The Cure for Adolescent Angst

I'm not going to survive my TeenQueen's teenage years.

THERE! I said it out loud! I should be stress-free! I live in Paradise! I have a dog that loves me! I'm a capable, competent person who has rolled with the punches all her life and come out on top. But I think adolescence, HER adolescent years are going to push me over the brink. I can't win this one. It's sapping the sanity out of me.

I've survived a grueling profession. Two, if you count teaching junior high for five years. All the blood, guts and vomit that have landed on my hands and shoes are NOTHING compared to this daily struggle I face daily. And I face it sober--no drinking to excess, no Xanax, no Valium, no Ativan, no sleeping pills, no heroin, no Prozac to make the day happier. I face it cold and straight on a daily basis, counting my good days and counting the hours until the end of the bad days. I'm tired. I'm hopeless. I'm the mother of a TeenQueen.

As far as kids go, she isn't bad if you compare her to the horror stories out there: no drugs, stealing cars, serial sex with the football players. No gang involvement, no bailing her out of jail, no runaway stories. She isn't selling her body on Duval Street or smoking crack on Stock Island. She's a smart girl, if a little unapplied to her schoolwork. She HAS common sense. She's as honest as a teen can get without getting herself into trouble. She's beautiful. She's my baby. But she isn't a baby anymore.

I'm losing it.

She wants more freedom. She wants to hang out with her friends. She wants to do things, and sometimes it might not be safe. And deep inside, I know I gotta let her go. I just want to keep her safe.

Papi thinks I'm too much of a pushover. TeenQueen thinks that because I didn't have a life as a teenager, I don't let her have one. They are both dead wrong. These are different times. I don't want her sheltered, like I was, and I don't buy into the "beating the crap outta your kid" philosophy that he holds. That's just wrong. And anyway, she's a lot bigger than I am.

So nobody's happy. The TeenQueen thinks I'm just cramping her style to exert authority. Papi jumps all over my butt for not exerting enough authority. I'm just miserable thinking that I'm going to have to live like this for the next few years, walking on eggshells, arguing, negotiating, not pleasing anyone. It's not a happy situation. The episodes of chest pain are getting more frequent.

I figure if I have the massive MI and croak, problem resolved: No more hassles.

At least the dog will miss me.

May we live in interesting times.