Oh, sweet child 'o mine

I don't know what Axel Rose of Guns & Roses was thinking when he sang this song, but it certainly wasn't about one of my kids. Ain't she sweet? No, she certainly ain't. I'm talking about the one known as the Nasty One a/k/a the Complainer. Well Miss nearly-17-year old Nasty is on the outs, not only with me, but with all her siblings. Everyone is petrified to go into her locked room to look for things in the morning. It's like going into the den of Attila the Hun or worse.

Last week my son complained - "The sock bin is in her room and I don't want to go in"

That's when mother comes to the rescue. I pound on her door at 7:00 am when everyone else but her is getting ready for either work or school.

"OPEN THE DOOR!"

"FUCK YOU"

"LOOK, I KNOW YOU HAVE THE SOCK BIN IN THERE, AND I NEED IT NOW!!!

"SHUT UP - YOU STUPID WOMAN"

And then the door to the room opens, like in a haunted house. slowly. and creaking. And then the sock bin with its socks comes flying out of the room. Then the door bangs shut.

Teens are creepy.

My Good Daughter, who has the misfortunate to share her room with Nasty was crying this morning.

"Did you buy me (feminine) pads last week, because I never saw them"

"I certainly did"

The rest of the pack in my house insisted that Nasty had found them and horded them for herself. But no one was brave enough to confront her.

My good daughter complained bitterly - "she comes in at 3 in the morning. Smokes in the room, turns on the tv and talks on the phone. And she wakes me up and I can't go back to sleep."

There was obviously nothing else left to do but get Big Brave Mama to come to the rescue. I marched upstairs. Nasty was standing by her locked closet.

"Open it up" I ordered

"Fuck you, I have nothing in there. I didn't take her pads." She made these gestures that looked part rapper, part Jackie Chan.

"Open it up" - I said, undaunted by her gestures.

She unlocked her closet and flung the door open with the doors coming off its hinges and crashing onto the floor. There were no pads to be found in her closet. She was innocent of theft. Everyone laughed at her broken door and she then asked me for the number of the local social worker. I gave it to her. She simply must have had enough of familial abuse and probably wants to go to a foster home or a youth hostel.

I wondered what she would say to the social worker, exactly. Maybe - could she please find her a place where she can come home at 3:00 am, turn on the tv loud, yak on the phone until 4:00 am and wake up everyone in the family? Hey, this is Israel - the land of miracles. Anything is possible.