Not many people will argue with the assertion that an adolescent female mind is relatively unfathomable. Yet we turn ourselves inside out and upside down to try to contort our knowledge to encompass the Escher-like twists of teenage behavior. Why? I've found that resignation is by far the best policy when dealing with my teenager.
I vaguely recall being a teenage girl, although I would contend that for the sake of our ongoing sanity the brain has deliberately blocked most memories of the actual emotional overload that occured then. Therefore, I don't recall this hot/cold, engaged/disinterested dicotomy. She loves me and is chattering away about inanities one minute and completely disgusted that we share a gene-pool the next. I'd worry that it was just my Punkin, but I know this is not the case. So I'm settling on begnign neglect for my method of coping.
So far, so good....
book: Death in a Strange Country by Donna Leon. Commisario Guido Brunneti in Venice. Why do all books make me want to travel?
No comments:
Post a Comment