Like her father before her, my 13-year-old daughter prefers to have many study spaces, none of which are her actual desk. That, apparently, better serves as a platform to build mountains of clothes on. One night last week, I come home from work, walk into my bedroom, and see Elena intently studying. Though this is a welcome sight, something is slightly askew. She has a napkin stuck to her nose, used to staunch a nose bleed, I assume.
“Are you okay?”
“Yup.”
“Did you have a nose bleed?”
“Yup, but that was a while ago.”
“Oh. Why is there still a napkin attached to your nose?”
She thinks about it, but makes no sudden moves to remove it.
“Because I’m lazy,” she explains matter-of-factly, chuckling to herself, before returning to her reading.
Lazy is a big theme these days, and not just in surreal matters like nose-bleed-napkin disposal. And you know what? To my surprise, I’m kind of amused by it too. Perhaps I’m depriving Elena of some important life lessons by not being stricter, but she is a teenager after all, so laziness may be developmentally—and certainly culturally—appropriate. Also, she has a good deal of day-to-day pressure on her both from school work and from (how do I say this in a word?) adolescence. All in all, I really like that she has a facility to amuse herself.
I’d be lying if I didn’t also report that, when those clothing mountains start peaking, my wife and I—but especially my wife—come down pretty hard on her for not taking better care of her stuff. But the boom-bust cycle of her room’s orderliness has to be balanced against a respect for natural inclinations—especially when they’re buoyed with humor and perspective.
And so, I still can’t believe I did this, but after she went back to her home work, I proceeded just as mater-of-factly to the business of getting dinner ready without any further comment about the paper goods attached to her face.
Eric Messinger is the editor of New York Family. You can reach him at [email protected].
