Friday, May 18, 2012

Man Your Battle Stations

I swear General Eisenhower didn't do near as much planning for the D-Day landings as I've done for the princess' prom.  Please, Lord, just help me make it through this weekend without strangling the teen or locking her in her room or polishing off a whole bottle of wine all by my lonesome.  The husband is a wily one, heading to Texas for business almost a week ago, having to *sacrifice* and miss all the prom hoopla.  I'm thinking he owes me BIG TIME for single parenting through this little ordeal.

Thus far I've spent $930 for prom.  I still have to cough up the cash for a spray tan and mani/pedi today.  Plus a taxi ride or commuter train ticket to get her from London back out to the 'burbs since we only have the Hummer limo for a ride into the city.  I had originally made a salon appointment because the teen wanted her hair up.  Then she decided it would look better down, so I cancelled the appointment.  Yesterday she was making noise about some friend getting her hair done at the salon and I just ignored it.  

The teen resembles a cross between some pedigreed poodle and junkyard mongrel - she looks pretty and is sweet most of the time but will turn into a snarling, rabid beast at the drop of a hat to get what she wants.  It's all about knowing how to handle these little flights of fancy without resorting to shouting.  And the liberal use of profanity.  And threatening to sell her to the local gypsies if she doesn't quick pecking at me like a chicken.  Because living with teenage hormones and perimenopausal hormones under one roof is just a barrel of frickin' monkeys.

The teen is all about what her friends are doing.  This one got eyelash extensions.  That one is getting her makeup professionally done.  I don't think she's trying to one up them or even keep up with them.  Their diva ways just plant these ideas in her head so that it becomes the whole Hey, that's cool, I want that, too.  As my husband will attest - the absent husband that bailed on me to deal with all of this by myself - I have a tendency to throw kerosene on the fire.  I told the teen that as soon as money starts to grow on trees THEN we'll do every little thing her heart desires.  Until then, just be glad you're getting a really nice junior year prom experience without your mom requiring a straight jacket, psychotropic drugs and a bed at the local loony bin.  You're gonna need to be kind and appreciative to your <mostly sane> mom so she is willing to roll out of bed at 3:00 am Sunday morning to drive you home from the after party.   

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