P,
As one who was just today called a witch with a capital "B" by my not quite eleven year old son, I used to be one of those parents who thought it just couldn’t happen to them. Oh dearest P, each time I think this parenting thing must ease up, as the cherubs should know mother cannot support another furrow in her brow, they strike out again and force me to continue my own little war on terror.
I had supposed that living in a state of constant fear might give the cherubs another target for their "affections" and allow their mother to live in peace. Your friend’s experience makes clear that is just another hopeless fantasy. It does occur to me, after all, that I still occasionally exhibit behaviors similar to the fifteen year old with my own mother. Dearest P, I’m afraid, like the rest of the world, we are forced to fight our own personal war on terror for the rest of our lives.
Would love to continue our engaging dialogue but am plotting my own retaliation against eldest. Then have the conference call with Tony Blair to share newest ideas. As we have common goals of destruction of will and containment, it should be productive.
Faithfully,
C.
