I am writing today with a very heavy heart.  My dear, dear Mini Me is very ill.  He is suffering from a terrible case of what is known is Senioritis, and he has one of the worst cases I have ever seen.  Senioritis causes its victims to not want to do things like their school work, homework, go to school at all, or anything that they are required to do by anyone of any authority whatsoever. It can also cause strange psychotic outbursts for little or no reason at all.  I thought Senioritis struck after the first semester of the senior year, but Mini Me contracted it early.  Actually, Mini Me contracted it in the fourth grade, but it could not be diagnosed as Senioritis at that age.  Anyway, yesterday afternoon, we were all minding our own beeswax.  JC was working at his desk.  I was ironing.  Yes, people. I iron.  I actually enjoy ironing.  I turn on whatever show I am watching and I iron away.   So…I was ironing.  The Middle Child was upstairs, singing, or doing whatever The Middle Child does upstairs in her room. Hell, people, I will get brutally honest here,  she could have been watching triple x rated porn for all I know, but I seriously doubt that.  I will try to remember to go check her history later. I said I would try.   The Baby was playing on his appropriately parental-controlled  iPad in the den.  Norman Bates, um, sorry, I mean Mini Me came stomping upstairs and practically growled and gnashed his teeth at me before snarling out, “IS THE BONFIRE STILL HAPPENING IF IT’S RAINING?”  The youth group at our church was supposed to have a bonfire from 5 to 7.  I was a little startled.  “I have no idea”, I replied as he stomped into the kitchen.  I heard JC tell him to take the initiative and text his youth director and ask her, which Norman, um, sorry, Mini Me did not like.  “NO! I DON’T HAVE HER NUMBER! YOU DO IT! STOP BEING A DICK!”   I was more than startled.  I walked into the kitchen.  “What is your problem?” I asked.  “NOTHING IS MY PROBLEM! DAD IS BEING A DICK!”  “Stop saying that.  He is not, and that is not appropriate language.” I said.  “YES HE IS! AND I DON’T CARE! DICK! ASSHOLE! DICK! ASSHOLE! DICK! SHIT! DAMMIT! ASSHOLE!” Mini Me spat at JC and me.  I just looked at him.  I saw this 5 foot 10 inch little boy standing there, stomping his foot, having a temper tantrum, yelling out these words, trying to get a rise out of us.  It was almost funny.  No, it was funny, but I could not laugh.  So I did not laugh.  I sent his ass to his room.  “Go to your room right now,” I said, “and I don’t care if there is a bonfire–your ass is going nowhere.”  Mini Me stomped off downstairs, yelling, “I DON’T CARE! WHATEVER! DICK! ASSHOLE! SHIT! DAMMIT!”  I looked at JC.  We rolled our eyes at each other.  We heard the door slam downstairs.  “Did we do anything to warrant that?” I asked.  “No.” he said.  JC went back to his work and I went back to the ironing board.  The Middle Child came downstairs.  “What just happened?” she asked me.  “I am still trying to figure that out,” I said.  We did not hear from Mini Me for about an hour.  Then I got a text asking me what was for dinner.  A little while later, I got an apology.  I told him he needed to apologize to his dad.  He said, “I WILL NOT APOLOGIZE TO HIM. HE PROVOKED ME.”  I said, “Well, then don’t apologize to me.  Nobody provoked  you.  You do not speak to us like that.”  He went back into his room and slammed the door.  The next time I saw him, he was not feeling well.   I offered him some Aleve, but which he turned down.  The next time I saw him, was at dinner, and he had calmed down.   I am not sure if he ever apologized to JC or me.  I think that by then, we had both just moved on.  I happen to know that there is another component of Senioritis.  It is the stress of the college applications and the essays and the deadlines…..and the trying to figure out what to do with the rest of your life at the ripe old age of 17.  I am trying to deal with this component without winding up on the 11:00 news.  I am trying to be understanding and overlook behavior that I normally otherwise would not.  I. Am. Trying. But Dammit! That Mini Me that I love so very much! Sometimes….sometimes….I swear he is surely gonna be the death o’me!!! 😉  and I know that Mothah thought the very same thing about ME, so I need not wonder where lil’ ole Mini Me got ‘it’ from…..