’re supposed to have your chores done before 8:00,” I hear myself saying, sounding too much like my mother as the teenager and I square off in the living room, where he’s chosen yet again to sit on the floor and do his homework, instead of working at his desk or the dining room table where my mind pictures him at his most efficient. “And be packed up for school before you go to bed, so we’re not running around looking for all the pieces when you’re trying to get out the door at 6:30 in the morning.”
“I’ll get everything done,” he says, after spending two hours volunteering at the YMCA and just now settling into his homework–at 7:30. “No worries.”
By now you know how much I love hearing this kid say that last lovely phrase, after years of giving himself and us a lot to worry about where school was concerned. Then again, there are days like today, when hearing it come out of his mouth with practically every breath he takes makes me want to strangle someone.
“I’m not worried,” I reason. “I’m just tired of having this battle at 8:30 every night, when you’ve conveniently missed your deadline and are mired in work and making yourself feel better that you’re busting your ass for school, while you’re not busting it taking care of your responsibilities here.”
“Mom, stop overreacting.”
“I assure you. I’m not.”
He blinks. The shorter my sentences get, the more he tends to pay attention. I suspect because he knows that my mind is preoccupied during these rare times when I don’t have a lot to say, with visions of, oh, I don’t know, STRANGLING someone.
“I’ll get it done,” he assures me, sounding frustrated that I’m so frustrated.
“When?” I chance a look at the clock. 7:45. His chores take longer than 15 minutes to complete. We’re already venturing into negative ETA territory. (more…)
