In our house, the price of a .99 burrito just went up. Way up. Like may-take-months-to-pay-for-it way up.

February 19, 2015 in Crap I Was Considerate Enough to Not Bother You with Before Now.

It’s no secret.  I’ve never blown a baby through my lady parts.

Wanted to when I was in my 20’s…but it just never happened.

But I wanted a baby regardless.

As I aged, that desire took a back seat to life.  I was older.  I didn’t have the energy.  Then I found myself single and broker than broke.

Then I met a man I fell in love with and married.

Who had a 14-year-old girl.

Now that 14-year-old girl is a 16-year-old girl.

(A TEENAGER.)

(But I thought, “Here’s my chance at having that baby!  And she’s past the 4:00 am feedings and none of my shirts will have baby puke stains on them!”)

I’ve heard horror stories of how teenagers can drive you to the brink of gauging your eyes out.  And banging your head on the wall.  And questioning your mere existence.

(I’ve heard it said that the teenage years clearly explain why animals eat their young.)

(Yes.  I now get that.  It makes complete sense to me at times.)

When many heard I married a man with a teenager, I heard:

“Oh, girl.  I’ll pray for you.”

“Are you sure you want to jump in that fire?  Teenagers are a breed of their own nobody understands.”

“What the hell are you thinking?”

Teenager Jello

I laughed it off.

In the last almost 2 years of my marriage…I have prayed more than I ever have in my life, I can never quite understand what is going on in her head and I question what is in mine, and I’ve muttered under my breath as I raise my head from the cabinet I just slammed it down on, “what the hell are you thinking?”

(On a serious note…she’s exceptionally good to me.  She’s never been disrespectful, she’s never raised her voice, she’s always done anything I’ve asked without any eye-rolling or huffing and puffing.)

(But teenagers can be a mind game.  Last week, twice I heard, “I love you” without even saying it first.  Prior to that I was told I tell her I love her too much and I’m too affectionate.)

(I walk around in a daze with a puzzled look on my face most of the time.)

(But with her daddy?  Uh…yeah, she’s sweet.  But he gets more of an attitude than I ever do.)

(He handles it like a pro though.  I guess it’s the cop in him.)

(He’s told me handling teenagers can be a lot like wrangling criminals.)

Anyway.

Just before she started driving, she INSISTED (because remember…teenagers know everything and we’re just idiots) she was going to drive her dad’s F250 4-wheel drive truck.

(I think she just wanted to be the cool chick on campus with the big truck like the boys.)

I suggested against it because (and like a fool, I used reason with her):

1.  “Well, that’s a lot of truck for a new driver.  You could back up over a toddler and never know it then we have to live with that for the rest of our lives.”

2.  “It takes a lot of diesel to fill that thing up…are you sure that’s where you want your money to go?”

3.  “Trust me, it’s tough to whip that thing around in parking lots and you’ll have a hard time parking it.”

Of course, she disagreed with all of this.

Because she knows better and she knows more.

(Kinda like I did when I was a 16-year-old teenage girl.)

Ehem.

Anyway.

When the time came to get her license, we gave her the option of a cute little four door car or a cute little four door car.

(Actually it was my car.  The month I made the final payment was the month she started driving.)

(God does have a sense of humor.)

She chose the cute little four door car.

She drives that cute little four door car for about 8 months.  Then it needs a little work, so in the shop it goes.

After using her sales tactics and making promises and reminding us of how she’s been a safe driver for 8 months now and hasn’t even had a close call, her daddy agrees to let her drive that F250 4-wheel drive truck for 2 days.

Only to school and work and back home.

(No cruising town. No going to friends house. No nothing. School to work to home.)

It is to be parked in the back part of the school parking lot.  No one is to ride with her.  It is to be driven with extreme caution.

For what felt like 17 years, all we heard for those 2 days was how ‘it’s so easy for her to drive,’ she has no problems handling it,’ and ‘what’s the big deal with just letting me drive it more?’

Until the 2nd night.

She leaves work.  About 10:00 pm.

Her daddy’s phone rings. About 10:11 pm.

Before answering, he immediately says, “Damn it, she’s wrecked the truck.”

Daddy:  “Hello, sweetie…what’s up?”

Her:  “Daaaaaadddddy, I’m so sorry (sobsobsobsobslurpsobsnort), I’m so, so sorry!  I didn’t mean to, I was (sobsobsobsnortslurp) just hungry and I’m soooooooo sorry!”

(Most of this sounded like she was speaking with her head in a bowl of water.  Snorting, crying, slobbering, more snorting, gasping for air, etc.)

Daddy:  “Where are you!!!???”

Her:  “Taaaaaaacooooo Bell….can you come get me???!?!?”

I’m up and looking for my shoes and grabbing my purse and heading to the car.

He hangs up and follow me to the garage.  Neither of us say much.

The over confident, all-knowing teenager is sitting in his truck with her head down on the steering wheel, sobbing like she just got dumped for prom, when we drive up.

After she got off work, she was hungry.

(She works at a restaurant.)

So she decided she’d whip through Taco Bell and grab her a .99 burrito.

(Because they’re so healthy.)

She goes through the drive-thru, places her order and then makes that tiiiiight left hand turn around the building headed to the pick-up window.

The only thing?

She took that yellow pole that protects the corner of the building with her.

(Because well, 1. That’s a lot of truck for a new driver and 2. It’s tough to whip that thing around in parking lots.)

(Yep. We’ve heard that somewhere before, haven’t we?)

(Can’t. Imagine. Where.)

She gets home, cleans her face and apologizes profusely.

And then says those magic words: “Man, that thing is bigger than I thought…I like my car much better.”

(My butt cheeks clinched and it took every fiber in my being to not scream, “AH HA! TOLD YOU! IF YOU WOULD JUST LISTEN!”)

Her daddy is one who believes we’re all accountable for our actions. Mistakes, accidents or not. And says she needs to feel the pain of having to pay for an accident and maybe next time, she’ll listen and see we aren’t idiots.

(Ha! Who is that dude kidding!!??)

So, that .99 burrito is costing her part of the deductible on his truck.

(He wanted to go for the whole deductible, but got a little soft and felt half was fair.)

So, until the shop can take the truck and make it new again…here’s what we have sitting in our driveway.

And there’s still eye-rolling. There’s still huffing and puffing. There’s still the occasional attitude.

Because apparently, teenagers don’t only know everything and can rule the world on their own, they have a very short memory.

Until the bill comes due.

Taco Bell Truck

Carol February 19, 2015 at 10:51 am

When my sister married her second husband, they blended their 4 children under one roof. All 4 were teenagers. Oh, the stories they can tell. It’s now 26 years later and some of their kids have teenagers now. What goes around comes around! I myself have 4 children, and they were all perfect. No problems at all. hehehehe

Carrie February 19, 2015 at 11:15 am

My mother giggles every time I call her.

She gets a lot of laughs out of this.

And I have heard myself say more than 93 times: I CAN’T WAIT TILL SHE HAS A TEENAGER OF HER OWN.

I am beginning to love karma. =)

Lisa Hewitt February 19, 2015 at 1:27 pm

I started sweating when I read F-250.
I cannot/will not drive big trucks (and I cannot lie). sorry.
Is it just me or does that yellow look like a frowny face? With a little frowny face beside it?

Carrie February 19, 2015 at 2:14 pm

Trust me. Her daddy had a frowny face.

And she had a frowny face.

And according to him, she’s gonna have another one when he “taxes” her (as he likes to call it).

(And no…”I” don’t even drive it. It’s giant. It’s his truck. If anyone jacks it up…it should be him.)

Adelyn February 19, 2015 at 1:31 pm

Ok Wow. There is a lot here.

1. My daughter (8. Yes 8. ) asks why I tell her I love her “sooooooo” many times. Apparently it is too many. (To which I say tough. I am the mom and I will say it as much as I want to. 😉

2. I did the same thing…in my own vehicle… last year…had a $3,000 salad from Wendy’s due to the stupid yellow pole. Or my stupid big van. Or my stupid driving.

3. You now have on record that you were the softy. But then he is the law…so maybe you are always the softly.

4. You had a blog post! I know–pot, meet kettle–but still. I made me happy. Until I saw the picture of the truck. Ouch.
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Carrie February 19, 2015 at 3:00 pm

Oh, Adelyn…I am all but crying! #2 put me in tears!! I’m sorry to laugh, but a $3000 salad from Wendy’s is hysterical!

I know. I finally pulled up the blog again. With all intentions in the world to try to do it once a week.

But I think I’ve said that many, many times before.

You know…that life stuff? Yeah, it tends to get in the way.

=)

Adelyn February 19, 2015 at 5:05 pm

Oh, I know. I HAVE to refer to it as a $3000 salad and laugh or I would lose my mind… 😉
Adelyn recently posted..Weigh In: Week 8My Profile

Kelly February 19, 2015 at 3:53 pm

The greatest challenge as a parent is letting them fail. It can be an expensive experience but maybe just maybe they will give us old dumb parents a little credit and second guess their wisdom…lol

Carrie February 20, 2015 at 7:24 am

You’re right. It’s tough, but in a way (as evil as it might sound), there is some reward when all you have to do is look at them and THEY know and YOU know THEY know you were right all along.

But heaven forbid they actually admit it. =)

Melinda Stanton February 20, 2015 at 5:56 am

Poor girl! Y’all are very wise parents, though…,as a mom of (really good) grown kids, and as a teacher (of some kids whose parents taught the hard lessons of responsibility, and others who, not so much!) I can tell you, lessons like this will pay off! Then you’ll get the same reward as your parents do when she tells stories of how you were so mean and that was the best thing for her!

Carrie February 20, 2015 at 7:26 am

I’m telling you…my mom all but rolls on the floor kicking and screaming with laughter anytime I tell her stuff like this.

And then I get the old, “Don’t you remember when you did that?!?”

My reply is always the same: BUT IT DOESN’T MAKE IT RIGHT!

Then we both laugh. Her still harder than me, though. =)

Amber February 20, 2015 at 2:08 pm

Eek! I cannot drive trucks. My husband has one and I will NEVER drive it, because I WILL crash it.

My son will be 13 on March 2nd. Eek. My daughter acts like a teenager sometimes.
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Bobbi February 22, 2015 at 2:14 pm

Sonic got me in my truck when I was in HS.
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