Every so often, as the mother of three teens, I am suddenly attacked and must stave off a mutiny. It begins with one disliking a proclamation of mine. To boost the protests, teen one enlists teen two, who is more than willing to join the rebellion. The empassioned views (because being louder always makes the point more right) draws the third to the pool and I am left to whims of frenzied sharks.
Hurt feelings are inevitably the result. I am learning over time to distance myself from the feelings. In fact, I’m sort of appreciating these attempted mutinies. For one, the three are allies. Secondly, I’m fine-tuning my parental mandates and supporting their purposes. Thirdly, the teens are putting their own feet in their own mouths, and I barely have to whisper. All life lessons.
Still, the uncomfortableness of a mutiny remains. I feel my muscles tighten, my ego puff up, and my pride deflate (yes, ego and pride are two different things). A mutiny is a turning point. It doesn’t always end well. Sometimes I have to pull out the reinforcements and drag Dad into it. It is a sign of weakness, I know, not to be able to handle it on my own. There’s a reason why it takes two to create these little beasts.
Suddenly I have a picture of my husband as a certain, famous, incredibly gorgeous pirate. Happy thought. I might prompt a mutiny today. I need my pirate man to rescue me. Ha! I would love to see the teens’ faces when they read that…if only they knew the name of my blog. Now THAT’S a mutiny!