Oh, the irony! Or maybe it’s hypocrisy? Either way, as I was tucking my teenage boys into bed . . .

First, yes, they still let me do that. Correction, they still expect me to do that and don’t you dare tell them they’re “too old.” I believe when your dad walks out on you, at any age prior to adulthood, you’re allowed to cling to whatever childhood routine keeps the ground firmly beneath your feet.

Anyway, as I was tucking my teenage boys into bed tonight, my youngest (14) decided he was in the mood to talk. If this were ten years ago, even five years ago, I would’ve accused him of trying to avoid bedtime – like asking for a drink of water or going to the bathroom or begging for one more story. But considering how rarely my teenagers talk (let alone talk willingly) to me, I know better than to shut him down. So, I made myself comfortable on the side of his bed, and prepared to hang on his every word.

(sigh) It’s three weeks into the new school year – his first year in high school – and he hates school. Fast-forward several minutes, during which I asked all kinds of questions, trying to figure out what he means by “hates.” Turns out it’s a combination of not having any of his middle school friends in any of his classes this year and not being challenged by the content in a few of his classes. So, we talked through his schedule, searching for some redeeming quality in each class.

I busted my perky little posterior trying to find the positive, eventually preaching a mini sermon on taking responsibility for his own happiness. “Change your situation or change your attitude,” I said, “but the school year is too long to start hating it on week three.” In exchange, I offered to go to his guidance counselor and explore switching one class.

I worried, momentarily, that I’d be seen as a helicopter parent, but I know what’s it’s like to feel as if you have nothing to look forward to. I’ve told more than one friend this week, “I hate my life.” And my kids aren’t blind. They know mom is different than she was two years ago. So, I paused my TED talk and admitted to my son that I have these feelings, too, but I don’t want him hating his life, so it’s my job to give him the tools to improve it or, at the very least, improve his attitude about it.

He hugged me hard and said, “I’m sorry, mom. I don’t know how you do it. You don’t get to change your schedule, ever, do you?”

I tried to laugh it off. “Hey, at least I don’t have homework!” I said. But my son persisted. “Sure you do,” he said. “You’ve got all the stuff you do around the house every day. And that never stops.”

At this point, my other son is poking his head around the corner, asking when I’m coming to say goodnight to him. The dogs are asking to go outside. And I do have homework – dishes and laundry I need to get done, before I tuck myself in.

There were hugs and smiles and reassurances that we’d talk more tomorrow. “I love my life,” I said, as I kissed him on the head. And, for tonight, for my boys, I mean it.