"Parenting" a 12-year-old at 26.

Sometimes it's strange to be a 'parent' to a 12 year old.  Especially when you are only 26.  I was 14 when Hannah was born.  FOURTEEN.  Thats nothing.  I was right out of 8th grade when Matt was welcoming his first born into the world.  My biggest worries were if my mom would start letting me wear makeup in High School, and when Mariah Carey would come out with her next album.

My brother Jake and I are 11 years apart.  Which is only 3 years different from the age difference between Hannah and I.   Technically Hannah could be my sister.  And if she was my sister, I could act more like I act when I'm around my siblings with her, but I can't because she is not my sister - she is my step-child - and apparently its not acceptable to punch your children when they are acting like idiots. (which I so do with my brother).

So, needless to say, being a parent-figure to a 12 year old is sometimes very difficult for me.  I love Hannah like she is my own child, but technically she couldn't even be my own child, so I think my brain is having a hard time distinguishing the difference between her and my 15 year old brother. :)

For example:  Since becoming a mother, I've developed a new habit:  Cleaning.  I guess its a good idea to maintain a sanitary and tidy environment for your children to avoid germs, tripping hazards, and laziness.  Well, this new habit has been a long time in the running.  I was the girl who used to let my dog lick off my plates and sleep in my bed.  I only did laundry if absolutely necessary and thought it perfectly acceptable to throw all colors of clothing in the same load.  Who cares if they were ruined? Perfect excuse to go shopping, right?  So, back to the story.  Every single day, while I'm 'enjoying' my cleaning, it seems that I find nasty, smelly, sweaty, balled-up, pink-toed socks on the living room floor.   SERIOUSLY.  I'm not even exaggerating.  And time after time I have requested that the socks be picked up, and they eventually are.  But they always end up back in the same spot the next day.  It's seriously enough to make me go mad.  I'm not even kidding.  And these are the times that I have to try my hardest to remember, that Hannah, who is only 3 years younger than my brother, is not my sibling, and its not ok to go right over to her and punch her in the arm as hard as I possible can and yell, "GOD DAMMIT PICK UP THOSE NASTY SOCKS".

Haha...It sounds really funny right now, but its not.  And its hard.  And I'm doing my best. Hannah is such a sweet, smart, caring and all around great kid.  I hope I don't mess her up too much.