Teenagers and their mothers

The Jupiter generation having a super chilled time here.

We are not even going to debate a mother's love for her children. That's a given. But, pray, why do MOTHERS always have to deal with the moodswings of their teenagers and young adults? You know the rage that resembles the Red Spot madness on planet Jupiter? That's the one I am talking about.


At least Jupiter's hurricanes have a scientific basis to explain why those storms have been swirling about for the past 400 years. The core trigger that activates our young people's moodswings is laughable in comparison.  The only thing moms have to do is ask for cooperation in the home. When you dare ask them to organize their spaces, you will set yourself up for  The Rant, The Sulk  and then the Big Ignore.


Packing away laundered clothes is a sore point in our home. I like the clean laundry to be out of sight as soon as possible, while my three young adults don't see the laundry in the first place.  Those piles of sweaters and laundry bin cover full of socks are amazingly invisible to them. They will live side by side with the bins and even remove what they need without batting an eyelid. It's all about convenience, I was told on more than one occasion.


There are times when I try to keep the peace and try to walk in their flip-flops or tackies.  When I see the laundry incubating,  I count to ten and gently request that all laundry be sorted. I would keep my voice low, act nonchalantly and try to mirror the chilled attitude that greets me. Then I watch and breathe. I desperately pray to also experience the invisibility trick. No, there is no such luck. Day 1 comes and goes and the laundry stays put.


Day two comes and my eye keeps falling on the laundry pile. Be patient, I remind myself. Perhaps their eyesight would have grown stronger by Day 2.  Day 2 is about to depart and there is absolutely no inclination to empty the laundry baskets.  Zilch, nothing. This is when all self-talk ends and I no longer want to walk in anyone's shoes but my own.


Instinctively my momma hysteria takes over  and before we know it, I have given a lecture on the need for discipline, routine and working together. I reach 1000 words per minute with a matching decibel level. And the result? Confused looks about this sudden outburst and then, when the message finally hits, we have the Rant, The Sulk and then The Big Ignore by the anti-laundry brigade.


The good news is that before the launch of The Big Ignore - the ultimate invisibility trick that young people can call up instinctively - the laundry has been sorted, packed and stored. Then it is my turn to chill.  Mind you, I am beginning to understand that The Rant and its poor cousins are simply a decoy to keep me locked into the moodswings and to do more of the household chores than I should.

Bring on the rage of Jupiter, young ones; Saturn is ready!





















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