Last night the kid had a meltdown. Tears and rage and yelling at me. After which, purged, she apologized--not just for this blow up, but for (as she realized) the fact that when she's under stress she takes things out on me. We had a good talk--I pointed out that, as unpleasant as this is for me, it means that I am the place she goes that is safest, and that's a good thing (I did not mention that I did not have a place like that when I was her age). I do remember the feeling of being passionate about something--the school paper, the senior play--and feeling like I was more or less dragging everyone behind me in my wake. (The truth is probably less melodramatic than I remember it.) Anyway, she felt better after we talked. And then one of the kids who's going called her up in a panic because he has no dress pants that fit (there is a dress code), and she talked him down.
So the kid is up at this hour and packing and getting dressed. I will throw on clothes and take her to the bus, and then, by God, I'm coming back and going back to bed. I can do that because I've already been through my spate of Teen Drama.