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Most kids don't start saying full sentences until they are about 2-years-old, according to the National Institutes of Health.
Like, say, watching where I walk so as not to trip on the loose step in my stairwell nearly every day. (First favorite is sleeping, third favorite is blogging — get your minds outta the gutter.) I was texting up a storm with my mom about my favorite topic: gossiping about my older sister, while also juggling a few scattered texts from friends about that evening’s plans.My ex never remarried, and I finally found my soulmate about a year after my divorce. He has started a pattern of not talking to his parents for months at a time when he’s mad. His father is hurt, too, and his stepdad would like to throttle him — not really, but you know what I mean. Dear Mom: Your son is having a tantrum, grabbing his blankie and disappearing into the closet. They are all about getting what they want/need right now.This time it was over me telling him that he needed to do one chore and pay rent. This is the second time he has stopped talking to me and his father. The reason he is behaving this way for the second time is because when he did it before, it worked. The message from all of the parents in his life should be, “I want the very best for you. You can do it, and we’re in your corner.” And then you should stay calm, and let him find his way back into the fold. You need to take a deep breath, look in the mirror, and tell yourself not to surrender your emotional life to a teenager. He ordered only appetizers for us both (not asking what I wanted). He chose the restaurant, and ordered an entree and a dessert.The realization dawned on me pretty instantly, and while I debated going with a “Oh, I just bought this new bra, what do you think?” I knew that my mom was too smart for that to work.
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(After all, this is a woman who I’ve written about multiple times on the Internet for giving the best dating and sex advice of all time.) I instead went for a combo of “OH MY GOD THAT WASN’T FOR YOU G2G BYEEEEE” and threw my phone across the room into my laundry basket, hoping that it had somehow morphed into a time machine since the last time I washed and folded.