Saturday night - I get some cockamamie story from my oldest about how last minute she wants to spend the night somewhere and stuff wasn't making sense so I pulled the plug and went and fetched her from a local fast food chain, thereby interrupting her plans for the evening.
Reaction: Tears, you're so mean, you don't understand me, why don't you trust me, blah blah, drama drama, wah wah, more tears, slammed door, silence.
For some reason, now that there's a boyfriend involved I second guess anything. Not fair, I realize, but I also remember the stuff I pulled at her age. I'm trying to be at least half a step ahead. She's asked me more than twice if she can spend the night at said boyfriend's or vice versa.
So I get this bulletin today "My mom hates me".
<screech!> Say what??
Where we this dramatic?
I remember how things/emotions/events/reactions were ten times bigger than actual size when we were in high school, but jeez.
Now, I've tried to make my children's existance a fairly good one. They've been brought up in a home that is fear-free, comfortable and relatively fun to be in. That was one of the goals. The children have more "stuff" than I ever did, and I grew up in a semi-affluent family. The oldest has a good head on her shoulders, so I don't question things often. She's a good kid. But when I do...holy guacamole.
So I explain my job description again. Basically, my first objective/responsibility is to ensure her safety, health and welfare. The end product, or deliverable, would be a productive responsible contributing member of society.
She'll get over it.