So, there are a couple of reasons this can be happening. One~Heavenly Father knows that, like child birth, it eventually has to get SO UNREASONABLY HORRID that you have NO QUALMS about letting the 8 lb 4 oz human OUT the same way the tiny micro-organism got IN.
Your nose can't sprawl any wider across your face (I had abnormal nose expansion~seriously huge honker~baby almost birthed out of a nostril, as it was wider than my birth canal) You can't pop any more skin (had dreadful stretch marks, too~as opposed to splendid stretch marks~but we've already discussed this topic) And you can't continue to survive on a teaspoon full of air for one...more...moment... (gasp, gasp, wheeze, gulp)
Second possibility~I have been given a faulty child. Sure, he looked normal when we got him~the packaging gave no sign that the merchandise was defective. It took 19 years to figure out he was missing a few very key pieces of character, including but not limited to~compassion, sympathy, empathy, selflessness, obedience, foresight and the good sense that God should have given him. Too late to send him back. (Exchange policy clearly stated at time of receipt.)
Last~it's possible that Heavenly Father is very practical and loves me a great deal. Something I've always known, but now it's deeply cemented in my mind. He knew my motherly instincts would overwhelm and nearly annihilate me at this Christmas season, so he allowed son to be delightful...most of the time...over the last month. To get those vexing tears and tender emotions out of the way.
Once that was done, he let the character flaws overrun the teenaged body, and morph him into "Gooseturd boy" so as to make the parting not so much "sweet sorrow," but more "absence can't HELP but make the heart grow fonder."
And so, my friends, think of me from now on when you hear the term, "Kick 'em to the curb," because THAT is EXACTLY what we intend to do.
Our plan is to pull up to the MTC (missionary training center)...slowing down, but not necessarily stopping..then I'll reach across the boy, pull the handle and shove the door open with one hand, while keeping the other hand on the wheel, foot to the pedal and continuing to look out my front windshield. Sterling will then hop out and jog along side the car, pop the trunk, yank out the luggage and the son, tossing them both into a pile on their rumps (yes, luggage has a rump) on the snowy curb, jump back into the passenger side of the vehicle, and all without even breaking stride or a sweat.
We've practiced and we've got it down to 13 seconds~give or take a couple.
But lest ye think we are hard hearted and unfeeling, we fully intend to wave goodbye.
And THIS is why I am a weighty contender for Mother of the Year. (I could use your vote.)