My life at the moment...

Being the mom of two teenage boys is not something a book or friend can prepare you for, particularly the mood swings and snarky comments.

So Friday is a day going down in history when on I got an email from my now 16 year old son after he left for school.
TO: Mom
FROM: Son
SUBJECT: Hey check this out....
Mom - You ARE smart!!! Casey Niestat VLOG - YouTube
(FYI - Watch this after you read the blog it will make WAY more sense but still make you crack up)

My son just recently turned 16 and the day before his surprise birthday party he attended the neighbor girls 16th birthday party.  He was not really excited to go which he told me 100 times. He felt like she was just inviting him because they are neighbors the same age that grew up together. He said he never see's her at school and doesn't really hang out with anyone in that group. But he went.

The next morning as I am scrambling to organize the last detail of his party I was also trying to get him out of his grumpy @$$ mood.  He was in his room looking sound asleep so I went in and laid down on his bed too. I told him I felt like I could sleep for a week. He grunted a whatever noise. I asked if he was tired.  He grunted a no noise.  (I have become an expert at dis-gruntling grunts)

Knowing that the male species needs time and space to properly disgrunt I just lay there waiting.  Soon he said "I was just laying here wondering why I don't have any friends?" This is not a new conversation.  We have been having this conversation at least once a year since 4th grade.  He never really connected or fit in with the boys in his grade school and when he did finally make two good friends in 6th grade - they both moved away.

Anywho - here we were hours before I need to get him to his Surprise 16th Birthday party which three of his friends helped me organize. I gave them free range to invite any and all of the kids they saw fit. The guest list was about 30 kids.  And here he was telling me how he didn't have any friends, I was hoping that they all showed up!!

What I did say was that he had three really good friends that the knew he could count on - which is more than I can count. I explained that in life we will cycle through friends that work or don't work depending on where we are and where they are along the way.  Making circles with my hands I said you have three good friends in this small intimate circle, you have a lot more people in this bigger circle that you may not see everyday but you enjoy hanging out with them or see them doing a sport season.  Then there is this larger group of people that you know through other people, sports, the neighborhood, school in general, or maybe just social media. I reminded him gently, since I really didn't want to start a fight or further gruntle the mood, that these are the people he could reach out to more instead of just watching them on Instagram and wishing he were part of the fun.

My son is a lot like me and I explained, not for the first time, that I had a hard time making friends in high school also. That I hung out more in the teachers lounge than in the hallway. (I was NOT dating teachers I just got along better with them than my peers - let me make that clear!) I always hung out with a group of seniors and my two best friends growing up where my grandmothers. For what ever reason, I gravitate told people that are older than me.

It wasn't until after high school that several girls that I thought hated me explained that they were just too intimidated by me.  They said I was so confident. HA! When I explained that I was probably 10x more scared than anyone in the room - ALWAYS - and they were blown away. Because that is not how I carried myself.  Well then - where is my Oscar??

We talked a little more about how I think that because he is 6'4", carries himself with an air of confidence whether he is having a panic attack or not (like his mom), and the fact that he can talk to anyone - like the principal, athletic director, teachers- intimidates most high school kids.  And then I threw him out of bed and into a shower because we had to get him to his party somehow.

Well, we did get him to his party - he was totally surprised! And overwhelmed. Not just on Sunday but at school the next day by how many people that couldn't make it said Happy Birthday. I was hoping that it would have a lasting effect....I guess his email to me is proof I said something right.

To Be a Teenager - Or Not To Be. Is that the question?

How naive - how stupid of me! To think that once that you are done being a teenager, you are done being a teenager.

Will I ever be done being a teenager?

I don't remember feeling quite as assaulted or hurt even in High School (and High School was BAD for me) as I have by the words of my own teenage son.  I'm not talking about the occasional flippant backtalk. I'm talking about the comments that come out of nowhere and hit you like a stray bullet from a drive by shooting.  The kind of words that make me defensive and angry before I can even register and I start spewing back- only to feel horrible and suddenly like a teenager all over again.

My oldest son has a way of laying in wait for a long time and then like a cobra strikes without warning. Rearing up in the most menial conversation and delivering the lethal blow so casually.  My youngest son does not wait but strikes constantly like a hyena he just keeps up the barrage some witty and some with deadly.

Perhaps you have children like this also? Or is it just me?  Do my children know how to push my button because I have shown them just exactly how to find those buttons? Or because I have shown them how to strike? I think that is what causes me the greatest pains as of late.  The children I have raised are a direct reflection of me I know...and I do not like all that I see.

The parts that break my heart are those that I have to take responsibility for utterly and completely.  It would be wonderful to give up that responsibility by blaming all manner of others but alas, I can not. This is most certainly my doing - or more accurately my not doing.  I do my best to avoid all manner of confrontation unless A. We are on the highway traveling 70 mph and I will never see you again B. We live in the same house.  The old saying is that you only hurt the ones you love the most. That was a skill not only learned but honed in my house growing up. We were the very picture of perfectly dysfunctional family.

I was talking with a friend from High School the other day and we were reflecting on our families, our town, our upbringing.  Both of us raised Catholic we have long ago walked away from that church for many reasons some similar.  One thing we both said was how hypocritical it felt that so many we knew regarded themselves as Holy because they went to church on Sunday. I'm not the first person to remark that just because you go to church on Sunday doesn't give you freedom to be an Asshole the other 6 days.

But as I said those words it dawned on me, that just because I think I am a good person doesn't necessarily mean I am one.  The measure of that is what?  Well, in my opinion it's how you behave when no one is looking....or more importantly, when your kids are looking. 

Am I a good person when I never speak out, always mind others, and take it on the chin? No. Because keeping your mouth shut in all the time means blowing up like a raging lunatic in front of or worse yet at my kids.  They do not see the hurt they only get to feel it and never have a clue why. This is just honing their skill at showing the world only one face while showing your loved ones the other.

The kindness that I try to spread everyday in my life: opening a door, smiling at a stranger, letting someone by in traffic, offering excellent customer service even in the harshest of interactions, giving my time to help others in need.....my kids do not see any of it. They see the frazzled and frayed mom who had patience at 6 am but by 6 pm is throwing dinner and barking orders at them.  Who never takes time for herself because there is no time, who doesn't take vacation with them because there is no money, and who spends her weekends playing caught up on sleep, chores, and cooking.

I was lamenting the other day and a friend said "It's all teenagers. Hang in there. Besides you don't think we gave our parents this much angst? Ha.Ha" 

No Actually. I do not think that I gave my parents this kind of angst. I think I caused them worry - is she sleeping with that boy, is she smoking pot, where is she tonight partying somewhere or lying dead in a ditch.  I do not think that my parents ever had a personal or existential crisis regarding their very being.

Is it just me? Is this another weird wacky "me" thing that only I wrestle with? How will my children learn true love, kindness, hard work, perseverance, stewardship, social responsibility?  I guess it begs the question - Do we learn these things only from only our parents? Or only after our parents?  Because on further reflection I have to wonder, Where did I learn these things? And When?

This is a 50 thing isn't it!!!!  On the heels of turning yet another milestone corner will I finally get to put the teenager in me to bed once and for all and feel like a grown up.....or do I just get to feel old?

Am I in Trouble?

I've been trying to consciously keep better track of my kids funny moments so that I can jot them down. It's not easy when we are this damn busy running around. But I found one!

This fall my husband was out of town so I was the only option to work "our" shift for the Football concession stand. A chore every sports parent has to do in fall season.  Both boys wanted to go to the football game anyway so it was a Win-Win. At least for us, not the Football team as someone had to lose.

Anyway my 15 year-old took off for his band friends which I am not cool enough for. (HA!) My 12 year-old, I was trying to keep some what of a leash on, considering. This is my child that had he been lost in the airport in England at age three would have found us before we could have found him. However, I was trying to be the parent somewhere between helicopter and free range.

I never say him all night. When I did find him it was time to bug out so he waved me over to a dark corner under the bleachers. I felt like I was meeting a drug dealer. Not that I have ever done that, at a football game. Anyway I told him I was headed to the car and that I needed him and his friend to head toward the car when the clock ran down to 2 minutes so that we could get out of there before it was a madhouse. He said OK that's fine. Just don't talk to me when I'm with my friends -we are hanging out by the ticket booth.

Excuse me?

"You know, just pretend you don;t know me when you leave, cause you have to walk by us and Z said you can be a real dork in front of his friends."

I stood there stunned under the freaking bleachers as he looked both ways before running away from me. LIKE I WAS THE DRUG DEALER. or worse, like I was his mom.

Now I am not so naive to think that I am the cool mom. In fact I have never aspired to be the cool mom. When I as in high school the cool mom's where the ones that stocked the garage fridge with beer or kept their pot in their nightstand. I AM not that mom. But being called a dork by band kids?

Am I in trouble??

Why haven't I written more....

The sole reason of this blog, truly, was so that someday when my boys said "Where's MY baby book? You don't have any pictures of my third birthday?! You don't remember my first words."  I could say no, BUT I wrote down a lot of other stuff.

When they were younger it was easier. They were cute, the stories were cute. By Junior high, the stories are not so cute anymore. I seem to start to write about them and it turns into a rant about the world we live in.  A friend was lamenting the other day about these ages and the era of - FORTNITE.  Why didn't anyone tell me about this! They said, Oh babies are so hard you'll be so tired, but you will forget it and do it all over again.  No one said, This is as good as it gets. Being tired, being in control, knowing where they are at and what they are doing. Enjoy it. It goes too fast.

sigh.........................

So I'm here to write to my boys. Inhale that baby smell, everyday, even at 3 am when you have been up for 24 hours and sleep is not in the near future. Tickle that toddler, kiss that curious questioner, laugh at the laboriousness of teaching a pre-schooler anything. (because you will say it 500 times before it sinks in)  Smile at shoes on the wrong feet, and Batman in the backseat on Sunday Morning. In all fairness, you did say "Dress-up clothes".

Be patient with the I hate broccoli, I love broccoli, I hate broccoli, I love broccoli.  When you are teaching them to tie a shoe, ride a bike, or set the table.  Let them help you crack eggs, make cookies, clean the house, the yard, the car and don't worry if it is messier after you are finished. I promise they are learning.

What comes next gets messier and scarier than a skinned knee. A little cold. A tummy-ache.  Did I let you cry enough? Too much? Becomes, can he get expelled, kicked off the team, arrested? Laying awake at night to watch them breathe becomes laying awake at night wondering if they are breathing and where? Making yourself sick. What kind of a parent am I? How did this happen?

My boys haven't stopped being cute. Quite the opposite. They are very cute, beautiful, smart, athletic, kind, funny, talented. I would rather hang out with them then anyone else. They are awesome.  Maybe that's part of it.  They are awesome, they have lives that are getting bigger and mine is getting smaller. I revolve around them. They are my Sun. I am their Pluto.....but that's ok.

But what I will say to them as new parents is the late nights and worry will not end, you just won't always have them in your arms. So while  you do enjoy every moment you can. Sleep when they do, pray, laugh, and love, love love. Be a lighthouse of love beaming out to them at all times so they can always find their way home.

Ask yourself a lot - What would Grandma do? Then do that thing. Do not wait 50 years to enjoy yours kid's kids. Spoil them once in a while, play with them often, take a pictures (or 500), write a blog or a note or a post. Read to them, sing to them, dance with them no matter how old they get. Kiss them every chance you get even if they are 6'3" on Varsity and have a girlfriend.

No matter what - keep the light beaming. I promise I will.

Please do as I say....not as I did

Do you ever feel, as a parent, that a lot of what you are trying to say to your child is -
do as I say -Please! Not as I did!

There is a lot of debate over the merits of telling your child what you did in your youth. Do you admit to smoking pot, getting drunk, dropping acid at a Phish concert? (none of which I did of course) Or do you just repeat the Reagan Era slogan drilled into our heads -

Where do I stand on this issue? Not the Just say no, that was the worst campaign ever. Right up there with abstinence.  On whether to be fully and completely honest with my kids about all the stupid stuff that I did in my youth, where I was almost arrested, expelled, beat up, or killed.  I sometimes wonder how I made it through my teenage years alive.

I just ran into someone who grew up about 30 minutes from where I did.  Another small rural community where Friday night football, fights, and beer where the norm.  We were discussing our misadventures in front of his now grown son who was standing there aghast. His son said "You never told us these stories!" To which he immediately replied "Now can you see why?"

So it brings me back to my question, How much do I share with my kids?  They know that my dad was an alcoholic, my uncle a crack addict, that addiction runs heavily in my family.  I have talked about how that affects not just the person's life, but everyone around them. But they have never seen it - because neither my husband or I drink or socialize- at all.

I was over exposed if that's possible.  My parents were either out drinking or hosting the debacle every Saturday night my entire childhood.  I was mixing a mean Gin & Tonic with a twist by age 7.  I knew the difference between Wild Turkey and Jim Beam. Turkey you served to the hunter/fishermen crew, Beam you served to the Doctor/Judge/Banker crowd.  Beer was beer - it just had to be cold and don't you dare shake it up.  Always pour generous, use a tall glass for the fisherman and the good glasses for the Judge, just keep them coming.

That still didn't stop me from getting drunker than a skunk at maybe 12-13 years old when I ended up tagging along to an open air. (it's a country kid thing) I think my older siblings were there somewhere, I can't remember now, but what I do know is that upon walking in someone handed me a half gallon jug full of beer.  In all the times that my parents threw those parties, all the drinks that I made and served, I never understood that those people were so "happy" not because I made them a great drink, but because they were drunk.

How do you explain drunk to someone? Especially a teenager? Without making it sound like the coolest thing ever?

So you drink a little and start to feel good, happy, social, carefree.  After a few more drinks then you start to feel even happier, invincible, and maybe a little dizzy.  The next stage everything around you becomes the funniest thing you have ever seen or heard and you want to tell everyone but they can't seem to understand you anymore. Your going to start getting really close to people and talking really loud, but they still won't understand you. Oh yeah and also at this point, you maybe having trouble standing up so your going to be hanging on to them like Kate Winslet held on to the Titanic.
Then you will throw up, pass out, piss yourself, and wake up feeling like you licked a cat all night long while someone used your head for a bongo drum. And they still are. It's Awesome!

I only had to drink once. That once. That I was taken to an open air, given a half gallon jug of beer, and do not remember the rest of the night. I do remember being kicked awake in a strange house soaking wet from the waist down feeling like total shit by someone yelling "your mom's here dumb ass and she's pissed".  I NEVER EVER wanted to do that again.

Is this the story that I tell my kids so that they don't have to go through it? Is it something that you have to go through to figure out you never want to do that again?  This is what I wrestle with considering the struggles my family has with drugs. What if they don't hate it? What if they think that is Awesome?  We talk about drugs and alcohol and how they are bad for your body in general and how dangerous it can be but I feel like our talks always end the same way.....Just Say No.

Boys need real chores

I think I've noted before, but it is worth saying again since I am desperately trying to get paid for listening to podcasts, but I listen to A Lot of podcasts. Recently I was listening to Trevor Noah,  The Daily Show Ears Edition when I heard him riff on this....

NPR-girls do more chores than boys

so it made me do some more digging....

NPR _ Why can't he do the dishes

My boys have always had a few chores, not enough to get an allowance. Not that we would have paid and allowance. Hell if anyone gets an allowance around here, it starts with me! But when I went to work part-time and they were home alone in the mornings for a few hours I started leaving a longer list for each boy of what had to be done before I got home.  This has been a struggle since day one.  The first summer I came home everyday to nothing being done so by Friday I was screaming at everyone while "we all" did the chores.

By the second summer I got smart and started screaming at them by Wednesday so that by Friday, when I am not at work, it was only half the screaming chore time. This summer I started with screaming at the beginning thinking I would nip this in the bud before it even buds. Ok. Better. I only had to come home and scream the chores done about once a month. Well, mainly because I have run out of energy and figure cleaning once a month is enough.

You may be asking at this point, What is your point? With chores and this blog? My point is that I do not want my boys growing up thinking that girls cook, clean, do the laundry, shopping, scheduling, and picking up after everyone- everyday.  I want them to understand it is the Twenty First Century and men CAN DO ALL THAT TOO!!! 

Men can cook dinner and change diapers. Women can mow the lawn and change the oil.  And it is not like they have not seen their mom do anything a boy can do.  It's also about being aware, which is what we discussed this summer between screaming chores done.  I am not the only one in the house that can see the sink is full of dishes, I'm just the only one that cares.  Working for a property management company that owns rental units in a University area is great for getting my point across.

Bringing home stories of maggots covering a kitchen floor so thick the Property Manager thought someone had spilled a bag of flour - until they started to move.  During an eviction recently the Property Manager thought the mattress was covered in mold, until it started to move. Bedbugs.  Or the Baseball players house that smelled so foul from spit cans and beer that we had to tear out all the carpet. They had converted a small back bedroom in to the "recycling center". By the time they moved out she couldn't open the door all the way because it was full of beer cans.  Don't think this is just boy houses.  The maggots were in a house full of girls and they have trashed many a rental unit.

In his riff on this article Trevor Noah mentions that many boys get paid for chores like taking a shower and girls get paid for cooking or laundry.  His take is very funny and accurate because 13 year-old boys do stink, badly. And yes, I have resorted to paying them to get in the shower.  But not without letting them know that if they ever want to have a partner in life they will need to take hygiene WAY more seriously.

All of this comes back to me being that nagging bitchy mom who doesn't pay her kids to pick up their rooms, vacuum and dust the house, or mow the lawn.  But I also do not charge them to live in  my house-meals included- or the gas money to get them back and forth to soccer five nights a week.  Because, as I have told them since they were two, my job is to keep them safe and make them a gentlemen.

I hope their wives appreciate it.