Saturday, February 03, 2007
Lower Than a Hyena's Mom
I am a bad mom. (*Note to prospective employer who might read this today in search of weaknesses relevant to prospective job: I'm better away from home.)
Right now, it is early morning, and my 14 year-old kid is sitting at the breakfast bar, eating her breakfast alone, instead of enjoying my witty repartee while she eats. I feel bad for talking to you right now instead of her. But if I talk to her, she will probably answer with her mouth full, and I don't want to see that, so I'm sticking with you.
I can see her from around the corner, and she is very intently picking at her cereal with a fork, working and digging, digging and working.
"What are you doing?" I yell from the family room, rolling my chair so that I can peek around the corner again.
She breaks concentration, and yells back, "I'm fixing this," which of course, tells me nothing, a key goal of teenager-to-parent communication.
I watch. I don't have my contacts in yet, and her cereal appears to be chunky. And brown. "What are you eating?" I yell.
"I dont know. This roast beef stuff, I guess."
It takes me a minute to process this information: my kid is literally tearing at a piece of 5-day-old meat like a baby hyena, but a sophisticated baby hyena who is imbibing bottled water to cleanse the palate between chunks and using a fork to tear the flesh. If this were a show on Discovery, everyone would be asking, "Where is this young one's mother hyena? It's so sad when nature is so cruel."