Parents of tweens and teens frequently sound insane.

In search of your daily dose of parental optimism? Uh-oh.

Positivity is good; I feel you. But this rant is for parents who utter the most INSANE drivel to adolescents who have not yet escaped over the penitentiary barbed wire.

(By “insane” I mean two things. There are the mostly sensible responses made by parents which penetrate the Generation Me mind filter and are “interpreted” to be psycho. Then there are the truly ignorant exclamations which result from being caught in your teen's hormonal voodoo web.)

Aristotle noted young people are "in a condition like permanent intoxication." These exchanges confirm it (and remember, you’re on MY side).

Me: It’s like twenty degrees out—don’t you think you should wear at least a hoodie?
Tweenager (hostile): Stop punishing me! I’m not a baby. And who says “hoodie?”

Who DOES say hoodie? Note to self: never cross sacred frostbite boundaries. What’s next? Believing maternal affection is not criminal?

Teen Son: Can you make me a bagel sandwich?
Me: Sure…how ‘bout a little hug for mama today?
Teen Son (nostrils flare, eyes widen): You’re just CREEPY.

Even though moments of disconnect and weirdness are now the norm, they still catch me off guard. Misunderstandings seem inevitable on otherwise calm sunshiny mornings of pancakes and patience at Emo Central. The mere suggestion of protection or any hint of concern for my kids' well being is perceived as invasive helicoptering. A grateful hug after mom’s delicious breakfast? Hovering assault! My embrace now registers as an emotional chokehold so hugs are on vacation with the Pokemon cards.

"Abandoned” rings too melodramatic but "loss" doesn't capture the experience. Abandonment may explain why due to rejection, mental cruelty, and emotional deprivation parents are provoked to fire back verbal zingers to perplex their offspring. The zingers may scar them for life or (WORSE!) invite secret youTube footage of parents under the influence of adolescent intoxication (you should check your kid's youTube account this minute).

My sister has teens in the house and generously shared a zinger.

Puttering in her kitchen, she was busily tidying the house for a dinner party when she caught her manchild red handed.

Sister: What do you think you’re doing there?
Manchild: (indignant): Throwing away my wrappers and this Coke can.
Sister: (beyond frenzied) WHAT IN THE WORLD!?! You know we’re having company! Take that trash out to the can in the garage! Ahhhhhhh! Don’t waste the garbage! DON’T WASTE THE GARBAGE!

A translation for parents with peerless emotional health:

“Our guests will be arriving soon. Have some sensitivity! I’m beside myself, and the house must look like a 'reveal' on HGTV. There is NEVER crap in the trash receptacle for the reveal!”

Parents occasionally sound insane because at some point, the old rules for nurturing--rules for interpersonal communication and affection--were thrown out like garbage.

There is so much paradox coupled with Borderline Personality Disorder. "Leave me alone! Hey, you! You with the creepy hugs...stop ignoring me!"

The new rule of life--the new dance--is so much more mosh than “the cabbage patch.”

Cohabitation with manipulative permanently intoxicated young people is tricky. Innocent inquiries feel like assault to them, loving gestures are rebuffed. Our kids keep us so out of step daily that eventually we snap. It is as if they are desperate for us to join them in the intoxication.

Some of us do join. After all, they may have temporarily fallen out of love with us, but they are still our drunk little babes.

So we stagger around like devoted patrons of the tavern. We stagger even though what our hearts truly desire is to dance a waltz or a tango. Any dance with a shred of dignity. But dignity is the last thing we need.

And we just ask that they not waste the garbage.

Michele has a husband, two children, a master's in counseling, and a blog at hellolovelychild.blogspot.com.