by TBAcademics

Created on: July 01, 2009

My mom is my best friend. The only problem is I'm seventeen, and she's forty-something; so, compatibility issues run rampant between us. My mom is my best friend. The only problem is as a "military kid," who has moved more times than I care to keep up with, Mom won this title by default, because we never stayed in one spot long enough for me to develop lasting friendships with peers. My mom is my best friend. The only problem is that I now have a boyfriend, with whom I think I'm in love with. My mom and step-dad disapprove of him; however, I find it ludicrous that she NOW make strenuous attempts to step in, as ... a parent. For God's sake, she's my best friend, which is why I love and hate her, embrace and resent her, commend and condemn her, all leading to our current conflict. I CONSEQUENCE HER. When she musters up the audacity to (suddenly) make up rules, tries feverishly (... and with all futility) to enforce them, and perhaps, most offensively, threatens to punish ME, I attack her with a vengeance. Who does she think she is? .... my mother, or something? I'll teach her to stay in her place, which is by all means, EQUAL, and might I add... LEVEL TO THE GROUND, with me.

Having an adult best friend has its perks and privileges. Mom, of course, works; therefore, she treats me to those things that most teen girls, like myself, deem necessary, i.e. my Coach bag, Prada accessories, skinny jeans, paired with a ton of unnecessary; nonetheless, fun things. I am glad to reciprocate with a service, virtually priceless, consisting of talk therapy, listening and sympathy. Mom is endlessly complaining and crying about marriage with my step-father, financial woes and unhealed wounds from her divorce with my dad. Unable to sustain lasting friendships with adult women, due to our transiency, she has given me the role of confidante, her secret-keeper. For this, she owes me. Instead of being able to run, jump and play like a silly kid, I've become a rather competent, experienced shrink, "doing time" as Mom's constant companion.

Somedays, I feel like I've enlisted in the army. Raucous arguing has set the tone of our household. Usually, they fight about money, meaning the lack of it. But, occasionally, they fight about ME. How must a husband feel to have his "competition" living, breathing and sleeping under the same roof, with him? Naturally, as a teen, I push boundaries, from neglecting to do chores, to taking annoyingly long, costly showers to constantly asking for

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