It was 10 years ago when my world changed forever. I still remember the moment my perfect little Roland arrived, and as he was placed in my arms, I knew we had an unbreakable bond. It was like I had known his heart long before he even existed in this world. This, I thought, is the connection they write about in all the parenting books. We just got each other, instinctively. I knew his every need before he even had to cry for it. Motherhood? I was nailing it.
We were in sync from the start. He'd coo, and I’d respond with a perfect rendition of nursery rhymes. He’d nap, and I’d watch in awe, thinking, “This motherhood thing is a breeze.” The bond between mother and son—pure poetry. I could already envision the years of harmonious parenting ahead. Roland and I would be a dynamic duo, effortlessly navigating the tides of childhood together, our connection a perfect puzzle piece. I mean, it was meant to be, right?
Cue Toddlerhood—The Land of Endless Surprises
And then… toddlerhood hit. My poetic vision was interrupted by… well, pee. A lot of pee. And not always in the places pee was meant to be. Toilets? Mere suggestions to my little darling. The living room floor? An occasional accident. My shoes? A delightful target. You know, the usual places toddlers find fascinating. But hey, this was a solvable problem! Who needs clean shoes anyway?
And don’t even get me started on walls as canvases. Sure, he had coloring books, but apparently, the living room wall was a far superior artistic medium for expressing his creative genius. I walked into the room one day to find a mural that would’ve made Picasso proud—except it was drawn in Sharpie. And you know what? It was fine. We’re talking about washable paint, right? Well… theoretically.
Of course, there were tantrums. The kinds where you think, "Wow, I did NOT get that user manual." He once melted down over the wrong color cup, and after an hour of negotiations, I ended up just letting him drink straight from the jug. Efficient, if not exactly textbook parenting. But let’s face it, all the experts agree: kids don't need cups—they need hydration, am I right?
The Sleep That Never Came... and It's Totally Fine
And sleep? Oh, sleep. As a mom, I’ve come to accept that it’s more of a theoretical concept, like world peace or finding the bottom of the laundry pile. Sure, I haven’t slept in about a decade, but who needs sleep when you’re powered by coffee, love, and that eerie alertness that comes from being puked on at 3 a.m.?
But here’s the thing: I was prepared for all of this. My degree in early childhood education? Ha! A secret weapon! Though, let’s be real—no amount of classroom learning can fully prepare you for the realities of a rogue toddler armed with crayons and a bladder the size of a peanut. And yet, through the chaos, I never felt completely lost. Frazzled? Absolutely. Exhausted? Constantly. But lost? Nope. Not me. I had a plan. Well, most days.
Because despite the Sharpie murals, the tantrums, and the fact that I’m probably going to smell faintly of spilled apple juice for the rest of my life, I was happy. Deliriously, overwhelmingly, ridiculously in love with this perfect little version of myself. (Oh yeah, that’s right, Roland—just like me.) And there it was, the first hint that maybe… just maybe… his being like me could be a problem down the road.
And then he was 10
And then… tweenhood hit. Like a bus. A big, loud, attitude-filled bus that I didn’t see coming—despite the blinking lights and “CAUTION: SNARK AHEAD” warning signs. Suddenly, my sweet little boy with his pee-in-random-places phase and Sharpie murals was talking back. And not just talking back—he was good at it. I mean, the level of snark this kid can generate is nothing short of brilliant. I almost want to applaud him—if it wasn’t directed at me half the time.
But here's the kicker: despite the attitude and eye-rolls that could power a small town, Roland is still this brilliant, hilarious, amazingly clever person. The same kid who once turned a cardboard box into a spaceship is now turning everyday conversations into philosophical debates, and I’m over here wondering when I signed up to raise a pint-sized Socrates.
Yet, despite his genius, I suddenly feel… a little lost. Tween problems are a whole different ball game. We’ve entered the world of changing friendships (Why is [insert friend’s name here] suddenly so annoying?), changing bodies (Is he going through a growth spurt, or is he secretly trying to outgrow his entire wardrobe in a single day?), and—let’s not sugarcoat it—changing smells. I don’t even know what part of tweenhood invented this new brand of body odor, but whatever it is… ew. Just, ew. I didn’t sign up for the “Febreze your kid’s room daily” club, but here we are.
And here's the part that really gets me: the days of fixing everything with a bandaid and a kiss on the boo-boo are gone. Gone, I tell you! We’ve moved on to existential crises about life, the universe, and everything in between. I’ve gone from “Mommy, can you help me build this LEGO set?” to “Mom, what’s the meaning of life, and why do I exist in a world where math tests are even a thing?” And let’s not forget the endless negotiations about screen time as if he’s drafting some sort of tween treaty worthy of international diplomacy.
It’s like I blinked, and now I’m parenting a mini-me who’s just like me—and unfortunately, that includes a generous helping of sass, emotional intensity, and deep existential questioning. You know what’s fun? Realizing that all the things about you that drove your parents a little nuts are now mirrored in your child. Full circle, baby. I didn’t realize I was raising a kid who would ask me questions like, “But what does it mean to really win at Monopoly?” when all I want to do is survive the game without flipping the board.
But here’s the thing: as confusing as this tween stage is, I can’t help but be in awe of him. He’s smart, witty, a little too clever for his own good—and honestly, he’s a walking reminder that I’m not just raising a kid. I’m raising a person—a person who’s figuring out life (and occasionally tormenting me with his newfound wisdom). And I don’t have all the answers anymore. In fact, most days I’m winging it with a confused look and a vague memory of what it felt like to be that age.
So here we are, navigating tweenhood together, one existential question and body spray overdose at a time. And though I miss the days of simple problems and quick fixes, I wouldn’t trade this phase for anything. Roland is still my kid—my brilliant, snarky, sometimes smelly mini-me—and I’m just along for the wild, hilarious ride.
So you’ve officially entered the zone where moods swing faster than Wi-Fi connections, and your once talkative kid now responds with nothing but grunts and eye-rolls here are some . But fear not! This guide is here to help you navigate the wild ride that is parenting tweens and teens. Sure, there may be moments where you're left wondering if you signed up for this (you did), but with the right resources, a lot of humor, and probably some snacks, we’re gonna make it through—mostly in one piece. Let’s dive in!
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