Is there some unwritten law that a 13-year-old cannot do anything a parent suggests? I mean, seriously.

Me: I'm sorry you don't feel well. Why don't you lay down on the couch?
H: *walks around grumbling*
Me: Some chamomile tea might help; want me to make some?
H: *drinks water*
Me: How about some Pepto?
H: *goes up to her room*
Me: Okay. *turns on tv*
H: *comes down stairs, plops on the couch* Could you turn off the TV, please?

And so on, for the past two hours. And it doesn't help that Collin is also in the middle of a major GRUMP that started when I insisted on turning on a fan in the kitchen while I was making the cookies he wanted me to make. Things escalated when he didn't do well with this gameboy game he's playing. Crash Bandicoot, I am SO hiding your ass when he goes to bed. And seriously, WHERE DID THE CHILD GET THE IDEA THAT FANS ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE RUNNING ANYWHERE IN THE HOUSE, EVER?

I'll just be over here headdesking.