Good Lord, is there anyone out there who wants an 11-year-old? I am completely sick of the meltdowns, hormones, questions and "I'm tired but I'm not going to bed early" crap. Here is an example. After dinner this evening, I asked Abbey to take her brother downstairs to help him play MarioKart. You would think that I asked her to cut her toes off with a butter knife. She actually told me that she had spent an hour with her brother over the weekend and she should be allowed to not have to deal with it during the weekdays.
The thing that drives me the most nuts is that she will finally give me a break from the Oscar Award-winning drama performance and take a shower. Once her shower is over, she waltzed her little butt downstairs and played with her brother. What the hell happens in there? Is she using some kind of special mood-changing water? I get nine miles of bad road before the shower, and he gets to play MarioKart with his sister after the shower. There is something terribly wrong with this picture. Why do I have to suffer?
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