It's 12:30 in the morning and I desperately need chocolate, but I'm not willing to go out in search of it.
I guess, I shouldn't have expected that raising teenage boys wouldn't result in one of those midnight conversations that "I'm almost 18 and I'll do what I want to do and if you have to call the police so be it."
I guess I'd seen Spencer's anger building this past weekend, but I always think my kids are rational enough that they can think logically. I forget about the adolescent brain and the fact that it doesn't fully form until their mid 20s. After nearly an hour of yelling by Spencer about my choice for him to come home rather than staying at a friend's house, after covering past choices and decisions good and bad, I conceded defeat and said I would drive him back to the friend's house.
He stood kind of stunned for a minute. I sat on the couch, wrung out like a dishrag, wondering if there is any way to keep my kids totally safe. I know there isn't. I told him that next year when he goes away to college he'll get to make decisions, good or bad, on his own.
He speaks in extremes -- life is all or nothing. It is the best time or it sucks. No happy mediums in this adolescent brain.
If I could, I would step back 10 years to the time when he played pretend in the backyard, grasping a plastic hockey stick like Davy Crockett's rifle.
I wish I could wrap him up and keep him from making stupid choices or at least buffer them. Give him a do over card in case he messes up.
All I can do though, is let him know that I love him and keep encouraging him to talk to me.
That and keep some chocolate in the house for times like this.
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