Parenting Teens

Sometimes this parenting gig really sucks. You see, it went down like this:

The boy’s work has a food item once a year in march, that’s full of minty green goodness. I prefer it mixed half and half with chocolate, because mmmmmmm chocolate mindy goodness! Every single year, since the store has opened in our area, I get this delicious mix of flavors without any problem. Until a couple days ago.

A couple days ago, my tastebuds were screaming for this once a year treat, and I hit up the drive thru for it. I was told that they couldn’t do that. I stammered “but… huh? since when?” and was told it wasn’t allowed. I said well, then pull TWO - one chocolate, one mintygreen, and pour half of each into a third cup and give it to me. They said no again. Color me disappointed. I had a large diet coke instead. Sigh.

That’s when I made the first mistake. I told my son. Who was all “aw HEYALL naw!” And, despite my protestations took me in, to ask what happened and again ask for the chocomint treat, before he decided to go behind the counter and make it himself. Someone narked - someone who has done her fair share of mistakes too.

Cue bedlam. Not right then, no, but when he went to check his schedule the next day. They suspended him for a day for “going behind the counter out of uniform and making a shake for his mommy, messing up the machine.” Yes, a professional write up included the word “mommy”. (cute rolling eyes HERE). And the machine was not messed up either.

Not only that, but now instead of 30 days to make crew trainer, they’re making him wait 6 months, and spent his entire shift yesterday berating him for this, and for half a dozen other things that were totally unrelated to him, while praising folks that have multiple write-ups for REAL reasons, etc. They even told him that we should have just asked them to pull two shakes and pour half of each into the third.

….uh. yeah. I did.

And yeah, cue mama feeling like shit for something that was thought by all involved to be all in fun - complain in fun, pick on the counter in fun, smiling managers having fun. Alas, something between the time we left, and the time he went back the next day to check his schedule made them decide it was ‘dump shit on The Boy day’. They made my kid feel like shit, they made my tough yet sensitive baby boy cry in frustration when he got home, and quite frankly, I’m mad as hell about it.

What really sucks, is that there’s nothing I can do about it, despite being the unwitting instigator of all of this. I have never been one to nark, but part of me wants to anonymously call and complain about the amount of messed up orders, the rude employees, the mishaps here and there that I know about. Part of me wants to rush in and demand they lay blame were it belongs - at the customer that complained and started all of this (which would be me) all for want of a chocomint treat.

All I can do, is hug him and talk to him and listen to him and try to give him ways to deal with this ball of shit thats rolling downhill. It’s clear that something’s going on higher up, and we all know that rolls downhill, especially in the fast food industry. He’s been told by the manager who is still on his side, to just put a happy face on it all for the next little while, and it’ll blow over. The boy doesn’t like putting on a happy face when he doesn’t feel it, but I all I can really do is encourage him to do the same.

It just plain sucks.

ETA: But I haven’t lost my touch to make him smile while facing a crap day. All it takes is rewriting Beyonce’s “Put a ring on it”. Observe:

Here’s my finger you can sit on it…
Here’s my finger you can sit on it…
Don’t be mad when i make you spin on it…
Here’s my finger you can sit on it…
Oh oh OH oh oh OH oh oh OH oh oh OH….

The boy: You really know how to make somone feel special, mom.”
With a smile, even.

I know. I’m not normal.

I don’t know how it happened. I really don’t. One minute, he was red-faced and indignant, his hands balled up into fists as he screamed his defiance at having to leave the comfort and warmth of his bed, to be thrust into the cold unforgiving outside… and then, this morning, he’s red-faced and indignant, his hands balled up into fists as he screams his defiance at having to leave the comfort and warmth of his bed, to be thrust into the cold unforgiving outside world…

….hm. Well, maybe things haven’t changed as much as I thought in the past seventeen years!

Yes, today is my son’s 17th birthday. In the transition from that tiny squalling baby to the 6 foot tall young man, from small little baby toes to OMG LOOK AT THE SIZE OF HIS FEET - there have been so many milestones to be proud of. His first words, steps, friends, school year… right up to his first time behind the wheel, his first date, his first dance, his first job, his first car… It’s a whole bunch to process, here at 12:33am, almost 2 full decades after our first face to face introduction.

Words can’t properly convey just how proud of him I really am. He’s grown into a mouthy, smart-assed teenager, who’s strong and tough and sensitive and shy all at the same time, who has a work ethic that amazes his bosses and makes me proud, who will never ever turn his back on a friend. He is the one all the girls turn to when they need a strong shoulder to lean on, he’s the best friend, the buddy, the older brother that alternately drives his sisters nuts, and loves them unconditionally. He’s the one all the OTHER boys are scared of, so they won’t ask his sister out, he’s the one they know they can count on, no matter what they may need. He’s growing into a man with his father’s strengths, his mothers blue eyes, as well as her common sense - enough to know that bribing his mama with a Shamrock Shake and a photo goes a long way toward getting that late wakeup call on his big day.

Mmmmmmshamrockshakes…. Wait, where was I?

Ah, yes…

Happy birthday, baby boy! I love you more today than I ever would have believed possible 17 years ago! Thank you for making me a mom, for helping me grow up, for showing me what it really means to love. I’m proud of you.

Now clean your room.

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?

I count myself lucky, actually, to have a son that collected such a great group of friends. I am even more lucky in that I, as they are fond of telling me, possess the mind and humor of a 16 year old boy. We all get along just fine.

Which is why I’m never afraid to beg them to do something for me - like bring me a diet crack coke, or check something on the car, or drop something into the mail box. T, the newest of ‘my’ boys, has just gotten to the point where he’s stopping by to grab a cup o’noodle and bs for a while. I got to embarass him a bit about his girlfriend last night, and make him blush, and he didn’t run away this time! Instead, he said “oh! your car! you needed me to look for something…” and dashed outside.

Remember that cold snap? Well, at some point during that OMGCOLD spell, I started the car only to discover that my blinkers and hazard lights weren’t working. Lovely. I called my dad and told him that I thought a fuse blew and he said no, it was the ‘flasher’ and he’d go get the part. Then, last night, T - our resident Car Boy - discovered that indeed, it WAS a fuse, as the hazards and blinkers had been hotwired by the previous owners to use the same fuse.

In other words - I was TOTALLY right. And you can bet your sweet bippy I called Dad and told him so too! He tried to deflect me by talking about the busted heater, but I got in my “Neener neener I was right!” anyway. Just because I don’t know a fuse from a hole in the ground, and had no idea what I was talking about anyway - it does not deflect from the fact that I! Was! Right! Neener.

So, all of this left us with the “flasher” plug sitting on the console in the jeep when my son took me to lunch today. While waiting for our food, he proved himself to be his grandpapa’s grandson, by picking up the piece, studying it, and asking the all important question:

“So, if I plug this into the back of a girls neck, will she then flash everyone?”

Yeah. I laughed. You gotta admit that was pretty amusing, and definitely something his Papa probably would have said, had he thought of it first. I swatted him on the arm too though, because I am STILL his mother. Even if I was laughing.

If nothing else, life with teenage boys is endlessly amusing!

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.

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.

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!

I like to wander through my referral stats obsessively occasionally, just to see what brought folks here to read about my kids and the care and raising of teenagers in general. Sometimes it’s typical boring stuff, other times it’s random words put together to get a porn reference, and sometimes.. sometimes it makes me laugh out loud. Literally. We’re talking a spontaneous gaffaw, here folks!

Such is the case with this one. Here is the direct quote, the exact wordage that brought some poor soul to my ramblings: “how to properly wash a teenage boy’s mouth out with soap“

I’ll wait while you bring the laughter down to a chuckle. Ready? Alrighty!

Now, this query brought some poor schlub direct to my post on cussing and the fact that I still do it, much to my mom’s dismay. Having raised a teenage boy to the ripe age of 16, it is amazing that I haven’t yet tried to wash his mouth out with soap - so I fear I can’t give someone the proper way to do so. Besides, I’m really not worried about my son’s mouth enough to break out the soap.

His feet, though, are another story.

Oh. My. God. people. I swear - I’ve smelt some bad feet in my life, but nothing prepared me for the stench that wafts from my son’s toes, no matter how many times he washes, how many clean pairs of socks he goes through in any given day. It is RANK.

Don’t think I’m just picking on him, either, or that he’s the only one of the group of teenage boys who has this little.. um.. fragrant… problem. At least two other of the boys are the same, one so much so that he will NOT take off his shoes for any reason. When people warned me about the sweat sock smell of a teenage boys room, I scoffed. No way would that be MY son. After all, his daddy was OBSESSED with his feet (NOT THAT WAY ya pervs!) so much so that he refused to wear a pair of socks twice. He always said when he went to work that he ‘lost’ them, but I knew better. We spent a fortune on socks for that man. He also washed his shoes, he powered, he sniffed, he made sure that his feet were pristine and scentless. I should have had it made in the shade.

But oh no. My son is all boy, and all stinky boy at that. To open the door of his room takes steady nerves, and possibly a gas mask. I nag him to shower, I nag him to change and wash his clothes, I nag him to wash his damn feet every day because OH MY GOD you are a stinky dirty BOY! Nothing works. This girlfriend situation is my last hope.

That’s right - I’m counting on you, MK, to gently (or not) introduce my son to the concept of non-stinky feet, encouraging him to find a solution. If anyone can do it - YOU can - and I will love you forever!

So forget the washing of the boys MOUTH out with soap. Anyone have fool proof methods to deal with his FEET? I’ve a feeling MK and I will need all the help we can get.

[Don't forget about our giveaway! Click here - only two more days to comment for your chance to win!]

Just WHAT is it with teenage boys and pointy, shiny, sharp things?

I blame my husband. He was the same way, as were all of his friends. At any point in time, there was anywhere from 2-6 sharp pointy objects on his person. Pocket knives, box cutters, and for a long time a belt buckle that was actually a tiny little blade. When he and his friends ‘unloaded’ before heading to the airport to go to Vegas for a week, you would not BELIEVE the pile of various sharp pointy objects that covered my coffee table! It was very, very amusing. And sort of disconcerting, but mostly amusing.

The Boy has inherited this love of all things containing a blade and the possibility for injury. He’s also certain he’s inherited the content of the Sword Case, too. We’re still negotiating that. He has already started his own collection of various blades and swords that he and his buddies mix, match and combine often - including practice swords made of bamboo to fight with his friends. I didn’t know this, of course, until recently. It went a little something like this. Two days after the fact.

Me: Good lord boy - is that a bruise or are you really that in need of a shower?
Boy: It’s a bruise..
Me: (examines it closer - including the fact that his wrist was SWOLLEN and the whole bruise, about the size of my palm, was painful to the touch) WTF? Who hit you? What happened?
Boy: Um. So, we were fighting with the bamboo swords, and it was dark and I kinda can’t see well in the dark like you and I went to block, and I missed and blocked with my hand instead of the sword…
Me: ….. doesn’t it hurt? (Not gonna lie, I poked it. I CAN’T RESIST a new bruise.. I must poke. MUST.)
Boy: OW! YES MOM! IT HURTS!
Me: Is it broken - I don’t like the look of the swelling… (Calm. Must remain calm.)
Boy: No, see, I can move everything, it’s just a wicked bruise.
Me: Ok. Um, you didn’t say who it was you were dueling..
Boy: S.
Me:…. HAHAHHA YOU GOT BEAT UP BY A GIRL!!!!

Ahem. Yes, the wound inflicted upon my 6′1″ tall son, who’s built like a linebacker, was delivered by a wee slip of a girl who actually has a variation of his own name. Verily, I was amused. Still worried about the bruises, but amused none the less. They’re clearing up fine now, of course, as is the cut he received when he didn’t quite dodge his own hand as he swung around something with an actual blade on it. But still..

…I don’t get it. They get bruises, they wear them with pride. They get cut on occasion, and come in dripping blood to just dab it off, check to see how deep it is (usually not very - I haven’t had to take him in for stitches yet, anyway.) and go back to swinging giant swords at each other again. Or small blades. Or bamboo practice swords. Or… or… or.

And I’m at a loss. Who can explain this love of combat with swords and the like to me? I indulge it, sure. I wince a lot, absolutely. I make sure they know the difference between play fighting, and crossing that line into anger, where all things stop right the heck now before someone REALLY gets hurt. I even oooh and ahhh properly over the latest pretties they’ve acquired.

And I worry… and wonder. WHERE does this come from?

Anyone? Beuller? Beuller?
(And I won’t EVEN get into how old it made me feel when my son said “Who’s Beuller?!” Sigh.)

I carefully planned to have my children two years apart in age. I did this, knowing that it would be hectic, but with the ultimate hope that they would be closer and better friends then my sister and I were when we grew up. Sure, my sister and I are great friends now - but back then? Well, she likes to tell people I pulled her down the hallway by her hair, when the truth of the matter is that I pulled her down the hallway by her hair arms like any bullying big sister would. If she had just done what I TOLD her too…

…but anyway. She and I were five years apart -much like my own daughters (Mom, stop laughing. It’s your fault, I’m sure of it. Wishing such agony on me…). My two oldest have that magical 2.5 years difference in age, and they’ve proved what I thought might be true. They’re great friends. Even with all of the arguments, fights, bullying (on BOTH sides) and wrestling matches on the living room floor - they’re still friends.

Thus, it’s no surprise that their core group of friends interact, and even like each other, despite the age differences. (The boys are all 16-17, the girls 14-15) When we have slumber parties, there is a LOT of laughter and giggling and squealing, and sword fights and so on and so forth. They’re all a great bunch of kids, and I love having them all crowded into the house.

And yes, everyone sleeps separately, Nana. When they sleep. Man, can they giggle for HOURS!

About two years ago, the flirting started. I expected it - after all, the girls mature faster, which puts them on an even playing field, right? The boy seemed to spent most of the time flirting with the girl’s BFF. I, of course, being the kind sensitive parent that I am (shush, you!) proceeded to tease them mercilessly, and take the above picture. I posted it with the caption “I’ve seen the future and I’m skeered!” on my personal page, and for the past two years since that picture, we’ve periodically teased the two of them about dating. Eventually. When they’re 87.

Don’t think they were offended by this teasing! Oh no. There was blushing, and denials, and the flirting never stopped. In fact, it might have stepped up a notch now and again, but all in all, it was still just fun, harmless flirting.

So, homecoming is next week. (You all can see where this is going, can’t you?) On a phone call to check in from some place in town, just as we were hanging up, the boy said quickly “Oh, hey, Mom?” which always means this is not a last minute question, but something he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask in person. Where I could tease him mercilessly from close proximity. Heh. It went a little like this:

Him: So, um, you think I should ask her to homecoming?
Me: Do you want to?
Him: yeah. kinda. yeah.
Me: So ask her. What’s the worst that could happen?
Him: She could say no.
Me: and then you’d go with the group anyway, and still have fun as friends right?
Him: Right.
Me; and so your problem is…
Him: getting her away from my sister long enough to ask.
Me: Ever think of asking your sister for help?
Him: …
Me: (smirks)
Him: She is kinda my insider info, huh? Thanks mom, bye!

I knew the moment he hung up with me, my daughter’s txt message alert would go off. I was right. She, of course, told me right away. He’d asked if the girl thought that M. would say yes, and how to get her alone. The answers were yes, and she’d take care of it.

So, after school today - there were two conversations. First off, the boy.

Me: Well?
Boy: Got a date for the dance.
Me: Score! Blog fodder!
Boy: (rolls eyes)
Me: Hey, you gotta keep doing this stuff and telling me so I have stuff to write.
Boy: (again with the eyes… they’re gonna get stuck if he’s not careful..)
Me: don’t spend all your paycheck now. You gotta at least get her a flower.
Boy: Whatever Mom. (turns to his friend G, whispers) do I gotta get a flower?
G. yes.
Boy: ok.

And then they were off to do whatever it is that they do when they’re together at G’s place. Today it involved a guitar. Last time it was swords. You never know with those two! Then it was the girls turn… and I got the details.

The Girl: So - we went into the lunchroom for snack and I only had my money for lunch not the pre-lunch munch, right? So M. was in the line and The Boy was in there already so I nudged him and was all look! she’s in the line! without me! and he was all ok, cool, and then when she finished paying I pushed her over toward him and she was all huh? and I was all ‘push’ and then I stood back and totally watched and he was all ‘wanna go to homecoming with me?’ and she was all ‘huh?’ and he was all want. to go. to homecoming. with me? and she was all sure…? and he said cool, talk to you later and gave her a hug and walked away right?

Me: good god child, breathe!

The Girl: whatEVer. and so I went over to her, she was like just standing there all still and staring after him and stuff right? And so I was all ’so, I hear you have a date for homecoming’ and she was all I guess I do.. and so I asked her the important question mom, I was all did you say yes so you didn’t hurt his feelings or like yes because you like him - as if we don’t know already, right? So she said she said yes because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings because she does kinda like him. So yeah! I totally got them together!

Me: (nodding along - certainly couldn’t get a word in edgewise…) Cool. Well! Guess maybe she should rethink that wearing jeans option, huh?

Girl: hahahah. you’re funny mom.

So - you’d think it ended there, right? Nope. My sister called not long afterwards and told me she’d run into M’s dad. Apparently he gave her hell all the way home (jokingly) because a REAL gentleman would have asked her dad first because she’s only 14. I’m thinking it’s a dance, not marriage, but whatever. When I told the boy he reminded me how much he dislikes that man, and I encouraged him to be the BETTER man and ask him anyway. Still not quite sure if he’s going to, but I do know it’d shock the hell out of her dad if he does. He’ll have to start dealing with the daddies of his dates sooner or later anyway, might as well start now.

[And? Not long after my sister hung up, my dad called because HE had heard it through the grapevine too. While I was on the phone with Nana giving her the scoop on the other line. Clearly my spy network is working perfectly.]

Time will tell. Time will also tell if this dating his sister’s best friend is a good idea or not. And if I survive it. In the meantime, I’m sure there will be many stories to use as blog fodder before it’s all said and done! (Now, aren’t you glad I’m not YOUR mom?)

As parents of teenagers, I’m sure you know that no matter how many kids you actually gave BIRTH too, you’ll become mom to a whole plethora of random souls that follow your teenagers home. There’s the friends, the friends’ friends, boyfriends and girlfriends(SOB!) and all of the friends’ girlfriends and/or boyfriends. The front of your house resembles a revolving door as the ever changing dynamic brings different groups to your house.

And once they are there - they eat.
They eat a LOT.

(What they DON’T do, however, is dishes. Dammit.)

I’ve been generally lucky with both of my teenagers choices in friends. There’s a solid core group for each of them, and the majority of those friends I like. I think I’d like them even if I gave birth to them and had been stuck with them for the past 16+ years. They call me mom (indeed, most don’t even know my real name) and since my house is the one closest to their schools, they parade in and out between school and work and the drive home to check in, make phone calls, check their work schedules (I keep copies of ALL the kids’ schedules for them - mine plus friends)… and eat.

Fortunately, I’ve discovered that - while not exactly the healthiest choice, it’s certainly one of the cheapest - they love cup of noodles. Any day of the week, you can find at least two, and sometimes three or more, teenagers in my kitchen, vying for the stash, the water, and the microwaves so that they can make their snack. One of the boys, Z, works at a store that has a Chinese Food Stand, and thus a bunch of soy sauce packets and chopsticks for the taking when you buy a meal. He buys the meal, grabs extras, and then the kids don’t even dirty my silverware to eat. A cup o’noodles, a set of cheap/free wooden chopsticks, and they’re happy as clams.

If clams liked cup o’noodles, that is.

I like this little ritual, though I’d never tell THEM that. I love that they feel that my house is a safe place to be, that they’ve somewhere - someone to turn too, even if it’s for something so simple as a snack. Those that drive have ‘their’ parking spots, and they repay my steady supply of noodlage by giving my kids rides here, there and everywhere. (With the price of gas what it is, I’m pretty sure I’m coming out on the good side of THAT deal.)

They talk to me, too, and it’s not just because they swear I have the mind of a 16 year old boy. At least I don’t think it’s just because of that - but either way, they come to me when they need help, and feel they can’t go to their parents. That’s not to say I wouldn’t call said parents if the situation warranted it, but usually it doesn’t.

This openness is how I ended up with B. sleeping on my couch.

B was Z’s girlfriend at the time. Z is one of The Boy’s friends. She’s a lovely girl, all attitude and smiles and piercings and multicolored hair - and she’d had a bit of a raw deal dealt her. Her mom died in 2000, her dad had her live with her grandparents after that. It was rough going, and though she had the support of another set of grandparents, it was just rough. The night they kicked her out/she left, they came directly to me.

There was no way I was gonna let her sleep in Z’s car somewhere, so I made sure she knew she was welcome to stay with me. I let her relax for the night, but the next day came the hard part.

Many think I’m a pushover, but my kids (and their friends) would tell you otherwise. There are consequences to your actions, and when you are kicked out/moved out of your house at 17, one of them that all important phone call. I had B call her grandparents, and let her know she was safe. Then she called her manager, explained truthfully what happened and why she missed work, and walked her through how to make it sound right and keep her job. Then I made sure she had her meds, her paycheck, access to everything she needed. And when her other grandmother called me, I was honest with her and let her know what was going on, exactly.

As worried and scared at the new situation that B was, I think she appreciated my lead and help during the month she lived with me. In fact, I know she did, because she just invited me over to her new apartment for dinner two nights ago. She turns 18 in two weeks, found herself a roommate, and let me help her find a kitten. Her dad showed up with some furniture, pots and pans and such, and between us we got her settled in well.

And don’t think that she’s off the hook! I talk to her daily, usually via txt (I know, I’m SO freakin hip!), usually initiated by her. I nag her about her meds, I nag her about her money, I make sure she has food, I make sure she has rent, and I make sure she’s checked in with her grandparents and dad. She knows she can come to me no matter what - she even uses me as her emergency contact number. She’s one of my kids now - how could I treat her any different then I would my own?

It’s a fine line to walk, that of parent and friend, at any age, but they all know - as lenient as I can sometimes be in some situations, I am no pushover. And I love nothing more then to look at them, grin big, throw up my hands and crow…

“I WIN!”

A new study from Johns Hopkins Children’s Center talks about the sexual health of teenage boys. The survey of boys ages 15-19 shows that boys who can talk more openly with both parents about their sexual health are more likely to see a doctor for preventive care.

This should send a strong message to all parents about the health of their teen sons. Prevention of sexually transmitted diseases is all about acting responsibly. And where do teen boys learn about sexual responsibility? From both fathers and mothers.

The study also showed that boys with stereotypes about masculinity promoted thinking that seeking medical care is a sign of weakness, and that those types of beliefs could be a risk factor in and of themselves.

Talking with your teen about sexuality can be one of the most difficult things a parent of a teenager can face. It’s not easy, particularly if your own parents had difficulty talking to you about the subject.

But think about how much you love your son, and about how you’d feel if something happened to him that you could have helped prevent by talking with him. Both fathers and mothers should talk with their sons about sexuality and how to protect themselves. Boys can gain very different perspectives on sexual relationships from their fathers and mothers. Those different perspectives are very important to good and safe sexual relationships.

Do you, or have you, talked with your teenage son about sexual health? I’d love to know how you dealt with it, and how it worked out for you and your son.

teen boys, teenage boys, sons, teenage sons, parents, parenting, parenting boys, parenting teens, parenting teenagers

Thanks to Char over at Weary Parent for pointing me toward this story. Awhile back, I posted on the HPV vaccine and the controversy over whether it should be required for tween and teen girls.

Now, the folks at Connect with Kids have posted a story: Should Boys Get the HPV Vaccine?

HPV (human papilloma virus) is a sexually transmitted infection, which is the cause for cervical cancer. Because of this, the Centers for Disease Control have recommended that girls ages 9-26 get the new vaccine. But, wait a minute… HPV also causes cancer in men, even though it’s less common. In males, the virus can cause penile and anal cancer (and genital warts), as men get older. The HPV vaccine can protect males from these. And it can also help protect girls, who get HPV from their male sexual partners.

So far, the FDA has approved the vaccine only for girls, although studies are being conducted on its use for boys. However, some doctors already give the vaccine to young male patients. “I think it’s extremely safe. I prescribe a lot of it in my practice and no one has had any adverse side effects that I know about,” says Dr. Scott Parry of Intown Primary Care in Atlanta.

What about you parents of tweens and teens? Do you feel your sons should get this vaccination as well as your daughters, when it is approved for boys by the FDA? Chime in and let me know how you feel!

HPV, human papilloma virus, HPV vaccine, Weary Parent, Connect with Kids, parenting teens, parenting teenagers