This morning as all the gels were slowly and with many jibes being made to get themselves dressed, breakfasted and pointed in the direction of school, I could tell that the eleven year old’s internal barometer was dropping like a stone.  Although she got out of bed readily enough, it wasn’t long before she was noodging her sisters and talking back to her mother.   It wasn’t long after that before she was arguing over sufficiency of her book report on a biography of Julius Caesar and whether she had brushed her hair and teeth satisfactorily.  And by the time the gels were headed out the door – after some very cold words from Self regarding her treatment of those around her, she was in full-cry meltdown mode.

Sigh.

As she stumped off to the garage, I couldn’t help thinking again that dealing with a kid on the very edge of puberty is a pretty sticky business.  On the other hand, the more academic part of me is absolutely fascinated watching the ol’ hormones starting to kick in. 

I feel rayther like a storm-chaser watching a mesocyclone getting ready to throw its weight about. 

Goin’ green.

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