It happens twice a year, every year. Final week of school meltdowns. For both of us.
Add in the tween component and it is an episode of the Real Housewives of Bayabronx.
I hate studying with her. I hate it when you ask her what we need to study and she has no clue. I hate when you ask her a question, give her the answer, immediately ask her the question again and she stares at your forehead like the answer is gonna Ouija its way on there.
Sir Francis Drake? Columbus? Spain's Queen and King? Nada. Zilch.. Zero.
Then she cries and balls up her fist and I can see the vein in her throat pulsing.
I hate she makes me angry. I hate that I yell.
Patience wears thin at this time in the semester.
I hate this age of hers. It adds flair to an already heightened event.
When she rolls her eyes and mumbles under her breath...
Tweens, just like wire hangers, deserve a special place in hell.
And so tonight, just like every other week of finals, she cries and yells and adds phrases such as I "ruin her life".
And I turn into my mother pointing out I had "no one" to help me study and she is ever so fortunate.
And we sleep without another word, between Columbus, the Spanish Royalty and me feeling it has all sunken down with the Santa Maria and we just need to make it to shore.