You’re too sensitive, stop taking things so personally

Caution: eyeroll emoji overload (sorry not sorry) 🙄

You have been warned. 😛

At no time in my life have I ever felt more overly sensitive about every little thing than while raising teenagers.

Shocking, I know. 🙄

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Summer so far: lifted restrictions, new hobbies and a little update

This is the first summer in which neither kid is playing baseball. They both started with t-ball at age 4… They are now 13 and a half and 16.

Because we are still in the slowly emerging opening up of lockdown (stage 2 with stage 3 happening in a week) not much activity is available for them. My son picked up golf and is looking for a part-time job, but my daughter is in that tricky age where she’s too young to get a job and there aren’t too many options available right now for volunteering and other things.

So summer so far is looking very similar to the last 16 months of lockdown… Kids staring at screens.

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Heartbreak

My son’s last quadmester (4th semester consisting of two subjects due to remote/virtual learning) began a couple of weeks ago. It will run until the end of June, probably online. And then, he’ll have graduated grade 10 from inside of his bedroom. Thank you Mr. Trudeau and Mr. Ford. You are both equally to blame. (Don’t at me unless you’re Justin or Doug, I’m not going to rant and debate about this today.)

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Good vs bad rambling/ranting

I am cranky and fed up.

Sorry not sorry.

I realized something: I need to say and do things that are helpful to me and others, not rant about my cranky-ness. But is it healthy to just swallow a bad mood, and let it fester (and grow) inside?

Of course not.

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Attacked by hair styling implements

This is what happens when you arm a teen girl with a brush and hair elastics.

Or when you sit your sorry adult ass on the sofa for a moment, unsuspecting of any imminent hair styling adventures about to take place on your noggin.

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Fidget toys for children with anxiety

Yesterday, when I left for a shopping trip, there was an Amazon package on the front step. I picked it up without looking who it was for and put it on the dining room table. I knew it wasn’t for me, I rarely shop at Amazon. I figured it was for one of the men.

When I got home the package was still on the table, unopened. I thought, it must be for my daughter. Sure enough, when she arrived home from school and upon completion of the puppy-mauling-attack, she opened her package and took out the following items:

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