I am so exhausted of the task of parenting my brother. Seriously, teenage boys at this age are just ridiculous on so many levels, especially my brother, for whom simple tasks such as cleanliness, communication, doing homework instead of playing video games so you don't flunk school, and attentiveness are far too complex. I'm sending any sons that wish to be born to me to military boarding school from the point they hit puberty until their high school graduations. And that is only a slight exaggeration. It is completely understandable that my mom is consistently on the verge of stabbing somebody.
The other day, she and I were in Barnes and Noble and she looked at an endcap of parenting books and gave the largest, most dramatic sigh that has ever come from her lungs.
Sheebs: Maybe I should get a book on parenting teenagers.
Me: Teenage boys or teenage girls or both?
Sheebs: Teenage boys... I didn't say I needed to find a book called "How to Parent Your 36-Year-Old," did I?
He is pacing around the yard picking up pieces of hay right now. Awesome. Good thing the neighbors already know we're fucking crazy thanks to my parents' failed attempt at a little custody arrangement we like to call "Bird-Nesting." (I was telling someone who also has divorced parents about that the other day, and he said, "How is that real!? How are you even a well-adjusted human being?!")
Schultz: This project is worth 1,000 points.
Barry: That is 200 current events.
Me: Can I do 200 current events instead of the project?
Schultz, ragefully: NO!
[Because Barry and I did not annoy him enough by mentioning NAMBLA numerous times yesterday?]
In other Schultz news:
Schultz: Aren't you two supposed to be going home?
Diana: I am ignoring you right now.
Me: If we stay here and talk, does [teacher whose room we were in front of] get pissed at you?
Schultz: Yes... No. You guys will understand someday.
Diana: Oh, when we are grown-ups?
Me: Nope, when we are Deans of Students, we will understand.