Parenting Teens

…you can’t pick you family, but you can pick your friends. But don’t pick your friends nose…

Or something like that. All I know is that as the kids got older, I worried about what friends they would choose. Would they be good influences, or bad? Would I love them or hate them? Would we get into fights and would I have to pull the ultimate ‘you can’t see them’ card?

It’s easier when they’re little - then, as the parent, you’re in control of the play dates, of who they get to see and when, and no one blinks twice if you suddenly decide that’s enough at the playground because you have a “meeting” and pull your child away from the snot-nosed little bully that needs a good talkin’ too. You’re expected to protect them at that stage, see, and whether you go overboard (OH MAH PRESHUSH! -first baby syndrome!) or let them learn fundamental truths on their own (Told ya it was hot. Betcha won’t do THAT again! -3rd baby syndrome) - you are still in control.

Then they go to school. And make friends without you.

For the first years, you still maintain a bit of control - sleep overs become the norm, but you still hold veto power - but it seeps away a little more every year… and by Middle School? We, as parents, are doomed.

At this point, all you can do is hope. Hope they have chosen wisely, hope that all the lessons you’ve taught them are still embedded somewhere in the depths of their subconsciousness, and they will remember them when the time is right. Even if they think it’s their OWN idea - that’s ok too! At least we still have some tiny medium of control…

I will state right now, though, for all to see. When it comes to my kids and their friends? I got lucky. DAMN lucky. EXTREMELY LUCKY. In fact, while I may like a few friends better than others, there is not a single teenager or preteen in the group that I dislike so intensely that I’d not let them come over. Their parents, though… (Just kidding!)

I wish I could give you a formula on how to raise kids that choose great friends. I can’t. I just raised them up the best I could, and trusted they would choose well. From middle school on, The Boy has chosen friends with the same sense of humor he possesses, the same like of sharp and pointy things, the same grounded sense of reality and strength that he possesses himself. From fifth grade on, Peppermist and her BFF group - Micky, The Twins, Micky2 - and an ever present rotation of others as well, show a different pattern, a diversity in likes and dislikes, a mishmash of personalities, strengths and weaknesses that somehow comes together as a glorious, supportive, solid whole.

Both groups have made me laugh, have made me want to hug them like crazy, have called me mom, and have become my extended family - which is odd since I hate kids, but what are ya gonna do?

But a couple friends made themselves stand out above the rest a couple of weekends ago. They did something so shocking, so stunningly amazing, something that not even my OWN kids would ever do willingly, that I’ve since branded the Twins as my favorites de jour.

They scrubbed my kitchen floor, on hands and knees.

You’re totally jealous now, aren’t you? Not only did they do that, and loaded the dishwasher and cleaned off the stovetop and counters?

THEY CLEANED OUT MY FRIDGE!

And it was their idea. Because they were bored, and thought it would be fun - and it was, it seemed, judging by the laughter from them and Peppermist while this astonishing feet was accomplished. Which means?

I AM THE LUCKIEST MOM IN THE WORLD.

I just hope that ‘fun cleaning’ gene rubs off on Peppermist sometime soon… her room scares me.

~~~~~~~
PS -
I want to apologize for the lack of posting this month! I also cover Big Brother over at Big Brother Craze, and it’s taken over my life. Usually we get house guests that are night owls or early birds - this year we have BOTH! The amount of posting and work there is astonishing. So - rest assured, I have not forgotten my other beloved blogs, and I will post as often as possible over the rest of the Big Brother Season.

And if your a BB Fan - come join us BBCrazies!

So, remember back when I told you of the PTA live induction of their new leaders that would be held online? I didn’t make it myself, but the ever lovely Julie dropped us a note to thank those that did! And, if you - like me - didn’t make it to the live event, you can view it for the next three months by clicking here. Enjoy - and thanks Julie for letting us know!

In other news, Candice, who is lovely as well, dropped me a note on behalf of PATS (Parents Attitude Tracking Study) and the Partnership for a Drug-Free America. They recently conducted a survey to see how Dads are doing in helping their kids in the fight against Drug and Alcohol use. The data collected, reveals that dads tend to take a much more passive role than mom’s when it comes to those kinds of talks, which could mean their missing a valuable opportunity to hep teach their kids.

It seems that Father’s were 3x more likely to believe the teaching about drug and alcohol use and abuse should happen in school, and report having a greater difficulty reconciling the desire to have their child see them as a friend, rather than setting the rules - though the majority of parents believe a friendship with their kids is important too.

If you’re having problems talking to you kids about drugs/alcohol, then check out drugfree.org, and read through their helpful hints to get the conversation flowing. As with everyone else around here - my stand is exactly the same: TALK TO YOUR KIDS. You might find them a lot smarter than you think.

In that same line of TALKING TO YOU KIDS, Nana recently send me a copy of the newsletter she receives at work. My mom works with the local womens shelter, and also facilitates a batterers education group for those who have such classes mandated by the courts. Yeah, I know, she’s pretty freakin awesome, ain’t she? Anyway, the subject of this newsletter is respect.

When I’m out and about, something that drives me NUTS, is when a child is disrespectful, and the parent stands there and says “I don’t know WHERE s/he gets it!” and less then 2 seconds later, said parent is extremely disrespectful themselves. Respect is a LEARNED BEHAVIOR folks, and if they don’t see it at home, they sure as hell won’t practice it out in the world.

This leads into discussions about dating and violence. Parents say their kids aren’t getting the message, and I say it’s time for the parents to TALK MORE and get it out there. If you’re having problems getting those conversations started, giverespect.org has several tips for you, so that you can get your kids to realize what exactly a healthy relationship is. Be sure and check it out!

And hey - have a conversation with your Teen today, will ya? You’ve got no excuses now!

PS: Interested in things affecting your Teen’s health and well-being? Check out Ann Engelland’s blog and get some information straight from the doctor’s mouth, so to speak. hee.

Got your attention there, didn’t I?

Good Morning America got the same reaction recently as they showed a segment talking about that and young girls passing out sexual favors like candy for gifts or money, and sliding into the realm or prostitution etc. Oh, and the “prettiest girls from the most successful families are the most at risk.” Naturally, it’s shock journalism at it’s best, but that isn’t to say that it’s not happening - otherwise there wouldn’t have been a story at all.

While many of the parents who watched this are now flipping out in shock all over the internets, I think the most telling part of this story is to read the comments that have been left on over at ABC.com. In between all of the Bible Thumpers blaming the devil and the general “Godless Living In America” and flailing about in a moral panic, are some interesting comments from those who are still teens, and who remember their teenage years without viewing them through parental outrage.

Some of the comments that jumped out at me were the parents that admitted to a lot of free lovin in the 60s, others who point out that the age group of the story included 18-19 year olds as “teens” and those “teens” are actually adults, and some of them are even married, and participating in sexual activities with their spouse.

But the most telling is one of the girls who was featured in the segment itself - and she denied doing anything for money, but doing it because she wanted too. And most important thing brought up is the fact that parents don’t talk to their teens about sex!

Say it with me now - ya’ll know my mantra here at PTB: TALK TO YOUR KIDS!

Look, it’s simple. It’s not rocket science. We were all teenagers once, and sex is not something dirty to be swept under the rug. Curiosity is normal, and shoving abstinence down a teenagers throat while ignoring everything else is going to make it a “forbidden fruit” and if you remember ANYTHING about being a teenager - that fruit tastes sweetest.

You want your kids to make smart choices? Then give them the information and tools they nee to have to do so. Don’t sit on the couch with your jaw dropped and shock written all over your face when you hear what’s going on. This has nothing to do with bible thumping, nothing to do with a godless America, nothing to do with a lack of morals. It has everything to do with human sexuality, puberty, and the joy of sex.

So don’t make it into what it’s not. Get up off your high horse and TALK TO YOUR KIDS. Give them the information they need. Be honest about your own experiences because if you’re preaching ‘virgin at marriage’ you damn well had better kept it in your pants until you walked down the aisle. Look your kid straight in the eyes and admit that you lost your virginity while a teen - or not. It wasn’t the best experience - or it rocked your socks off. Be honest about if you were ready or not, and how you felt emotionally about waiting or not. Let them know that oral sex is still sex (after all, it says it in the name!) and talk to them about petting, making out, oral sex, sexual intercourse and how each made you feel from an emotional point of view. Were you ready? Were you scared? Were you pressured? Did you stand firm and wait? How did it make you FEEL emotionally?

Moms, talk to your SONS about how a girl feels.
Dads, talk to your DAUGHTERS about how a boy thinks.

Be HONEST.

Your kids aren’t stupid. Stop treating them like they are.

You probably can’t tell, but I spent many years attending Christian Private Schools. We’re talking of the “memorizing complete chapters of the Bible, Southern Baptist” type school. I know, I’m the picture of purity now, so you likely figured that out, right? Right.

Some rules of the school for the girls:
– We were not allowed to wear pants on the school grounds.
– Shirt collars could not be lower than two fingers below the collar bone.
– Skirts had to touch the floor when you knelt - cover the knees.
– No sleeveless shirts, ever.
– No shorts - that whole “below the knee” thing dictated that we wear culottes, which made us laugh because when we fell in basketball, they showed more than shorts ever would have. These were also ONLY for Gym. All other times it was skirts/dresses/uniforms.
– Our hair was to be long. At the SHORTEST it had to cover the nape of the neck, though they frowned on anything shorter than shoulder length.
– No heels higher than two inches.

Some rules for the boys:
– Hair must be SHORT. It could not touch the tops of the ears, or the back of the collar.
– Shirt and tie and slacks. No jeans, no shorts, etc.
– Shorts for gym, but they had to be no shorter than a handwidth above the knee.
– Nothing sleeveless.

Yes, those are a little uneven, but after all the Woman is to be demure and perfect and pure for the man. They taught us that in many a manners/Bible class.

Some general rules, and rules for couples:
– No Dancing.
– No Rock Music.
– No Holding Hands.
– There must be at least 6 inches between you at ALL times.

During assemblies - every single morning, and Chapel on Wednesdays - The girls and boys were separated, so that there would be no temptations as we learned chapter after chapter of the bible in its entirety. Women were to be pure. Men were to respect women. There would be no TOUCHING, EVER.

Now sure - outside of the school grounds, I was a jean wearing, boy crazy tomboy - who held hands and kissed sometime after she turned 14, and by the ninth grade I had bristled under the control so much that my parents let me transfer to another school - a school that I lasted one year at before headed to public school where people were sane. This is not to say that the education I received at the Christian schools was sub-standard, just that the rest of it became too much and it was time to move on. I thank my parents a LOT for letting me do so.

All this came back though in a rush when I heard the story of Tyler Frost and his prom date, Rebecca Smooty. Tyler attended a Christan School that sounds much like the one I attended, while his girlfriend went to school elsewhere. When Rebecca asked Tyler to take her to prom, he of course said YES, because he is a smart boy. As a direct result, the officials at his school, Heritage Christian School in Findlay Ohio have suspended him, given him an incomplete for his exams, AND banned him from his graduation.

All for something that happened OFF THE SCHOOL GROUNDS.
All for daring to hold his girlfriends hand.
All for listening to the music and dancing.
All for “attending a function where girls wore short skirts”.
All of which happened OFF THE SCHOOL GROUNDS. (Yes, it bears repeating!)

The schools officials have graciously said that he can complete his final exams separately and get his diploma - after the school year ends.

I’m sorry - but this is utterly ridiculous. Once a child leaves the school grounds they are the responsibility 100% of their parents, NOT the school or it’s officials. The church/school has no right to dictate that he not attend another schools function, or insinuate that something improper is going on because he dared hold hands with his girlfriend. Its not like he was part of an orgy on the dance floor, for fuck’s sake!

I hope to HELL his parents are going to help him fight this, and that he gets to walk for his graduation. To ban him from it is absolutely unfair, and part of the reason folks think Christianity is full of sanctimonious wackjobs.

…wonder how many of the schools teachers and preachers have been divorced and remarried? Wonder how many of them hold hands, and wear short skirts, listen to music not of the ‘inspirational’ genre when off the school grounds and dare to bounce to the beat… That’s what drove me away… hypocritical bullshit like this.

Psalm 149:3
Let them praise his name in the dance: let them sing praises unto him with the timbrel and harp.

Stand your ground, Tyler! Stand. Your. Ground!

So, I think I’m sufficiently recovered from my Ham and Chocolate coma to write about it now. (No not at the same time, the chocolate and ham, as that’s not really the same as chocolate covered bacon, which is surprisingly delicious no matter how gross it sounds. I would know, as my Mama gave me some for my birthday and OMG YUM, and I was very sad when it was gone. Could this parenthetical aside BE any longer? /Chandler Bing.)

Where was I? Oh yeah - the surprises on Easter. It was discovered once I went to the store, that the baskets I thought we still had at home had been eaten by the dog last year. Whoops. So the girls got together, worked together, and using PepperMist’s creativity, design, and yarn stash, built their own baskets. Pepper even FINISHED the Pup’s when she went to sleep, so that they’d both be finished in time. (that’s the heartshaped baskets in the picture - filled with carefully shredded and curled paper grass - and more candy than should be legal. *L*)

I know, I was shocked too. Sometimes, I think i can count the times they’ve gotten along and worked together on one hand! It didn’t end there, though, as on Easter Morning, once the Pup left to go to church with Nana, and I had gone to bed for my morning nap, PepperMist got a bright idea - she hid her sister’s new bunny.

I know, you’d think that was mean, right? Wrong! She then spent the time the Pup was at church writing out clues, shoving them into plastic eggs and hiding them. Once the Pup got home, I woke up to the sounds of both girls giggling and running and having a blast as the Pup followed the clues (sometimes with helpful hints from PepperMist) to find her bunny once more.

As noisy as they were? I could stand to wake up like that, to the sounds of them getting along, more often…

Back in the day, I remember how riske it was to snap a picture of myself in my nightshirt and shorts to give to my boyfriend to keep while I was away for the summer. Sure, he’d never seen me in said nightshirt before, and we’d not done anything past a bit of tonsil hockey, but it was the ‘remember me’ type of naughty that I knew he’d appreciate. Also, I knew mom wouldn’t notice or care about a picture where I was basically completely covered in when she went to pick them up from the developers.

Yeah, back in the day we had to send OUT our pictures for developing! Someone in another state would know all our faces and activities - before we even knew how good or bad the pictures we had taken were. With poloroids, it was instant gratification, and I’m sure some bewbs and butts showed up during the course of the camera’s picture taking life. But now?

Now everything is digital. Instant gratification of decent pictures that you can control completely - or so it seems.

You see, Sexting is the new word for sending naughty pictures - from saucy to erotic, from pg to x - via text message to your significant other. The problem with such things is that it doesn’t always stay within the confines of your boyfriend/girlfriends phone. For instance, one 20 year old male, a few years ago, got his 17 year old girlfriend at the time to pose for a picture on his phone. His next girlfriend located it, and sent the picture to the 17 year olds parents. You know what happened then? The 20 year old was charged with child pornography, and now much register as a sex offender! All because he had a nude photo of an ex girlfriend sent from his phone.

Yeah, it’s that serious. While taking a naughty picture seems harmless, many authorities are using the fullest extent of the law to punish such things as it usually involves teenagers - I mean child pornography? That’s harsh, folks. Some more stories:

– An Ohio teenager sent nude pictures of herself to a boyfriend and when they broke up, he sent them to other high school girls, who harassed Jesse Logan. The ordeal sent her into a spiraling depression.

In July, 2008, Logan hanged herself in her bedroom. She was 18.

– A 19-year-old Polk County man was accused of sending naked pictures of himself on his cell phone to a 14-year-old girl’s cell phone. Ronald Eugene Steward made his first appearance before a Polk judge this week and was ordered held under $105,000 bail.

– Over the weekend, Pinellas County middle school teacher Christy Lynn Martin, 32, was arrested on allegations she sent naked pictures of herself to the cell phone of a 14-year-old boy, an eighth-grader at Azalea Middle School, where she worked.

She was released this week after posting $20,000 bail.

So what do we do? Well, the obvious is that we need to talk to our kids - let them know what could happen, and what kind of limits we expect them to adhere too when taking pictures on their phones - swimsuits ok? Not ok? All covered up, all the time? ABSOLUTELY NO NUDITY EVER - better safe than sorry, right?

It’s important that you talk to your teen so that they understand the ramifications. Just because they think it won’t happen to them, doesn’t mean it can’t happen at all. Kids get jealous (adults too!) and vindictive, and things go wrong. The only actions that we have complete control over is our own - so play it safe.

Leave the naughty pictures to the poloroids.
(Yes, I know they’re no longer in production. That’s kinda the point!)

I’m not the best housekeeper, much to my mama’s dismay. (Have you entered her contest yet? Hurry!) Things pile up, we sift through piles, we rearrange them, we sometimes (rarely) toss them, its.. well. Let’s just say I’m a packrat that married a packrat, and we both possessed the “bah, who cares” gene which we, of course, passed down to our children.

But sometimes, enough is enough, and I find myself willing to do ANYTHING to get their rooms cleaned. Anything.

About a year after my husband died, the Boy decided that he wanted to move out into the “Manspace” and claim it as his room. The Manspace is 10×12 glorified shed that we built so the hubby and his friends could hang out and drink beer without driving me insane with their antics in the living room. It gave us space to call our own, and probably was the smartest thing I’d ever agreed too in our 15 years together. I wasn’t surprised the boy wanted to make it his own - nor was I shocked that the girls were WAY excited about it, as they’d then end up with their own room for the first time since the pup was born.

So he moved into the Manspace. And quickly it looked like a bomb went off inside, as OMG. What a mess! Remember the bravest girl, ever? Yeah, that was the last time it was really clean.

But all that is about to change. You see, he texted me (I AM SUCH A COOL MOM!) to ask a question, and I laid some pretty serious rules down on him before I’d say yes. The Manspace had to be cleaned and kept clean. He had to remember to make sure his door was closed, he had to take care of things ON HIS OWN. This would be his responsibility - NOT MINE - he was to handle ALL THINGS NEEDED in order to make it a success.

He agreed.
Wholeheartedly.

Meet our newest family member:

Understandably, I’ve mixed feelings - from “aw, cute” to “i do NOT wanna have to take care of it!” - but like I said, sometimes you’ll do ANYTHING to get them to clean their room. Sigh.

PS. He’s still without name - suggestions?

Ever since my kids hit school age - or old enough to interact with their peers, their siblings, their cousins and were old enough to understand - I’ve tried to impart one very important lesson to my kids. It’s really very simple, though it’s a very important concept that a lot of kids never really pick up on. If I can make sure that my kids UNDERSTAND and BELIEVE this bit of wisdom, then I’ve done my job.

It’s deceptively simple.
It’s just this:

The ONLY thing that you can control, is YOU, and your reactions to other people and situations. Period.

Inorite? It’s something so simple, that it amazes me when the teenagers don’t understand it. There will always be people and situations that are upsetting, or hard to deal with. We can’t change other people - we can’t be the ones to fix them. All we can do is make sure that WE handle the situations that arise with patience, dignity, calm, and intelligence. We can’t control how other people react to anything, or how they treat us - only how we in turn react to them, how we treat them.

It’s deceptively simple, but also something very hard to put into practice. I should know, I’ve been working on it my entire life, and I still have problems sometimes. It’s a lifelong process, and why I started to work on it with my kids at such an early age.

And I’m not the only one that gives out this advise! I mentioned Hey, Josh once before, and still, Josh = Awesome! His most recent short film, 8:22, tackles the age old problem of “What do I do about my parents?!” It answers the question sent in by teens, whose relationships with their parents are awful, and asks what to do about it.

As always - there is some REALLY good advice in there. So don’t skim over the pretty youtube! Check it out - and send it to a friend, or family member who may need to hear it too.

…and now? Neither does SHE!

You see, I was raised by a Trekor and then I married a Trekie, so I really had no say in the matter. And for those uninitiated - a TrekOR is a fan primarily of the original series, while a TrekIE did not become a fan until TNG - The Next Generation.

I remember spending hours, days even, watching the original series with my dad. For a few years there, all he asked for as gifts on Christmas and his birthday were copies of the episodes of The Original and TNG on VHS, and then on DVD. Sure, we got him other things too, but every trip to the “Big City” saw us with Episode Number lists in hand, scouring the Big Book Stores for the latest video tape releases. It took us about five years, but soon his collection was complete - and even included a few DVDs from Deep Sleep Nine.

(BTW - That’s how you know a REAL Trekie. Deep Sleep Nine = Deep Space Nine, which didn’t GO anywhere, so how could it be a voyage to “go where no man has gone before”? Also - did you know that the original line is as previously stated, and was changed to be “PC” for TNG to read “where no ONE has one before”? I told you - I had NO CHANCE as a child…)

Yes, we also watched Voyager - if only because Six = HAWT, though at least they were once again GOING SOMEWHERE - though we never succumbed to the Enterprise series. Needless to say, we’ve also seen, and own, every movie, somewhere within the family - they get passed around, and shared. I might even admit to the fact that I might possibly have a poster of Marina Sertis, autographed at a Star Trek Convention that I may or may not have attended, and also Marina Sertis = short but really cute in person. I assume.

What I’m saying is - I had no chance.

But in no way shape or form did I expect what came out of my daughter’s mouth last night. Here we were, Me and Papa, making plans for a movie night for the opening of the Star Trek movie - with the OMG HAWT new Kirk and SYLER as SPOCK and can you HEAR that? My Nerd is totally showing - as the opening night is right around Papa and Nana’s wedding anniversary. Then it happened. I turned around and told my daughter she’d have to babysit her sister, so we could watch Star Trek - and she said…

“Star Trek? Gross.”

Gross.
GROSS?!

Sigh. I called her Papa right back, and he was MORTIFIED! We’ll fix this though, we will. Even if it takes days of Star Trek Marathons. After all…

Resistance is Futile.
She will be Assimilated.

PS - Mama’s having a contest - check it out!

Proof positive that 1 - she’s fine, and 2 - I’m doomed.

Exhibit 1, yesterday evening:

Me: So - how was your day? The boys give you any grief?

Pup: Was good, and not really, well kinda - see they were all up in our space and stealing the ice chunks we were collecting on the playground.

Me: ‘all up in your…’ wait, what? …ice chunks? You were collecting ice chunks?

Pup: of course. it’s what we do. Duh. So anyway, I did my lil thing so the teacher gets them in trouble without me being a tattle tale…

Me: …you have a ‘lil thing’?

Pup: well YEAH. Duh. You see, you stand up and then make your face go all sad like this, and then you just walk slooooooooowly past a teacher. And then their all like ‘What’s wrong?!’ and you just tell them an say ‘but I don’t wanna be a tattle tale’ and BOOM! Teacher takes care of it and no one thinks you tattled at all because you didn’t really because you just answered the teachers question and that’s the way it works.

Me:….expert manipulator at 9. Doomed.

Exhibit B, 7:30 am this morning:

Me: So you’re going to aunties after school right?

Pup: Yup! Pizza/Movie night! Auntie said!

Me: Here’s your bus pass. And call me when you get to Auntie’s so I know you made it ok.

Pup: Why, because the roads are icy still?

Me: No, because I like knowing where you are every moment of the day.

Pup: Oh. in that case. I’m standing by the door. Now Papa honked, so I’m opening the door. Now I’m RUNNING AWAY FROM YOU! And Mom? NOW I’M GETTING IN PAPA’S CAR, OK? And now we’re driving away… and now… (fades)

Doooooooomed.
Absolutely doooooomed.

I’ve said it, time and time again. I’m not the normal mom, not the mom we grew up watching on tv, what with the fresh baked cookies, immaculately clean house, the calm cool composure, the happy smile despite what trouble the little ones have gotten into now. I’m not one to smile and simper and pat little Johnny on the head when he comes home with perfect A’s, and squeeze little Susie in perfectly controlled hug, while remaining unwrinkled in my dress and heels with every hair in place and nary a chipped nail to be seen.

I am not that mom.

What I am, and what I put forth and show the world, is the truth about my motherhood. Sometimes? Our kids drive us insane. Sometimes, we wonder if we really SHOULD have put them in Layaway and come back to pick them up when they were 18 and able to live on their own. Sometimes, I’m a royal class bitch - to everyone, and to my kids. Sometimes, my kids are royal class assholes right back at me. Sometimes I want to scream. Sometimes I want to cry. But always, under it all, I love my kids, and my kids have never, ever, EVER doubted that. Not for a single second. Not even when they’re screaming they hate me, not when I’m pretty sure the feeling - for that one moment in time - is mutual.

The biggest difference I think, is that I’m honest about it. I don’t paint a life of roses, because there is no such thing. No one is perfect (though I’m pretty close! Ha!) and we all have those moments where we just HAVE to explode and wonder why oh why we took on this hardest of jobs - not just once, in my case, but THREE TIMES, plus all the other teenagers that call my house home. I don’t paint that perfect smile on my blogs, either, because life isn’t perfect. My kids aren’t perfect, any more then yours are, despite how you portray them to the world.

I like to keep it real.

The Mommywars have gone on since way before the internets. There are always those folks who judge you for a brief second, a snap judgment for something they heard, thought they heard, or picked up from Susie’s mom’s trainer’s daughter’s pimp’s neighbor’s son’s dog. Then they rarely say something to you, instead they continue to spread what they’ve heard/imagined, and it grows in magnitude until you sit there wondering just how it all started, and why on earth did that first person not take the time to actually ASK for clarification from the source.

You see, I get that people don’t always get me. My sense of humor is crass, dirty, and often dark. I find laughter in things that most folks only find horror and tears, because to me - if I can laugh about it, it loses some of it’s power over me. The way to overcome an obstacle is to find the humor in it - even if it’s of a dark vein, even if it’s scary and twisted and no one else gets it. I find a handhold in laughing about it. A lot of other mothers do the same, and sometimes, the misunderstandings of other “perfect” moms means situations go completely downhill, all to fast.

Yes, I’m talking about the twitter incident. I understand the concern that was brought up by the twitter in question, but at the same time, I wonder at the inability to read something in context, and the quickness of other mother’s to judge. Whether we paint a perfect picture over it or not, there is not one single mother out there who can say they’ve NEVER been so frustrated with their kids that they’ve wanted to sell them to the Gypsies. There is not one single parent out there that hasn’t pulled their hair out, screamed into a pillow, or made some snark comment about doing something, ANYTHING to just get this kid to SLEEP already because OMG I’M DYING HERE. Swear all you like, but not a single one of you has managed to raise your kids without wishing, at some point, that they’d just GO AWAY and LEAVE YOU ALONE for just FIVE MINUTES.

The reasoning behind what the whistle blower did might have truly included acting out of concern for a child, but the line there gets fuzzy, as she went to the authorities first. In my state, that would have had child protective services in the home, and the children likely taken away - all because one mother voiced her frustration. We’ve given the whistle blowers so much power that the slightest infraction results in massive consequences that are almost impossible to dig yourself out from under. And all because a mother can’t admit to herself that her sweet little babies sometimes drive her to think not so nice things, and she doesn’t have the courage to admit it to herself, to others, because her version of painted perfection can. not. crack.

Those are the mother’s I worry about - the ones that can’t admit that the way her teenager talks sometimes makes her want to stab herself in the temple, that the refusal of a child to sleep, EVER, has driven her to contemplate pretending the child has a cold so that medicine is in order, just to slow them down for five. minutes. PLEASE. That mother can’t admit to herself, let alone out loud, that she dreams of a hotel room without children present, where she can do nothing but sleep for a full 24 hours, followed by room service and a massage, instead of nights upon nights of very little sleep, followed by being a short order cook reduced to making sure foods are touching on the plate and counting how many times the little darlings have yelled about the other is LOOKING at him OMG MAKE HIM STOP LOOKING AT ME, MOM!

These are the mothers that are delusional. These are the mothers that will later crack. These are the mothers that can’t face the reality that parenting is HARD, and their kids are not perfect, and no amount of wishing or white-washing will make them so. And these are the parents that stand there, in their carefully constructed cocoon of perfection, making snap judgments toward those of us digging in our heels, hovering in the trenches, patting the helmets of the mother next to us in shared understanding, honestly and commitment.

It is not our job to judge one another - it is not our job to decide what you do is wrong, what she does is right. The internet parenting blog is a place of snapshots, a glimpse into the life of the writer, whether we be painting perfection, or baring the gritty underbelly of honesty.

So all I’m suggesting here is this: don’t judge a mom by her writing. If one mom thinks her son is acting kind of like an asshole - don’t come down on her because you know, if you were sitting next to that kid at that restaurant, you probably thought he was acting kinda like an asshole too, but since it wasn’t YOUR kid, it somehow made it OK to think that, but not his mother, because she must be perfect. Don’t assume that another mother is serious when she twitters her frustration in a way that you don’t get, or understand, all because you’ve judged her capable of actually doing her children harm in 40 characters or less. Take the time to know the mother, to read it in context, to see if that sense of humor is dark and twisted and there, to discover if there really is a threat before you hit that button, before you call the cops, before you make her life just THAT much more difficult so that you can continue to reign alone on your pedestal of perfect parenthood.

Face it. Parenting is HARD. It is not all roses, no matter how many choose to carefully craft illusions. Joking about it gives a release that makes it bearable, even if you don’t understand the humor involved. For me, snarking on the teenagers allows me to ensure we survive to see them have their own kids and discover the same frustrations I’ve lived through once already.

That is, after all, my reward for letting them live.

It’s happened. For the past few weeks we’ve been getting fliers in the mail, brochures from Colleges around that have gotten word that I’ve a junior in high school that should have some idea what he wants to do with his life after high school.

Of course, if you ask him, he’ll tell you he has no idea. It’s not exactly true, as of right now he has no plans to attend college, so all the fliers tend to end up in the circle file as soon as they arrive. I think part of it is that he knows I can’t afford to help him pay for it, as I’m still paying off my own loans. He’d have to get his grades up, decide what direction he wants to go in AND get funding to get there. Yeah, I have a feeling he’ll be living in my shed for some time after graduation!

But at least he’s started to think about it, think about sticking with his current job, possibly moving on to follow his friends out of state, sticking around and helping out here. He has options, he’s just not quite ready to contemplate them yet. I’m sure some of you understand that - while other’s have kids already on the scholarship track, already knowing which direction they’re headed after graduation. We’ll tackle those kids first!

Holly, our buddy over at THE LEAGUE has a scholarship opportunity, through the John S and James L Knight Foundation that promotes excellence in journalism worldwide. Since 1954, the foundation has given more then $300 million in journalism grants. The KNIGHT scholarship is a national competition where three students will receaive $5000 each for their writings or reflections on civic experiences in one of three categories: Persuasive Essay, Personal Narrative, or News Story. This opportunity is open to high school seniors - and you don’t have to be part of a LEAGUE classroom to apply! You can apply at The LEAGUE starting January 5th, 2009, and the deadline is March 6th, 2009. I encourage you to check it out!

Now, for those teens that aren’t exactly sure what they want to be or do? Have I got the site for you! Me, I’m just a mom who gets paid to bitch about her teens, and I love that. This guy, though. Wow. This guy is a whole lot of motivation in one snarky chia-pet headed package. I’ve added his link to the sidebar, and encourage you to go and check out Hey Josh as soon as you’re done here, then send the link to your teen. He answers questions, he does reviews, he has a sort film series that tackles that most difficult of questions “What am I supposed to be when I grow up!” and encourages teens to really think about that, giving guidelines on how they might come up with something they can be happy doing. Check out his “Factory” below!

Now tell me that your kids wouldn’t get motivated by that?! If that’s not enough - check him out slinging advise on TRL on MTV - how much fun is he?

There’s also a new series on the site he’s starting called Smarty Pants TV this month, and the upcoming World Domination videos, all of which are aimed and helping our teens better themselves. Not a damn thing wrong with that, now, is there? Josh made me laugh, and nod along in agreement, and snicker some more. So what are you waiting for? Check out Hey Josh yourself!

So, drinking has been on my mind the past few days, which isn’t so surprising because “the facts are these..” (SOB! How could they cancel Pushing Daisies?!): Christmas Vacation starts in just over a week, and that means all the kids will be home, with various of their friends, and it’s ALSO -3 degrees out there right now and a hot toddy sounds REALLY GOOD, and it’s been 3 years, 4 months, 5 days and 16 hours since I last got my drunk on.

No, I’m not in recovery or anything like that, I just don’t go out anymore, and getting drunk alone at home sort of crosses that line from recluse to crazy cat woman a little too easily for my comfort. That’s not to suggest my teenagers haven’t driven me to drink, just that it takes too much effort to actually get gussied up and hit the too expensive bars, or to bundle up in the cold to hit the stores.

Yes. I’m not a drunk because I am THAT lazy.

Anyway, it likely won’t surprise you that my talks with my kids about drinking and drugs run along the same lines as our sex talks do - irreverent, yet informative, with copious amounts of tequila with a bit of weed on the side. Oh stop, I’m just kidding. About the informative part. (Oh come on, ya’ll know me better then that!)

You see, when I was growing up, I was the absolute epitome of the good girl. (I’ll wait for you to stop laughing. All better? Thanks, mom.) I didn’t drink or smoke - anything - at all while I was growing up and through high school. I think a lot of that had to do with my Dad’s attitude about it - if I wanted to try a beer, ask him and he’d let me. Same with a glass of wine. As long as it was at home, with my parents in attendance. I tell you, there’s no better way to curtail someone’s desire for a bad habit so much as hearing “Sure, you can have a beer. Sit there next to your mom.” from your parents. As if I weren’t ‘uncool’ enough, drinking with my PARENTS?! Yeah. That wouldn’t help at ALL. So I didn’t. I never even really felt the urge to, either. It just seemed like too much bother.

That’s not to say that I didn’t drink before I was of legal age - I did. AFTER I moved out, and ALWAYS with the knowledge that if I couldn’t drive, or the people I was with couldn’t drive, I could call my dad and he’d come get me. Sure, he wouldn’t be exactly HAPPY about getting up at o’God-thirty to come find me, but that option was always there. Just as it is for my kids. And their friends. (Like the one I picked up this morning because she was going to walk in -3 degree weather, without a coat, with high heels. INORITE? Another story, another time.) I drank a bit, then stopped when I had kids, and I tried weed the first time when I was 31 years old.

Yes. Thirty-One.

So I knew what it takes to resist the peer pressure, and how to find those friends that won’t pressure at all. (Honestly? Hang with the stoners. They don’t care if YOU don’t indulge, as long as you don’t care if they DO.) That’s the same hope I had with my own kids - that I could raise them to feel the same way about it all as I did. Moderation, careful consideration, and for goddsake leave mom’s stash alone! (..ahem.)

When it came time to talk to my kids about drinking and drugs - though to be honest I don’t remember a specific conversation, it as just something always there and openly discussed - My husband and I took the same route. If you want to try something bad enough, ask us. Now, my kids, being the stubborn little brats that they are, DID ask. One sniff of tequila and it never made it to their lips. A little taste of beer was enough to wrinkle the nose and have me laughing at the looks on their faces, since I don’t like beer either. They never asked after that, and they haven’t even considered doing anything else, either. Trust me - I can smell pot a mile away, on someone who was simply in the next apartment building over, getting it 4th hand. I know.

When my husband died, we had a good old fashioned Irish Wake, complete with a keg, many bottles of many things, and probably (ok, most certainly) some fine Alaskan weed too. I didn’t monitor the boy and his friend, both of whom were 13 at the time. Well, I was watching them, but I didn’t count the sips they were most assuredly stealing from the keg, or the fact that my Strawberry Jack Daniels always had a couple swallows missing when it got to me. I watched them, and made sure they were safe, but I didn’t stop them. It was an Irish Wake. It was a time to mourn and celebrate Dad, in a way that would make him proud. We had MANY people at the campsite who were sober and taking care of us all, so it was a safe environment.

And the boys’ hangovers the next day? TOTALLY worth it. Even if they STILL deny they had that much to drink. Liars.

On the way home, after I’d made sure to bang a couple things real loud, accidentally of course, we had a talk. And we made a deal. After they realized I wasn’t angry that they were swiping, both boys opened up and we had a frank discussion about it, and why I allowed it that night - and then we hammered out the terms of our deal. They had their taste, they had their fun. If they steered completely clear of alcohol (and weed was certainly implied - though not specified.) until they were 21, I would find a way to take them to Vegas to celebrate their birthday in style - no chaperoning, just me along to pour them into their beds at dawn, and make sure they didn’t do something totally stupid. And to take many blackmail pictures, of course. Both boys thought this was a FANTASTIC idea, and the bargain was struck.

A bargain they’ve both kept, 100% to this day. In fact, when they ask if they can have a sip of my girly beer, I hand them the bottle. “Go ahead. It’ll save me money in the long run.” They always hand it back, that damning sip un-taken. The boy wants to go to Vegas. And I will be more the pleased to pony up the dough to take them there.

I guess my point is - don’t be afraid to talk with your kids before it’s too late. If you are open and honest and NOT damning them for even considering it, they’ll react rationally, and probably surprise you. Dare to be open with you kids, dare to be different and find a tactic that works for you both. Most of all - TALK TO THEM. I’ve said it a million times, and it’s still my number one go to rule for surviving teenagerhood. TALK TO THEM. You might be surprised what you find out, and I know for a fact, you won’t be sorry you took the time.

We talk about sex around here. A lot. Mostly because I’m as bad as the kids and have the mind of a 16 year old boy, but whatever. Some folks think I’m nuts for the way we talk and joke and laugh about the “sensitive subject” but I just counter with the fact that at least MY kids ARE TALKING. Not only that, they’re talking to ME, and trust that I can give them the information they need, or at least point them in the right direction. And well, the teenagers - they are FUNNY.

Take today, this instance. It seems it’s time for the 9th graders in health class to dive into the Sex Ed sections of their book. Yay! The girl came home today, and crowed in mock excitement that covers the real ‘omg’ness of having sex ed:

The Girl: GUESS WHAT WE LEARNED?
Me: About SEX!
The Girl: Yes. Today? Today was Boy Parts!
Me: ooooh. ye olde Dangly Bits Chapter!
The Girl: Yup, and guess what we’re learning TOMORROW
Me: Where they PUT THEM!
The Girl: Wait, what? They put them in their pants! This is SEX ed, not FASHION!
Me: (collapses in laughter)

See? How can you NOT love these random conversations?! In fact, I’ve decided that for Christmas, I’m going to give each of the teenagers in my house an Sexually Transmitted Disease for Christmas. No, I’m not kidding. Wait, come back! I don’t mean LITERALLY! I mean in Giant Microbe Style. Check them out:

That’s Mono, Herpes and Chlamydia. Aren’t they cute? (Yes, I’m aware that Mono is different - but LOOK at it! It’s so CUTE! And it’s the Kissing Disease!) And hey -if it helps the teenagers laugh, as well as makes them THINK when they see an STD just sitting on their bed, then I’m all for it! Besides, how many times do you get to tell people you’re giving your teenagers the Kissing Disease, and/or STDs for Christmas and have it be a GOOD thing? It’s one hell of a conversation opener, for sure!

I receive a lot of searches that deal with teenage sexuality, promiscuity, etc. both from the straight and gay point of view – the latter usually involving questions about coming out to friends and family. As such, I asked a friend of mine if he’d tell us his story, in his own words. Danny is 18 years old, out and proud. He runs Big-Brother-Fan.com, and the Big Brother Interactive game – if you’re a fan of the show (and you know I am) be sure to pop over there and tell Danny I sent you!

Thank you, Danny, for taking the time to tell us your story! Hopefully it will find someone who needs to hear it, and give them that much more strength to come out on their own.
~L

Coming out. It’s one of the biggest trivial problems that gay folk deal with. Will my parents hate me? Will I lose friends? Will I be physically harmed? While this may sound extreme, it’s not. I’m going to take you down the road of the gay lifestyle, and specifically - coming out.

When I was around 8 years of age, I truly understood that I was ‘different’. I knew that I wasn’t like all the other boys who thought girls were ‘cute’. I enjoyed watching wrestling a little too much, and I played around with a few of my friends at the age of 10. I understood and embraced the fact that I was a homosexual from an early age, and have never been ashamed of what I am. Nor should anyone else. No one can tell you who or who you cannot love. Anyways…

Around the age of 10, I was taken from my mother due to her extreme drug issues. I moved in with my Stepfather in Florida (from Maine). I spent a few years in turmoil, visiting my mother only on occasion and wondering if she was ever going to stop with her drug abuse. At the age of 12 I realized that she could end up dying at any point, and if she did I wouldn’t have told her everything about me. I decided that the next time she called, I was going to tell her.

When she did finally call, 2 months later, I chickened out. I know, why be afraid? But I was also 12 years old. I finally admitted to her four calls later that I was indeed a homosexual. My mother took this to heart, which disturbed me. My mother has always loved me, and she sounded disgusted to be talking to her son, a young man who liked other men. I just couldn’t understand, not in the slightest bit.

Finally after a year of awkwardness, my mother got over her issues with my lifestyle. Mainly, because she didn’t have a choice - she was a crackhead… and certainly not in a position to judge others.

Coming out to my mother was the easiest. My birth father? Not so much. When he found out, he blew a gasket - punched me in the face - physically threw me out of his house - and never spoke to me again. That is a day I don’t particularly like to relive, and no matter what I have done to try and continue contact with him - it won’t work. He doesn’t like gays, like many others in the United States.

In fact four States have so much hate towards gays they have joined the 17 others who have ‘re-defined’ marriage as the union of ONE man and ONE woman. California has gone as far as to TAKE away the marital rights that they gave gays, and potentially annul 18,000 gay marriages. It’s pathetic how hateful this world, this country can truly be.

We’re swaying from the topic now though, aren’t we? Anyways. I have three main rules that I try to explain to coming-outers:

— Be who you are.
— Don’t be afraid.
— Rely on your friends/family for support.

If you follow these rules, your coming out should be a breeze. Don’t let others bully you around, and if they try? Kick their asses. Be who you are, don’t let anyone tell you what YOU feel. Finally, rely on your friends and family for support. Some may disapprove of your “decision”, but a majority of your friends/family will still support you - and use that support to move forward and become stronger.