Dear Teenagers of Mine,
I have spent a very long 3 minutes trying to recall my own teenage years for your benefit and the time has proven to be fruitful. Fortunately for you. I recall clearly that I took a frequent leave of common sense, was irritable to and annoyed by pretty much everyone within striking distance at least once a day, and perpetually left messes for others to clean up. Like I said, it is fortunate for you that I remember these things well enough. You will be treated mercifully.
Today, an elderly woman complimented one of you. She thinks you are the nicest young person she ever met, gush, gush, gush. Of course, I agree with her. Sometimes. And sometimes, I have to count to ten to allow the temptation to drag you out of the house by your hair to pass. Be warned: I may someday fail to count. It's not that you are bad children. You are not particularly bad. It is just that you do take a leave of your senses more frequently than you used to. I hear that this is normal... or rather, common. I suppose it is.
At any rate, you are currently in the doghouse because your brain fell out of your head somewhere between sunrise and lunchtime. I don't know where you dropped it. It's probably with the dirty sock that you used as a bookmark and then accused me of not washing promptly enough. Incidentally, did that conversation really happen? That was a little bizarre. I expect that you will, as usual, quickly forget that the incident ever happened, find ways to distract me from my wrath, and resume your rightful place as one of the treasures of my heart. This usually happens after I feed you the 17 sandwiches your body requires to run efficiently. And no, you can't have soda. Because I said so.
I'm going to cut this short now and make it simple for you. Coop Mama does a much better job. Read her letter after this. Here's the bottom line:
I love you so much that I'm willing to let you think I'm ridiculous if it means that you grow up to be a good person. Now... go clean your room.