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!

I haven’t seen my daughter for THREE days.

Ok, so that’s not ENTIRELY true. I’ve seen her, but only in passing and never her full face. And I know exactly who is to blame.

Edward Cullen.

Don’t pretend you don’t know who he is! EVERYONE knows who he is. The movie version of him passes through my feed reader 87 times a day. (Which makes me want scream. Ugh. Some men make scruffy appealing. He ain’t one of them. ) Which means, of course, that the real blame falls on Stephenie Meyer, and the Twilight series of books. I say series, because the reason I haven’t seen Peppermist, is that she’s devoured the first 2.5 books over the past three days.

Part of me is proud, of course, because back in the day trying to get my kids to read involved things like hot pokers, water torture, threats and tears - mostly on my part. I was certain that they’d NEVER read, that they’d hate it with every fiber of their being. When the switch flipped in their head though, and words started making sense, they all discovered a love of the written word. They’ve never looked back.

Which is why I haven’t seen my daughter for THREE DAYS - unless it’s with a book in front of her face. The sun is shining, and she’s curled up in the corner of her bed with Edward and Bella. Finally, I had to grab the first one and see what all the hullaballu is about. I’ve heard the trash talk, I’ve heard the massive amounts of praise, I haven’t bothered to see the movie (Betcha I’m gonna have to NOW), etc. So I picked up Peppermist’s copy of Twilight, and started to read.

And I get both sides - I can see where some would call Meyer a talentless hack, but I also see the appeal of her story too, from a very teenage point of view. (Because inside my head, I’m still 16. Or 12. What-EV-er.) Her style is not very “grown up” but it IS engaging, and she does tell her story well in her own way. Edward Cullen is not the typical Vampire we’ve come to expect from horror stories, but Bella very much is a typical outcast teen. Maybe my understanding comes from years of playing ‘against the stereotype’ characters in various Roleplay venues (yes, my geek is showing), but I get it. I’m only halfway through the first book (…I don’t have 3 days off to do nothing but read like Peppermist!) but I can get why Meyer has legions of fans to go hand in hand with her critics. I also finally know where the Lamb/Lion quote comes from. (I’ll be happy if I never have to hear it again, too!)

I still can’t get the appeal of Pattinson, but that’s OK. Maybe the movie will change my mind. Maybe he’ll… I dunno, wash or something. And maybe? Just maybe… I’ll see Peppermist again soon. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go see why they wait for a thunderstorm to play baseball, and if they brought a snack.

..what?

…that we send all the boys screaming and hiding their eyes, or at the very least make them squirm in their seat uncomfortably. Today, we’re going to talk about periods.

Peppermist: Whats a period mom? (Like she doesn’t know!)
Me: The dot at the end of a sentence. (Ha take THAT!)
PM: I thought that was a comma! (in Mock shock!)
Me: No, that’s when you bleed every month. (can’t best me!)
PM: Oh. Hey - what do boys get, if girls get a comma? (sly…)
Me: Uh.. (…crap)
PM: I know. Boys get EXCLAMATION POINTS.
Me: *headdesk*

Yes - that’s an actual snarky conversation one day after health class. My kid is AWESOME. *L* And yes, we’re gonna talk a little bit about menstruation and how to broach the subject with your girls. Whether you call it your little friend, your monthly visitor, your Aunt Flow, getting unwell, “Nancy” (don’t ask me why we called it Nancy. When I MET a little girl named Nancy we went back to Aunt Flow - much to her relief!) or any other subtitle - it’s a fact of life. It happened to you, and it will happen to your little girl, too. And what’s worse, is that her attitudes about it, and how she feels about the natural process of her body will only be 50% guided by you. The rest of the (mis)information will come from her peers.

As with everything - I encourage you to TALK TO YOUR CHILD. This is the utmost in importance, because it can be a scary thing, this first period. To find yourself suddenly bleeding, for days, it’s hard to believe that nothing is wrong, that it’s supposed to happen this way.

There are a LOT of useful books and tools out there to help you talk to your daughters if your squeamish about it too, so there’s no excise for having it be a surprise to your pre-teen/teen. If you can’t quite bring yourself to broach The Talk, then check these out:

My first Period Kit & DVD
Dr. Chrustal de Freitas understands how awkward these little “chats” can be, and how parents often get tongue-tied or dance around the details due to embarrassment. Based on her own experience with her daughters, she’s designed the My First Period Kit and DVD to help facilitate discussion about the first period. The goal is to help you share the essential information with your daughter and set a solid foundation for open and healthy discussions. It has accurate, age-appropriate information, and the kit includes some gifts as well.

It includes:
- A 99 minute DVD with the healthy Chats for Girls seminar to watch with your daughter, plus an age-appropriate helpful The birds and the Bees with Ease!”
- Pretty Pad Purse that can slip easily into your daughter’s backpack
- Full Color Parent Guide
- Trendy Butterfly Bracelet
- Handy Quick Reference Card to help tackle Frequently Asked Questions.

My Little Red Book
I saw the editor of this book on the Rachael Ray Show, and have been waiting for this entry to point you all in it’s direction. Mortified by her own first period experience, 18 year old Rachel Kauder Nalebuff decided to get together a collection of first time stories so that the girls out there know that they are not alone. The stories are told by a variety of women from all walks of life, and Rachel hopes it helps “get the conversation Flowing!”

And as we recently celebrated Earth Day, here’s a couple of alternatives to the conventional pads and tampons for you and your daughter.

Luna Pads have gotten a lot of great reviews, and are washable/reusable pads and liners, in a variety of sizes, shapes and fabric patterns, including an ‘intro’ kit for girls and teens.

The Diva Cup: used to collect rather than to absorb the menstrual flow, this alternative is perfect for all activities and ends the hassle of pads and tampons. PLEASE be sure that your daughter is COMFORTABLE with her own body first. This cup is washable, reusable, and is reportedly very easy to use as well. The site covers all the frequently asked questions you can think of, and holds a wealth of information.

There are also a bunch of other books on Amazon - books by American Girl that talk about puberty and taking care of your body, The Care and Keeping of You, among many others. The point is - as always - don’t be afraid to talk to your daughters. It’s a natural thing, and doesn’t have to be scary at all, if your open and honest and let them know what to expect.

Alright boys - you can come back now!

I’m the first to admit that when it comes to my kids? I got DAMN lucky. They’re mostly good kids, and I actually ENJOY hanging out with them, most of the time. I’d like to take all the credit, but I’m not sure if I can - I just know that as their Mother it’s my right to do so. Hee.

Life with PepperMist, my 14 year old, is a never ending session of snarky fun and laughter and many, many days where I just shake my head and wonder. As amusing as I like to think I am, I couldn’t have possibly been as funny as my middle child.

For instance - here’s a few of the conversations we’ve had lately:

PepperMist: Don’t throw that fork at me!
Me: (tosses - laughing) You’ve been FORKED!
PM: AHH!
Me: (tosses more) And Spooned! And CANNED! And you DESERVE it!
PM: No! It wasn’t me! (grabs an empty picture frame) I’ve been FRAMED!
Me: … you win.

PepperMist: So, I have this theory…
Me: Uh oh…
PM: They say you are what you eat, right?
Me: Sure…
PM: Well if THAT’s true, than aren’t we all cannibals?
Me: …wha?!
PM: Because I am a people, my friends are people, you I’m not so sure about, your an anomaly - but if to become a people we must eat people, by definition we are cannibals.
Me: … you win.

PepperMist: So, my teacher asked me today HOW to tell the difference between informal and formal speech. I told him it was easy.
Me: Oh? Do tell…
PM: (takes on a very bad British accent) If it makes you want to read like this, then, good sir, it is most obviously and positively Formal Speech!
Me: … absolutely.

Peppermist: (reading over my shoulder) Who’s Mindy?
Me: A friend.
PM: You haven’t mentioned her much yet, she must be a NEW imaginary friend!
Me: She wears a white coat, and is coming to take you away!
PM: to DISNEYLAND? the happiest place on EARTH?
Me: uh. no?
PM: WAIT! Is she a serial killer? because if she’s coming to take me away, I really don’t think I could go with someone that Kills Cereal. I love my fruit loops too much!
Me: …

PepperMist: My hatred of feet has risen to a new level!
Me: …oh?
PM: Yes. My Anti-Foot Fetish is so bad that I’m going to CONVERT TO THE METRIC SYSTEM!
Me: …

PepperMist: I have decided that I am a Zombie! BRAAAAAAAINS. I’m gonna eat your BRAAAAA…wait. Sorry, forgot about your “condition”
Me: Excuse me?
PM: (HEAVESIGH) Blond Brainlessness. Absolutely NO NUTRIENTS there.
Me: … Poor child. Just remember the Zombified apple does not fall far from the tree…

Me to Mindy: Not a court in the world would convict me.
Mindy: She’s a Zombie. You can’t get in trouble for killing the undead.
Me: GOOD POINT!
PepperMist: Noooooooooooooo! I’m meeeeeltinggggg!
Me: That’d be the wicked witch, not a zombie.
PepperMist: Oh, in that case, YOU’RE meeeeeeelllllllllltinnnnnng!
Me: …

Now, don’t you wish you lived at MY house?

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…

…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 had to wait a full 24 hours before writing this one, as the first draft after the incident would have been full of words that would make a sailor blush and Mama hide her eyes and cringe. Now, at least I can speak without stuttering, and view things a little bit clearer. Though with the clarity comes a dark boiling fury that wants to leap free - I’m just in control of it now, whereas yesterday… oh my.

I don’t write about my youngest, my 9 year old, here too often yet, as she’s technically not a teen, or even a tween, though when her issues or conversations should be included for a story, they are. She’s my baby, and I’m full aware - as I’ve mentioned before - that I’m completely doomed with her when puberty hits full force. Right now though, she’s still all knees and elbows and legs and arms that refuse to work in the same direction at the same time despite how much she wants them too. She’s sass, and attitude, and chatter and giggling, and frilly and girly and divaliciousness AND random tears for no reason at all (hello hormones!). She’s my drama queen, she - just like my older kids - is my life.

And when she hurts - I want to hurt someone back. I want to make it go away. I want to FIX it, and make it better. But as a mom, I know that I can’t lash out. I have to teach her how to deal with things on her own. I have to be the bigger mom, the better parent, the smarter adviser so that she grows up stronger then most, and definitely smarter then those who have the actual problem because their parents can’t be bothered with the job of raising civilized offspring.

Sometimes, it’s easy.
A lot of the time it’s hard as hell.
Yesterday, it was EXCRUCIATING.

The pup came home from school worried about her gym shoes - because the laces were frayed and she thought someone had done it on purpose to get back at her. She was worried about telling me, so told her auntie instead - and that’s when the full story emerged. It’s never just about the shoes.

There was an incident in her classroom, when the teacher had stepped in the hallway to deal with another problem. There were names called, and accusations thrown, and then the two boys who have been picking at my daughter for a month now (one of which we’ve had problems with before for a year or so), hit her below the belt. Not physically - this was far worse. These boys, 4th grade boys, told my daughter that her father never loved her, that he left because he didn’t care about her, that he never wanted her to begin with.

For those that don’t know, her father, my husband, died unexpectedly 3.5 years ago.

She couldn’t hold it in - she fought back, though with only words. The whole classroom erupted into screaming, and then she did what I had taught her. She turned and walked away, why these two little…. these two boys called her names. The teacher hurried back in - all this happened in mere moments - and got the classroom under control, and no one, not even my daughter, told her what had started the fight. She doesn’t want to be a tattletale, and she knew she should have walked away and gotten the teacher first. And when she discovered her shoelaces, and how destroyed they were - when they had not been that way earlier - she thought they had done it on purpose, and transferred all that worry into hoping I wouldn’t be mad about the shoelaces, even though I’ve told her time and time again that THINGS don’t matter, people do. She had to cling to something to transfer her worry to, something tangible since she knew that the boys were wrong, that they had lied, and that they had hurt her on purpose.

Of course her auntie told me, and we told the teacher, and let her know what really happened. I also assured the pup that I could fix the damn shoelaces - they weren’t a problem. The teacher had a class meeting this morning, and made sure to phrase things in such a way that there were no fingers pointing at the pup, that would make the boys act out against her again today, and we - the teacher and I - have an action plan of what to do should it start to escalate again.

The pup and I had another talk about walking away, about getting to a teacher if needed, and about words and stupid people don’t matter in the grand scheme of things because SHE knows the truth. Her daddy loved her more than life, I love her with the same intensity, and nothing anyone ever says could change that. The boys found a soft spot that would hurt her, and pushed.

I wish I knew how to teach her to protect her heart, while still keeping it as full and open as it always as been. I wish I could wrap her up and protect her from all the assholes of this world, no matter what age they might be. I want to keep her SAFE, and secure, yet still teach her to be as fiercely independent as she desires to be. I wish it didn’t hurt so badly when someone hurts my baby, and I wish I could strike back.

Instead, I can only do what I can do - hold her close, until she’s done letting me comfort her. Let go when she wants to walk on her own, yet hover close enough to catch her when she falls. Step back and let her fall when she thinks she’s ready too - so that I can pick her back up again, until she’s strong enough to pick herself up, dust herself off, and try once more.

I’m never sure if I’m doing enough, too much, not near enough. All I can do is try to help pad the soft spots, while keeping them open and free-flowing and strong.

Sometimes being the bigger, better parent sucks donkey balls.

Then, this morning, she reminded me just why we put ourselves through it, as she woke up happy and smiling and danced her way through her day on cloud nine. She even told me when she got home that for some reason, she was happier than ever today - and no one could tell that she had a problem yesterday because she was so happy and thrilled with life. For some reason, her day was just… good. No, today it was great. She doesn’t need to know why - it just was.

I think I know why. I think that her daddy held her up today, wrapped in his arms, wrapped in his love that was so big in life that it transcends death.

And I think she’ll be okay.

Yes, there are ways to tell that there is but a few days left before Christmas arrives in the House de Lessa. I’m sure these signs are seen all across the land, in various degrees, with the added style of your own unique family thrown in - so I’m sure you’ll recognize these in spirit, at least.

Number Five: The Annual Search for the Ornaments.
I know I put them somewhere special so that we wouldn’t forget where they were this time! They were in the green tub - no, the blue one! No, not THAT one… CRAP. Well, there’s the tree, pre-lighted even. Isn’t it lovely? Stop crying, we’ll find the ornaments! Somewhere… are you SURE we didn’t put them under the house again? No, the Garage? OH YEAH! There they are! Whew. It would have been a lonely Hannah Montana Ornament if we hadn’t found them!

Number Four: “Don’t worry Mom! We’ll clean up the living room and move the couches for you so we can put up the tree! Don’t you worry about a THING!”
Sudden attacks of niceness and sibling cooperation that last approximately .09281 seconds before they’re bickering like always because YOUR FOOT IS ON MY SIDE and HEY that’s MY priceless piece of crumpled paper how DARE you throw it away! MOOOOOOOOOM! Is it wrong to want to wrap them up in ribbon and duct tape and keep them under the tree? FOREVER?

Number Three: I want this, and this, and THIS, and OMG THIS!
Many, many crumpled pieces of paper are horded and EVERY TOY KNOWN TO MAN is written down, added too with every commercial, every trip to the store, every whispered conversation with BFFs, every second of every day - All in hopes that out of the FIVE GAZZILION THINGS wished for, Mom can pick out the one you REALLY want, REALLY REALLY bad…

Number Two: Ninja Present Watch.
Or alternatively ‘practice for future NYE Parties involving lampshades and beer bongs’. This time of year, the kids do seem to think that we don’t notice them lurking around the corners, holding fast to the childhood belief that “I can’t see MOM, so MOM can’t see ME!” all in hopes of discovering that mom DID listen and got that longed for really expensive present. Luckily they soon remember that “Curiosity killed the cat, then Mama took the presents back!”

And, the Number One Way to tell Christmas is Coming? Moments like these:
“Here you go, mom. A bow! That I made! To place upon you, for I am giving you YOU for Christmas! Want to know why? Because I wanted to give you something awesomely TOTALLY PERFECT!”

…awwwwww.

Shameless, the whole lot of them!

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.

It’s official. My teenage daughter has completed the Geek Trifecta: Choir Geek, Band Geek, Drama Geek. Now, around here, that’s not a bad thing at all, as it falls in the family tradition - I played piano, was in many renditions of choir, and also a drama geek. Nana was two of the three, though she didn’t play an instrument (unless we count playing Papa like a fiddle! badaDUM!).

Anyway, being in drama runs in the family, that’s all I’m sayin. And this weekend, The Girl officially took her place as the newest in a long line of Drama Queens, as the Cook Sarah, in The Man who came to dinner.

I saw the first and the third (final) shows, and was told I HAD to attend the last one, as in the show I missed, she flubbed one of her lines. The Drama Teacher Mrs. J didn’t even notice though, so I assured her it was fine, while telling her Drama Horror Stories of my own. (Cheaper by the Dozen. Act III. Two eerily similar lines. Said the second one first - thus skipping SIX PAGES of dialog. Calling one of the chars by a wrong name pales in comparison, don’tcha think? *L*)

The kiddos did a fine job showing off their acting chops. There were some shining stars, a couple of misses, but all in all it’s a very fun play that had us giggling and applauding throughout. When I asked one of my boys (Who played the lead, Sheridon Whiteside) how my daughter was as an actress, he said “Surprisingly good.” So I got him back after the first performance, and asked him WHEN he was gonna start acting, as all I saw in that rude ole boy was G. Ha!

As with any high school play - there were some missed cues, a couple of lighting mishaps, and a mishmash cross-section of High School Kids who had come together to create something they could - and should! - be proud of. There were geeks and jocks and cheerleaders/plastics and stoners and norms - and they all worked really hard over 8 weeks to make it all come together. I couldn’t have been prouder, even as I wished more folks had come out to support our kids and see the play.

Those of us who cared enough to go (multiple times in most cases!) however, made up for everyone who didn’t. There were flowers given, applause, and many accolades for our Drama Geeks - but we can always use more help.

Trust me on this one - if your local high school is putting on a show… go. You won’t be disappointed, and these young souls, the rising stars of tomorrow (or the Future Drama Geek Mama who couldn’t be prouder) deserve ALL the support we can give them!

B and C might not be so pleased to have made the blog this time - but it’s really too funny not to share! Again, neither B nor C are actually kids I’ve given birth too, but are ‘mine’ none-the-less. They’re both 18, and currently couch surfing at my place most of the time. Yay me! Good thing they’re relatively good girls, they’ve just gone through some bad stuff the past years, and are trying to pull out of it all. I’m happy to help in anyway I can - even if it’s just lending them a couch and a safe haven.

I’ve always been one to foster open and honest conversations about sex and all related sexual type activities, which has resulted in them not really asking me questions, but kinda hinting around sometimes, and then finally opening the talk. I feel special, because they DO talk to me about it, and well, statistics say that only about 19% of kids have someone they can trust to speak about sexual topics with - of course, I think of those 19%, about 11% of them frequent my house.

Lucky Me.

Anyway, as I was saying, there are open and honest conversations around here. We’ve tackled the hypothetical questions:

B: So. mom. HYPOTHETICALLY SPEAKING. If one were to go off her birth control, could they HYPOTHETICALLY SPEAKING maybe get pregnant so soon? And if so, MY FRIEND would like to know if HYPOTHETICALLY SPEAKING, eating everything in sight might be a symptom and OMG pass the chips, please!
Me: HYPOTHETICALLY SPEAKING it won’t matter after I kill you. Dead. Like with a rock or something.

I know, I’m all about being sensitive and stuff.

During this HYPOTHETICAL conversation, I pointed out that I keep condoms in the kitchen window basket, just to avoid needing these types of conversations.

B: OMG mom. I’d be so embarrassed to go into the kitchen and be all just grabbin a condom mom - it’d be mortifying!
Me: and these hypothetical conversations arent?
B: True..
Me: Child, you are in my kitchen 18 times a day getting something to eat. I can’t see you from where I sit at the desk. How could I possibly tell the difference between cup o’noodle packaging, and the condom box opening?
B: …you have a point.
Me: Remember that point. AND WRAP IT.
B: Yes ma’am.

See? Sensitivity is my middle name. Or is it sacrasm? Smartass? Something like that. Anyway, along with such hypothetical questions, there are the ever amusing overheard conversations that go like this:

B: I need to get my HPV Vac shot soon.
C: I have to go to the public health too - get tested again.
B: Yeah, we can go together.
C: You can hold my hand when they take my blood because OMG needles freak me out and I FLIPPED last time.
— Please note, this is the one who let the other one pierce her belly button with a sewing needle. Just sayin’.

B: What? You just have to pee in a cup for that one! Chlamydia and Gonorrhea are pee tests, it’s the others you have to give blood.
— Yes, I know, I think she’s incorrect on the Chlamydia test, but let’s go with it for now..

C: Alright! Pee tests I can do!
B: I mean, want me to hold your hand while you Pee? I can do that if ya want me too.
C: Oh. Yeah. That’d be helpful. Not.
— sarcasm is a fine art with these two. *L*

Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAH! That convo is SO making the blog!
B and C: MOOOOOOOM!

And you’d think it would end there. But no. There’s still the matter of the HYPOTHETICALLY NEEDED EPT. Which I went to purchase today. Now, I went this afternoon, because the girls, B and C were both home, and all the boys were not. Naturally, by the time I GOT home, another girl was here, and so was my son. Whoops. So I try to keep it on the downlow. I search for the right bag - and CAN’T FIND THE TEST. I search again.

The Pup: Whatcha lookin for?
Me: Feminine type items. Don’t ask. You’re too young to be a Feminine.
The Pup: Ok!

Still can’t find them. I call the store to see if they are still at the check stand, no go. The girls are like frantic. I’m chuckling. We look again.

The Pup: HEY! Is THESE it? (She holds up the EPT and box of condoms proudly.)
Me: Yup! Thanks kiddo. I’ll take it back to the girls.
The Pup: I know what one of them IS mom!
Me: What? (I didn’t hear her. I didn’t mean for her to TELL me..)
The Pup - as loud as she always is - crowed delightedly: A PREGNANCY TEST!

You could have heard a PIN DROP. Then the laughter hit. Oh. My. Gawd. We all busted up laughing, as I went back and tossed the EPT to a MORTIFIED girl, followed by the box of condoms for her personal stash. I am positive that she’ll think twice about NOT using the condoms next time, if only to avoid the embarrassment of the 9 year old calling her out on her deeds… For the record, the test was negative. But as they left to go off to a friends house, I got a very bemused and chagrined and laughter filled..

B: Way to keep things on the downlow, mom. Keep working on that, huh?

Then they swiped a box of frozen pizza, some chips, a soda, and left for the evening.

Admit it. You TOTALLY wish you lived at MY house, now, don’t you?

Teenage Pregnancy directly related to Teenagers Having Sex!

INORITE?

Sounds ridiculous, I know. I meant it too. Thing is, the new study that relates the rise in teen pregnancy to watching racier shows on television is almost as absurd. I hate studies like this, because they declare one single thing to be the root of the problem, but neglect all the other extenuating circumstances. They call the research “groundbreaking” and use words like “Suggests” and “link” and whatever. People grab onto this, Helicopter parents especially, and suddenly the FDC is pulling the plug on some of the best shows in television, and our kids suddenly have even MORE free time to have loud rowdy sex in their cars, since they’re not rushing home for Pushing Daisies, or Grey’s Anatomy.

So I’m being a little flippant about it all, clearly, because that is what I do. My actual point is that the problem with such studies, is that they don’t take into consideration a lot of other circumstances. The basic premise is, of course, that “Shows that highlight only the positive aspects of sexual behavior without the risks can lead teens to have unprotected sex before they’re ready to make responsible and informed decisions.”

The results state that pregnancy was twice as common among those who watched shows like Sex and the City, That 70s Show, and Friends, and suggest that it’s connected even with other factors considered, like grades, famly structure and parents’ education level - but not other important factors self-esteem, family values and income. I’m not the only one crying foul:

Still, U.S. teen pregnancies were on a 15-year decline until a 3 percent rise in 2006, the latest data available. Experts think that could be just be a statistical blip.

And Albert noted that the downward trend occurred as TV shows were becoming more sexualized, confirming that “it’s not the only influence.”

Do I think the media has an impact? Probably - but bottom line, I think the most impact comes from us parents, rather then outside influences. Did we teach them how to deal with such things throuhout their life so that they have a good foundation when they become teenagers? Do we have open and frank discussions with our teens? Do we stay involved in their lives on multiple levels so that they have the strength of our backup when they need to make such an important decision?

A more disturbing statistic is data that suggests only about 19% of teens feel they have an adult they can trust enough to talk about sex. So be there for your kids, your teens. THese talks should begin long before they need the information, if there’s going to be any hope of their making wise decisions!

…sometimes.

I adore my daughter, I really do - partly because she amuses the hell outa me. I don’t know how I got so lucky, but that child, that child is the sunshine in my day. She’s sassy and snarky and off the wall and down to earth and all around lovely.

And blond. Did I mention blond?

I know, I know, stereotypes, not all blonds are dumb and mine certainly isn’t - she’s INCREDIBLY bright - just, sometimes… sometimes I have to wonder about her as she has an attack of blonditis, or maybe it’s just teenagerbrain. Either way, I hope its not lethal!

Take tonight, for instance. She waited behind me while I finished up some typing, then asked me to explain something to her. She’s been reading a series of books, and just picked up book three. While reading the bookflap, she got confused. You see, it reminded the reader that they’ve been at war for months, starting in January, and now it’s July…

The Girl: But mom - the war started in the SUMMER, and now it’s WINTER, so I don’t understand… how can it be July and winter at the same time?

Me: (pause, try to remember what she told me of the series, try not to laugh out loud half a second later) Um, kiddo? Aren’t they in Australia?

The Girl: Yeah, but I don’t get wh…

Me: Australia is on the other side of the equator, darlin. They’re winter is our summer, and vice versa. They have the same months of the year, just backwards seasons… right?

The Girl: Oooooooooh. Yeah. I knew that. Um. Never mind. I was never here. I’ve been in bed this WHOLE TIME. Night mom!

And off she ran for the remainder of her reading time before falling asleep. I adore that kid, blond roots and all.

So, remember the other day, when I encouraged other parents to go support their kids at concerts, even band concerts, even when they were in high school? And remember how I preened because I’d been to almost every one of my kids concerts? And you were all like “oh give me a break, no one’s that’s perfect!”? Yeah, remember that?

Yeah. That. Now? I’m having an f’in Monday.

You see, there are SOME concerts I don’t go too - namely those that involve Honor Band/Choir in cities farther then 20 minutes away. I have good excuses, of course - I go to ALL THE OTHER ONES, we have a dog with separation anxiety that can’t be left alone, there’s my other kids to think of, the car isn’t in tiptop condition and some trips I just don’t trust it on, no really I don’t want to chaperon a bunch of kids that aren’t mine, that you won’t let me beat throw off the bus throw things at, you know, like punches help ensure good behavior, in my own way, of course. (Oh stop, I’m kidding. Sort of.) Point is, there are a lot of reasons why I usually skip those long distance concerts. (Though, to be COMPLETELY honest, had someone paid my way? I’d have happily gone to the ones two years ago in Spain/France. Just sayin’.)

Well, it’s time for Honor Choir, and my 14 year old daughter (naturally) made it, and it’s in Homer this year - a two hour drive away. The permission slip came home last week, I signed it, and returned it - forgetting that this time? ALL THE INFO WAS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE PERMISSION SLIP. The permission slip that was just turned in. That had all the info on it. Like time, place, bus info, etc. Yeah. THAT permission slip.

Which brings us to this morning.

In typical Monday fashion, I drug The Girl out of bed, with force and grumbled words and muttered threats, and sent her on her way for breakfast at Papa’s, and a ride to high school. I sent the youngest down after that… and got the phone call at 7:45am, just moments after The Girl had walked into her school.

My daughter. In tears. Honor Choir. Bus gone already. Mom, we forgot. Mom I don’t know what to do! Mom…

Ugh. I’ve been doing this parent thing for over 16 years now, and I’d NEVER EVER NOT ONCE fucked up a field trip. Not even the early morning bus rides. I make sure I have secondary parents to call and make sure we don’t sleep through the alarm, I set more then one alarm, sometimes I even STAY UP ALL NIGHT just to make sure my baby gets on that bus at some god awful hour in the morning, in the dark, to see some wonderful Alaskan thing or another, to sing with other schools, to play instruments with them, whatever. I NEVER FORGET.

I forgot.
And she was crying.
And I was crying.
Oh, the tears!

So, I asked the secretary if I were able to get the girl child to Homer, if they’d let her sing? They called the teacher’s cell phone, and no answer. They were dubious. We were dubious. My decision was already made. I told the girl to wait there, I’d be there in a minute. I called the sister (yes, more tears!) and woke her up, and got her to take the dog for the day. I called the Papa to let him know what was going on, and assured him that the car would make it even if I HAD TO PUSH IT. And if you knew the size of that last hill? You’d realize what a feat that would be! I grabbed the laptop in case I had to stay because they wouldn’t let her on the bus, and I had drive her home too. I grabbed a coat, put on my shoes (sandals, no socks) my bra (impressive, I know) and dashed out the door.

Without even COFFEE first.

The girl and I, we had fun on the way down. We reasoned that even if they don’t let her sing by some EVIL TWIST of ass-biting MONDAY type fate, we would spend the day together in homer, laughing and chatting and giggling as we always do when we’re out and about. We chatted, and giggled, and threatened to “Keel you. keel you ded. like with a rock or sumpin!” (Don’t ask - it’s a teenager thing! It’s on a sticker, apparently. It’s also hysterical when you’ve only had 2 hours of sleep and are on an emergency road trip. And have the mind of a teenage boy. Trust me.)

We had almost gotten to Homer, I was making pretty damn good time. (Going Exactly The Speed Limit. Honest. (ha!) Though we did mysteriously hit a time warp that had us making the 1.5-2hr trip in just 1hr 15 minutes or so…) I called Mom to make sure I knew how to get to the high school, then I called the high school to get notice to our Choir teacher that I was coming, she WOULD be there - just an hour late or so. Everything was looking up! They couldn’t possibly tell her she couldn’t sing once she got there. It was going to be OK!

I am driving slowly through Homer, looking for the right turn off for the school, and hey! what’s that? Oh yes. SIRENS AND SHINY LIGHTS. Behind me. Following me. Pulling. Me. Over.

Crap.

As slowly as I was going - it was 10 miles over the limit (25mph? I the middle of town? SRSLY Homer?!), my taillight was out, AND he caught me trying to slip on my seatbelt without him seeing me. Heh. Heh. Heh. He was a nice guy, and I got ticketed for the lack of seat belt, and warned for everything else, AND he gave me directions to the school.

Right across the street.
I KNOW RIGHT? Almost in the clear. ALMOST.

We got her to the school, I turned off the car, hopped out of said car, and walked real fast (I don’t run. Ever.) inside, and checked in, getting her into the theater with the Choir at 9:20am, not even a full hour late. Whew. They assured me she could ride the bus home, pointed me to the bathrooms, and the nearest coffee shop, and after a hug and exchange of lunch money with the girl, I walked out.

And couldn’t see my car. It wasn’t where I’d left it. Ummmmm… yeah. Shift the gaze over, and hey, there it is, nestled all gently, bumpers sweetly kissing, the Big Ass SUV that was parked across the way from me.

I KNOW, RIGHT?!

Apparently, I had neglected to put the damn thing in park, and it went on a nice slow little roll, until it bumped bumpers with the BASUV about 30 feet behind it. Whoops? So I checked it out - no scratch, no paint, just a rubber to rubber kiss, so I did the natural thing. Jumped into my car and got the hell outa there!

Straight to the coffee shop - driving a very careful 25 mph WITH my seatbelt on, where I settled down with an IV bag of Mocha, a blueberry muffin, and Scooter - my Laptop. I discovered that what once was free wi-fi all over the Homer Area, now cost at least $5 for 4 hours of use. I grumbled, paid my $5, and then? It wouldn’t. even. load. my email. OMG so slow.

It was time to give up. After I finished my coffee, I decided not to bother going around for photo ops - though I did take the one above at the Top Of The Hill, because oh so pretty! - and headed home. Driving the speed limit. (mostly.) With my seatbelt on. Singing at the top of my lungs to stay awake. Jittery from the coffee. Only to get home, get lunch, get my dog, eat and GO TO BED.

The End.

Happy ‘effin Monday, ya’ll. May Karma treat you Kinder than me!
(and you can bet she won’t miss the damn bus TOMORROW. Don’t mind me - I’ll be sitting at home, wrapped in bubblewrap, just in case.)