Holy Sh*t, This Mom's TMI Kleenex Review on Amazon Is Proof Raising Teenage Boys Isn't Easy

By Alessia Santoro

I haven't even had a child yet, but I can say with absolute certainty that the part of parenting I'm most afraid of is aiding a teenager through puberty, especially a boy, seeing as that's totally uncharted territory for me as a woman who grew up with no brothers. Thankfully though, there are women all over the world who are navigating those dark, rough waters right now, and who can teach me a thing or two about what it means to hold the title of "mom" during such treacherous times. For example, one unnamed mom who, using her husband's Amazon account, left a TMI review on a 36-pack of Kleenex tissues that was particularly, um, enlightening.

"I want to start this off by thanking Kleenex for selling these in 36-packs. I've put it on subscription, and if they want to start selling a 72-pack, sign me up. I have three reasons for needing this much Kleenex, and their names are Liam, Samuel, and Hank," she wrote. "This is how it goes in this house. First the Kleenex disappears. Then the toilet paper. Then they go for fabrics. And you don't want it to get there, unless you're ready to invest in a five gallon drum of Febreze."

At this point, I'm sure you're all with me in thinking: "Oh. Oh, God, no." But wait, it gets much, much worse — and infinitely more hysterical.

This used to be a good Christian home. But it's not about moral judgment anymore. I'm way beyond that. I'm in survival mode. If I don't supply absorbent paper products, I'm going to find my dish towels hidden in the basement, stiff as aluminum. The other day, I almost cut my hand on a sock. I am sorry to speak so frankly, but with three teenage boys, a woman has got to be practical.

The funny part is, they think they're being sneaky, with their 45 minute showers and sudden need for "privacy," as if I'm going to walk in on them journaling. They slink around the house like unfixed cats, while I try to announce my location at all times. No one needs to ask me to knock anymore. I knock on the walls. I practically wear a cowbell. I'm not looking to catch anyone by surprise, believe me. I'm just trying to get through this.

The other day my husband was watching me unload the groceries, and he asks me, all sweetness and light, "Honey, what're you doing with all that Kleenex?"

I about knocked him off his chair.

I never thought I'd be considering buying Kleenex tissues in bulk a parenting hack for raising teenage boys who have recently discovered masturbation, but here we are. Thank you, unnamed hero mom, for sharing your battle story for the sake of other moms in the trenches — and for everyone else who just needed a good laugh today.