The mystery of the teenage brain

We took advantage of the near ghost town-like atmosphere on Super Bowl Sunday to make the trek into downtown Denver to have dinner at a great Chinese restaurant. (Yes, we are the most un-cool people on the planet because we could not care less about a football game.) We sailed down Interstate 25 to get there and sailed right back home with an average of five to 10 cars present along any given stretch of the road.

On the drive home, I thought about my schedule for the week. Ross is playing guitar for the high school musical which debuts on the 12th so rehearsals are gearing up, with three this week and three next week. The kids will be at school until 9:00 p.m. those days, so there are plans to make sure they get dinner at school. I mentioned that I needed to add my name to the food committee volunteer list.

Ross: “Mom, you really don’t need to do that because they’re just gonna….”

And literally, most of what I heard that followed was, “blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…” with the underlying message being


Me: “Clearly, you and I didn’t get the same email because they’re so anxious for volunteers they set up a schedule with specific requests for help on Signup Genius.”

Ross: (No response).

So yesterday, I’m passing out pizza slices to hungry kids in cute, fun costumes and Ross is nowhere, so I’m thinking he’s not going to come through the line because I’m there, except it’s not like him to turn down pizza, so I’m wondering what he’ll do. Finally, I look over, and at the tail end of the line, there’s Ross with two senior flute players and two others, yuking it up to beat all. He sees me, waves and calls out, “Hi, Mom!”

He repeated the greeting when he got to the pizza station and as he was nearing the end of the line, he turned, waved and said, “Bye, Mom!”

I will never understand the brain of a teenage boy.


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