They say the terrible twos
are the worst,
but I beg to disagree.
Nothing compares to the tantrums
of the tyrannical threes.
Except--no! Wait! I'm wrong.
How could I forget?
Dealing with a 15-year old
is the most trying time
of parenthood yet.



Anything I ask of him
meets an unearthly groan,
and sarcasm sharpens his every word
when I speak to him on the phone.
There's nothing I could do
to please him,
nothing I could say
that he wants to hear.
And I can't wait
until eighteen arrives
to make his attitude disappear.