We haven’t been getting along lately.
Nothing serious, just usual mom and teenager angst. Him trying to be more grown-up than he is, me forgetting that he is more grown-up than I think.
This morning’s argument was about a sweatshirt, of all things. I thought he should bring it, just in case. He insisted it was too warm to need it.
This time, I managed to stop before I yelled.
Sadly, that doesn’t mean I took the high road. I imagine my exhaled ‘Fine.’ conveyed just as much exasperation as yelling would have.
I washed the breakfast dishes and watched him as he ambled down the driveway. The sight of his bare arms chilled me, but I didn’t knock on the window and demand he come back for his sweatshirt. Time for him to face the consequences. It’s not like he would actually freeze at this temperature.
He was passing our neighbour’s driveway when he stopped and eased the strap of his book bag over his head. He opened the flap and started digging for something.
I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. What was he after forgetting now? Was there ever going to come a time when I could trust him to look after himself?
He stood up, his sweatshirt in his hand. He put his arms through the sleeves and pulled up the zipper before looking back toward our house.
I blew him a kiss. He grinned and gave me the thumbs up before picking up his book bag and strolling away.
I think we’re both going to be just fine.