Stream of thought on raising teenagers...

I need good teenager stories. Not stories about good teenagers; in fact, keep those to yourself, please. I only want the stories from parents whose kids have grown up and past this phase I find myself drowning within.

I am not one to accept abusive relationships. If you treat me badly, we will part ways. This is the only time in my life that someone I LOVE is anything other than respectful towards me... And I can't leave.

Granted, I don't WANT to leave. I want to be here, in this house, with these people. I want to be living and laughing and struggling through life's crap with all of them. But I never expected that parenting through the teenage years would be more difficult than they were as an actual teen.

I don't know... this shit is rough. Rougher than anything I've really had to deal with before. The absolute astonishment I feel over some of the arguments we've had (over COMPLETE BULLSHIT) have floored me. If I had spoken to MY parents the way that E has spoken to me this past year? HAHAHAHAHA!!! He doesn't know how lucky he IS. And maybe THAT is the key? Do I take everything and everyone away from him? Seclude him from life and hope that his particular personality doesn't react in the opposite of our desired outcome? Some kids, when you punish them THAT way, turn to hatred, drugs, running away... I honestly DO NOT SEE THAT as a possibility for this particular kid, but it's there, in the back of my head. A little voice saying "Does ANY parent REALLY know what goes on inside their child's head?"

Nope. They never do. There would be a lot less tragedies in the world if parents could actually see into their teen's heads...

He's so deceptively difficult. He is the dream teen for everyone else; Helpful, kind, hilarious, etc. This indicates to me that he understands what is expected of him in society and life. It also means that he feels that I am worthy of less respect than the average person on the street.

That's some effed up shit right there.

If my friend or significant other treated me as less than an average person on the street, guess who wouldn't be in my life any longer? JUST GUESS.

My God, I wish he was 7 again. Not that he was a perfect angel, because he was NOT, but at 7, he hugged me voluntarily. At 7, he understood that I was in charge, even though I was willing to talk through situations. At 7, there are clear definitions to the mother/son relationship.

At 14, not so much.

People tend to mock the teen years. They laugh over how stressful they are, how crazy teen hormones are, yadda yadda. This honestly is no laughing matter. It's not fun. It's not rewarding to be on the receiving end of unwarranted anger, resentment, and disrespect on a regular basis. My own life has value that exists outside of being Mom, and DAMNIT I want it to be recognized!

Whatever. I have too much laundry and too many dishes and too many errands and too much school work to help with to spend on here, trying to figure out life. I am hoping and praying that this stream of thought is one of the last about this particular teenager. Maybe he's nearing the end of his hormone issues? Maybe he is ready to really accept responsibility for his actions and tone of voice? I just wish there was a real and true crystal ball that I could look into that will prove to me that he WILL TURN OUT OK and that we WILL have a good relationship as he becomes and adult. I just want my kids to be happy, to be loved, to feel their value. And I just want the same for myself.

Hold 'em or Fold 'em?

My God, it's hard to parent teenagers. For the obvious reasons, it's an emotional journey, but as a nearly former blogger (crickets over here), I am missing the tie that got me through a lot of their younger years: community and camaraderie. The "Been There, Done That" aspect of young motherhood is nearly absent in the teen years of motherhood. Out of respect for my kids and their own need to tell their own stories (or not), I keep quiet. At least 96% of the time, anyway. I find that parenting in this kind of cocoon of silence is the quiet straw that broke this camel's back.

Why was I crying in my car at 9:00 pm all alone? Can't tell you. It's not my story. Except that I'm IN this damn story and the other side of it will most likely become fodder for "Remember when Mom..." lead-in's. 20 years from now, I won't be able to pull this up and say "THIS IS WHY I DID THAT. You were no angel, kid. Just you wait till your own precious babies become teens. Then we'll talk."

Ugh. I hated hearing that when my kids were little. I wanted advice! Show me how to ford through these murky waters! Don't send me out into the seas of teenagers with only one paddle and a slow leak! Teach me how to sail!!

Even now, I struggle to find the words to write that can adequately express how thin and tender my skin is right now; to do so might crush one of my kids' hearts or trust. I CAN'T DO THAT.

But this sucks.

It sucks worse than potty training.

It sucks worse than a high-needs child throwing the 14th tantrum that day in a public setting.

It sucks monkey balls.

AND I CAN'T WRITE ABOUT IT.

This stage scares the shit out of me, and even though I think we're making good choices with a particular teen, there isn't any guarantee that he'll "make it out ok." A lot of teens DON'T make it out ok. A lot of kids who are well-loved and come from "good" families end up...elsewhere.

This is like going to Vegas (I assume; I don't like gambling.) and putting all of your money on one reasonably strong hand of cards. You are fairly certain that this will work...you think... Well, maybe? I mean, what if I have misread the cards already thrown? What if I haven't judged the other players in this game adequately? IS SOMEONE BLUFFING?

Holy hell, I don't want to gamble with my kid's life.

Ramble

I am quite envious of those people who claim that older children are "easier" than babies and toddlers as they either have some pretty easy teenagers with easy-breezy issues or they're big, fat, lying mc-liarpants. Either way, it doesn't seem to be the case with me and my own teens and I am quite tired of this emotional stress and tears in the bathroom but there isn't any TIME for tears right now because I have to drive someone to an activity. All I wanted was some respect for maintaining this house as it falls apart around us all and all I got was an argument that brought me to my knees behind a bathroom door. 

And there isn't TIME to truly communicate with my eldest teen that, even though I am PROUD of his hopes to join the military, I am PETRIFIED of what the potential loss his joining could mean to our family. How do you get through that conversation without crying? Every time? How? There isn't time because it's ticking away and they're growing up and away from me and I am not equipped to handle all of these changes at once but Life doesn't seem to notice or care. 

Tick tick tick and the decisions must be made and I honestly feel like I can go from a mountain top of contentment to a valley of despair in less than 3 seconds. No one is prepared to handle the emotional trauma that parenting teenagers can bring. Just like you can never fully describe childbirth, or what it is like to brave through the first year of parenthood, I cannot do justice to what it feels like to mother these 3 kids at 17, 13, and 10. Please give me a tantruming toddler to hold onto in a corner for 3 hours after a week of not showering. Please give me a collicky infant and sleep deprivation. 

A rant about teenagers. It doesn't make any sense. Neither do Teenagers.

"It's normal," they say.

"You can get through this," they say.

"Don't take it personally," they say.

I know. I will. But I am. I am taking it personally. Because in no other time of my life have I ever deliberately sought attention from people who are consciously, and sometimes, vehemently pushing me away. If a person doesn't like me, I move on.

Living with two teenagers is like living with two of your closest friends who no longer adore you as much as you adore them. I mean, it's happened before where I have followed a friend around and asked to hang out and get together repeatedly, only to be met with "Sure,sure! Let's do that," and then...nothing. I don't ALWAYS get the hint quickly enough, and have occasionally dangled at the end of a string..wondering. Eventually, the hint takes hold and that friend fades into a memory.

I can't and won't do that with my kids. OBVIOUSLY. But man...

I don't care that it's normal. I don't care that I did this to my own parents. I don't care that they will grow out of it. I don't care that this is their first time being teenagers and first step into adulthood.

Right here, right now, TODAY, is what we have. The future? Who knows what it holds? Who knows if it exists? At this moment in time, my feelings are hurting and it sucks. All I wanted was something as simple as the happy presence of our family of five to carry out a tradition of cutting down our Christmas tree. Instead of sucking it up and tolerating it for 45 minutes, one teen stomped through the mud and shot daggers at my head and the other teen carried his winter coat instead of wearing it, occasionally muttering about how "all of the trees are FINE. Why do we have to do this??"

Thank God Patrick is so kind. I didn't engage any of their retorts and Pat made sure to tell me how much it means to him that I insist on traditions. Corinne, at 10, still loves the tree farm, and enjoyed all of the stories I was sharing about tree farm trips of years gone by. She distracted me from melancholy and deserved a happy mom, so I tried to shake off the feelings of inadequacy for her sake. But there were moments when I was sitting alone on the bench, waiting for our tree to be shaken and wrapped up, that I couldn't choke back the tears. Moments where I watched a toddler boy skipping along with his parents, dropping more cookie crumbs than he was eating, and the memories were so poignant and fresh...I was grateful for my sunglasses. I am grateful for the memories I have of my own toddlers and children skipping happily alongside me, but so envious of that connection and assurance that my children love me.

Xmas tree farm 2015. Alternate title: "Smile, guys. PRETEND you're having fun."

I consider myself to be a fairly kind and generous parent. Generous with my time, our resources, and patience. I don't ask for an overabundance from these kids, but I do expect a few things, without fail.

Respect. For me. For Patrick. For our family values and traditions.

Kindness. Tone of voice is a big one, especially with teenage boys. Just because I'm a mom doesn't mean I don't get my feelings hurt. I will NOT be spoken to with hatred or disgust. The words "I hate you" have not been uttered in my house. Lord help the child of mine who ever considers it. Their fate will not be pretty.

Accountability. Be where you say and do what you promised. I am grateful that this isn't a huge issue with my kids. They generally do what is required and have yet to truly be anywhere that they weren't supposed to be. (that I know of. The trust is not yet broken.)

My God, I have GOOD KIDS. I really do. I know that there are kids out in the world who push dangerous limits and make unquestionably BAD choices. In the grand scheme of things, I have little to complain about. I should grow a thicker skin, I guess? It's just...

I only have 14 months left with my oldest before he is officially an adult. Have I mentioned he's thinking about joining the military? So this means that I have one more Christmas with him as my child. One more birthday. One more Summer. One more first day of school. And then it's over...

16 years ago, it seemed like 18 years was a long time...

The Leaves are Changing, and I'm Not Ready...

The leaves are changing. It feels like it's too soon, but it's actually right on schedule. Any earlier and it would have been summer. Any later and it would be winter. Still, it seems as though fall is arriving ahead of schedule this year. I naively thought I could hold off the change by having All The Fun... even if only for a few extra weeks...

Why does she need to become a pre-teen?

Why does my baby have to rush into this hormone-ridden stage of life? Can't I just delay it for a bit? Just a few more years? Months? WEEKS?

"Mommy, sometimes, I just feel like crying and I don't know why!" 

Yes. It happens, sweet girl. Hormones and growth spurts are invisible but powerful and may leave you with no other option BUT to cry. Cry. Let it out.  It's horrible and wonderful and confusing and thrilling and I am sorry that all I can do to help you is to hold your hand as you walk up to the roller-coaster park that is Womanhood. I wish I could sit beside you on every single ride. I wish I could protect you the entire way, guiding you to the rides that I am positive you will enjoy and steering you away from the rickety wooden coasters that nobody likes; in fact, I wish I could hold onto the safety harnesses and keep you from feeling nauseous or jarring your back. 

I wish so many things.

While I cannot choose your path, trust me when I say that I will be beside you all the time. You don't need to feel my hand within your own to know that our love surrounds you. No choice you make will ever change that. No triumph or failure is greater than the love of our family for you. 

So quickly, these years have sped by. So soon, you are nearly as tall as I am, and can fit into my shoes! It's been years since I have chosen your clothing and rarely do you ask for my help on fixing your hair. My youngest child...my most mature child. 

"I'm scared, Mommy. I don't want to grow up! It's scary..."

Me too. 

You will always be MY baby.

Yes, Life is scary; but without the risks, there would never be thrills. Trust me, sweet girl, the thrills are worth the risks. YOU were a scary risk; one we almost didn't take. My third child, conceived after an operation that left me truly petrified - you were the most amazing reward for climbing onto that new, towering roller coaster 10 years ago. 

The Return of the First

I used to get SO ANGRY at how absorbed my boys would become with playing video games. They would spend hours and hours killing zombies and forcing Spongebob to jump for a golden spatula, while the sun would shine and toys would gather dust. I would eventually lose my mind, threaten to take away the damn Xbox, and force them to get off and go outside and PLAY SOMETHING ELSE. ANYthing, just get off the video games!! And they would, because they were littler and that's what littler kids do. They play. They play on swings and build Legos and chase each other with light sabers and build forts.

And then, one day, Justin stopped playing. He stopped playing with his brother because, well, he wasn't little anymore. And he REALLY stopped playing. He stopped playing board games, card games, and any video game that was a cooperative one. He didn't even want to watch the same movies that the rest of us did! He went solo. Completely and utterly solo. Like a hermit crab, he retreated into his own corner of the house; the office, just beside the kitchen, where his computer was located. Close enough for us to SEE him, and know that he was alive, but far enough that hours would pass without any conversation with the rest of the family. His absence was profound and, no matter how much we tried, we couldn't seem to truly draw him back into the family core. The remaining 4 of us continued to play. We played toys and board games and card games and cooperative video games. We always, ALWAYS, invited Justin to join us, but the answer was, invariably, "no thanks."

Recently, something has changed.

Be it the influential presence of his girlfriend or other friends who visit more regularly, or the natural course of simply maturing; either way, he has ~knocks on wood, whispers and looks around furtively~ returned to us. I never thought I'd be so thrilled to hear that "rat-tat-tat" of automatic weapons from our television speakers as I currently am at this very moment. Because that sound means that my boys, Evan AND JUSTIN, are playing together again. Yes, they're killing virtual people together, but the operative word here is TOGETHER. They are PLAYING TOGETHER and laughing and shouting and having a grand old time TOGETHER. I am willing to overlook my pacifist tendencies a bit for the return of a physical and emotional presence by my firstborn. I am ecstatic to learn that the two of them hung out together last night, eating pizza, and watching a movie.

Seriously, I need to wipe a tear at that line.

My boys are friends again.

All I Can See Are Ankles

It's happening again.

Sometimes, I notice it most when I'm trying to look forward into a room, and am met with an impenetrable mass of the thickest black waves imaginable, that block my 5'3" view.

Sometimes, it sneaks up on me when he's walking and all I can see are ankles. Ankles, ankles, ankles! Peeking out from under the cuffs of jeans that were purchased so recently, they haven't had a chance to fray or be stained.

Sometimes, I'm upstairs, folding laundry or watching tv, and I hear several men talking downstairs. And I'll pause, and wonder, "Who did my husband invite over? Should I get dressed a little more decently?" It will hit me like a shock wave: it's my son. Not my firstborn teenager, but my second son. My 12 year old who is still all arms and legs is the "man" I hear, the head I can no longer see over, and the one who grows too quickly to keep properly clothed.

It's happening again. My boy is becoming a man.

When Evan was a baby, he was barely on the growth charts. I remember cheering when he cleared the 10th percentile for height and 5th for weight. His smallness allowed me to carry him to my heart's content, which was a good thing because he LOVED to be held! In slings or on my hip, his favorite place to sleep was against my heart, and I LOVED IT.

He still loves being held. Not on my hip, naturally, but he craves physical affection and I somehow manage to get hugs on a regular basis. They may not last quite as long as before, but I'll take what I can get. I am beyond grateful for each hug.

Teenagers are weird creatures.

I know that at 12 1/2, he's not quite a teenager yet. Still, I've been lumping him in with "the teenagers" when I drive groups of kids places or tally the horde of current underagers into categories. Because that teen number is right there on the horizon, folks. He is so close; I have to prepare my heart to let go of my image of the little boy, once and for all...

Would you have ever believed your mother when you were a teenager, if she had told you how much she loved you? How much she KNEW about you and your hopes and fears? How strongly she felt every pain and loss you experienced? Would you have even stopped your own life long enough to consider that yours and hers were so deeply interwoven? No. That is not the nature of teens. They are preprogrammed to pull away and become their own person. Separate and individual; it's the path toward survival and I don't want to deprive any of my kids of their own happiness in Life.

 But it hurts. As a mom, it hurts. Not because of the angry and impatient arguments a teenager brings into your life; those aren't the worst pains, and they're expected. The Real Pain is in acknowledging the subtle changes of daily life that I am no longer included in on. The Real Pain is in knowing that from here on out, the adventures and information he includes me in on will lessen. The space between the seriously good hugs and moments together will increase, to the point that one day, this precious boy will move out and on into the world and a Life of his own.

 This kid... My God, how does it go so fast??

(Never) Been There, Done That

It's strange when your children have experiences without you that are completely outside of your frame of reference.

Go to camp by yourself for a week? I've done that! Isn't it fun?!? We can compare and share our stories!

Go to Paris for a week with your grandma?

Ummm...

Not only have I never gone to France, I've never been across the Atlantic. I have little travel experience outside of the continental U.S., Canada, Hawaii, and Jamaica. I've placed my feet upon one little section of the entire world. Meanwhile, my eldest has tacked on Europe to his travel log, complete with two stamps in his passport when they spend a day in Dublin on the way back!

I've never had a passport. When I last traveled out of country, it wasn't required. That gives you a little inkling as to the timeframe of extensive travel I've been involved in.

I'm thrilled for Justin. He is having all of the experiences that I've always wanted my kids to have. I am so grateful to his grandma for taking him on this amazing adventure. I hope all of my children are able to live lifes full of travel and activities that cause their heart beats to quicken.

It's just odd to be on this side of the BeenThereDoneThat, you know? I know that we are only on the precipice of hearing about experiences instead of comparing experiences. It's nearly the final territory of parenthood, and it's a little bit scary.

A week without a 6 foot tall teenager in the house is quite noticeable. I keep looking around for my purse or phone and have to pause to figure out what it is I'm forgetting as I rush out the door.

And then I remember.

Today

Not quite sure how I ended up being old enough to host my son's girlfriend for a week, but here she is and here I am and I am, apparently, older than I thought.

The internet brings people together in random ways. I make friends via Facebook and blogs and conferences. My son meets people via Minecraft and internet groups and, SHOCKER, a lot of the people who say that they are teens are, in fact, Teenagers.

But that's his story to tell. My story is of how I am not a natural tour guide of our fine state. I am trying, but fear I am falling short. Then again, I know that they really want to cram a year's worth of dates into one week, so dropping them off at the mall to see a movie isn't boring and everydayish - it's normal, teenagery stuff that I am happy my son gets to experience with his girlfriend of over 2 years. I give them credit for being able to be in a long distance relationship for so long.

Speaking of tour guide stuff, I have to figure out a free-ish activity for tomorrow afternoon as our original idea to hike in Mathiessen State Park is probably going to be rained out. :( Maybe I should make it into a "puddle walk" like we did when the boys were little? Think that will go over well with two teenagers who are really into anime and music?

Disdain

No preparation can "prepare" you for the hurt of the disdain of your teenager or pre-teen. Just as none of us truly understood how overwhelming pregnancy, childbirth, or caring for a young child would be until we were in the midst of the muck; no parent really understands what it will feel like to look into the eyes of their double-digit child and know that they really and truly don't like you. Not only do they not like you, they think you are a pathetic disappointment.

There are plenty of jokes about this parenting stage, probably because it hurts too badly to completely ignore, but it's not funny. It's not.

It's not amusing to believe that a person I have given everything to for years and years would ever look straight through me without noticing that I have a life and desires and dreams. It cuts my heart to know that I am seen as a faceless means to someone else's end; a title, a tool... a mother.

It does not soothe my soul to ponder the universality of teenage disdain. My heart aches even more to know that I caused my own parents the same pain.

A necessary evil doesn't negate its cruelty. It hurts when someone you love doesn't or can't see you.

It was painful when they grew within my body; stretching muscles and ligaments, pinching nerves, and blocking my flow of air.

It was agony when their hearts no longer beat in rhythm with my own. A joyful release, yes; but to pull my innocent and flawless child from my body, 3 times, and share them with the filthy and utterly flawed world was AGONY.

How many times must we recut this cord? How many wounds does it require for a child to become an adult? Is it even possible to cross this threshold without casualties? Is it realistic to hope that they may someday be spared this pain from their own children?

There are many joys of parenting a teenager; this is not one of them.

Adjusting... quietly.

The elephant.

It's in the room.

I haven't mentioned the presence of its road-mapped skin for fear it could stampede in revolt (as elephants are known to do).

But the thing about elephants is that they are insanely difficult to ignore.

Especially when you are as tentatively optimistic as I feel right now.

So I'll whisper it, ever so softly, and perhaps the great beast will forgive my admission...

High school for my eldest is going well.

He's...succeeding.

(ducks and throws arms over head)

Academically, he's doing good, and I knew he would; my kid is incredibly intelligent and has an amazing memory. But also, he's thriving with the responsibility. He wakes without fuss, makes his lunch and leaves on time, every morning. He remembers his homework and does it all on time - EVERY day.

He has stated that his goal is to Ace every class, including P.E. So far? He's on the right track.

Most importantly, he has remained true to himself and has tried out a club, started private piano lessons* again, and still manages to walk up to bed, every night, without fail, at 10:30 - WITHOUT ANYone prompting or reminding him to.

Good God, did I just jinx myself? I am knocking on wood and tossing salt over my shoulder and doing that little "tou tou" spitty thing I see old ladies doing to ward off evil spirits (or is that what they do to put curses on people?). I am crossing my fingers AND all of my toes that he continues on this path.

And I am quietly returning to my chair in the corner and praying that my boasts remain truthful; hoping fervently that my joyful noises were hushed enough to allow that massive elephant to stay asleep...

*For about 18 months around 2nd grade, he took piano lessons and was something of a freaking musical prodigy but the issues he had back then led  to a series of events that caused us to let him walk away from piano. He came back to piano on his own this summer and is, once again, sailing through the lessons and skills.

Crickets

It's quiet on here.

I know.

I'm busy.

Isn't that hysterical? Two words (when you contract them) that sound so simple but really mean that inside my head, I feel like I'm a massive ball of gum rolling down a hill; gathering speed and debris as I painfully bounce along. You would think that the debris would inhibit the speed; You would be wrong. You would think that being "so busy" would mean that I am able to cross vast numbers of Life's tedious chores off of my invisible To-Do list. Again, this is inaccurate.

I feel frozen in body while mind and heart are spiraling.

Time for a deep breath. A long bath. A moment to reflect.

But there isn't. Time, that is. There isn't time to breathe or bathe or reflect. Because he's leaving in 2 days and Important Things must happen before then. But I'm not sure how he is ready to go to high school when I can't even find the energy to move.

Just a Little Grace

After a Blogher conference, I always leave feeling inspired to do more, but so exhausted that I cannot figure out how to begin. Which direction to take? What to focus on? There is so much, and I feel so overwhelmed, that I find myself stuttering in perpetual pause.

This year, a new element has added another layer to my distressing lack of drive. Justin, my eldest child, will be a freshman in high school in just a few weeks. It's finally hitting me. Not only his age and all that this grade entails, but also that he will be returning to public school after 4 1/2 years of homeschooling. 4 1/2 years of having no government interference in his education and suddenly, I must sign papers that state that they are in control of my child. I find myself unable to drive these final papers to the high school. Though the day draws closer and closer, the paperwork remains in the folder.

I feel stuck in this feeling. Not so much the "How time flies! Woe is me!" feeling as much as knowing, without a doubt, that these next 4 years with him will be swift and stressful. Just as I looked at his newborn face and burst into tears over the knowledge that he would one day leave us, I look at his nearly manly face and see that this day is nearly here... and I cry again.

Well-meaning people keep telling me to chill out and get over it. And I will. It will happen. Life has a way of allowing us to adjust to its constant changes. But I must kindly ask for everyone to stop trying to "fix" the way I feel. I feel the way I feel and it's normal and I will get past it. The best way for me to work through my feelings is to write them down. You do not have to listen to me spill my heart; But I do have a need to let it OUT.

I have had the pleasure (and torture) of more face-time with my first teen in the past two years than most people will enjoy (and hate) with their children in their entire stints as teenagers. I actually LIKE being with him (most of the time) and he's a pretty good kid. He's funny and mature and fairly responsible. Knowing that he will soon be gone from our house for 7+ hours a day, 5 days a week, is killing me. It's worse than the first day of kindergarten, to be honest. I've already DONE the first day of Kindergarten! I shouldn't have to bawl through sending him away AGAIN.

Ah, first world problems, eh? To be sad that my child will receive a public education in a country with fairly decent laws and educational standards. We do not have to walk to pull water from a dirty well. Every physical need we have (and most of our desires) are met. My 14 year old is in no danger of being kidnapped by rebel armies and being brainwashed into murdering others. I fully understand that the level of my sadness is nothing, NOTHING compared to that of the suffering in millions upon millions of other mothers' hearts around the world...

But it still aches. It aches because I love this man-boy who still calls me "Mommy" in the deepest baritone imaginable. It aches because that is what a mother's heart does; they ache for our babies.

So even though this is a common occurrence every year across America, it is still a new one for my family. I am not asking for sympathy or even compassion.

But a little Grace would be nice.

Eleven

~I've been here before; you'd think I'd have been more prepared.~

Eleven is sweetness and hugs and still calling me "mama" in front of his friends.

Eleven is sharpness of tongue and rolling of eyes with indignant exclamations over the unfairness of having to change his shirt after 24 hours of use.

Eleven is lengthening arms and legs and joints that seem to have a life of their own; appearing seemingly overnight, because JUST LAST WEEK I was cradling a toddler in the glider, singing him to sleep.

Eleven is hormones and growth spurts and tall girls and short boys and liking girls but not wanting to talk about it; Eleven is becoming embarrassed if pushed to talk about "her" name.

Eleven is riding your bike for hours without your mom knowing where you are... and that's ok.

Eleven is still using imagination in play. 

Eleven is exciting and thrilling and awesome.

Eleven is scary and dangerous and edgy.

Eleven is mood swings and angry spurts and realizations about Life and The World.

Eleven is HARD. So freaking hard. Stuck between little boy and teenager, these tween years are a time of living with a foot in each stage. Watching him teeter and sway is heart-wrenching. Seeing the struggle that is natural and necessary to become an adult makes me misty for him; though it IS normal, that doesn't make it any easier for his own heart.

Scared Shitless

Did you know that when you were 4 months old, you caught chicken pox from the daycare provider's first grade son? Have you ever seen a tiny baby listless from a raging fever and covered in chicken pox? Several phrases come to mind: "Scared Shitless" was one that fits nicely... The nights I spent hovering over your crib, stroking your hot head and carefully coating your delicate skin with the thick, brown oatmeal ointment were some of the longest I'd ever lived.


When you were 7, you began to have issues in school. Well, not really. I mean, the issues began when you were 4 and 5 and 6. I was able to write them off for all of those years, but at 7? That's when the situation truly exploded. It felt as though I were on an express train that was hurtling through the mountains, without any brakes and no conductor. The years of emails and phone calls and parent-teacher meetings left me sobbing into my pillow for many, many nights. I was frightened for your future; Petrified that I couldn't be the mother you would need me to be. Terrified that my inexperience with your "high maintenance" needs would hinder your growth...


There have been countless times I've worried over you and prayed to the universe that you would make it through childhood in one piece and into adulthood with a peaceful heart and happy life. But none of those worries have ever felt as fragile or delicate as the worries I've had now that you're 13; Now that you are encountering more adult situations and relationships.

Now that the decisions are no longer up to me....

I feel like the oars have been ripped from my boat... 

...and I'm drifting further and further away from you. I feel like I've been tied to the deck, and can't escape. I'm being forced to watch you struggle to figure out how to steer your own boat.

All I can do is shout at you from across the waves. Up and down and up and down... You're discovering that being your own captain is not always as easy as it appears.

And I can SEE where you're fighting the current when you should just let it carry you along! And I can SEE how you could make your boat go where you want it to, if only you would just use the oars in a certain way!

And there isn't a single thing I can do to FORCE you to paddle your boat the way I think it should...

And as your mother? This is the single most terrifying experience of my life.

Sand, Heat and a Tornado; What's not to Love?

 A beach sunset can make anything possible... It can cause dreams to flourish and love to grow....

 Our weekend camping at the Warren Dunes State Park in Michigan went better than I'd hoped. We were dragging a very reluctant 13 year old along with us. A teenager who doesn't like sand, heat, bugs, or having to hang out with his parents very much. All things that we would be doing in abundance for 4 straight days. AWEsome.

 Thankfully, there were cousins for our other kids to play with, while Justin read book after book by the snack bar and then back at camp by himself...

They managed to have a blast without him, collecting rocks...

 Coating themselves with clay from the creek...

 Floating in the peacefully still lake water...

 Building dozens of sand castles...

 Searching for minnows....

 And burying themselves...

 Many, many times...

Until finally, he came back to the family. Grudgingly, but still.

We were all together again.

 Also, I don't think there is a single angsty teenager in existence who would turn down a waffle cone of mint chip in a local ice cream parlor.

Other fun outings to experience with teenagers who aren't thrilled to hang out with their families include driving as fast as you can from the tornado warning that hit your campground. Trust me; he LOVED that one. Me? Not so much.

 But we survived and even had all of our tents and supplies and chairs remain intact and mostly dry. WINNING!

 Our favorite way to end our Michigan camping vacations is a trip to the blueberry patch. In fact, I am enjoying a DELICIOUS shake with the freshest, sweetest berries as I type this. Yum, yum, yummy!

It hurts.

I have piles of parenting books. PILES and piles of them. Some that I bought when I was newly pregnant for the first time. They were eagerly read in 1999, occasionally thumbed through in 2002, and really haven't been touched since. I picked one up the other day to see if they cover this stage. I was pretty sure that the humorous advice ended somewhere around "potty-training" and "what to do when your kid is the biter in preschool." Sure enough, the wistful, tender chapters cut off right around the time parents feel as though they've got a hold on things.

Leaving us totally unprepared for the shitstorm that the teen years bring.

I had no idea that anyone other than my husband could break my heart anymore. They don't put that in "What to Expect". If they do, it's written about how your 2 year old tells you "NO!" when you say it's time for a bath. Yeah. That's not really heart-breaking. When you know your teen really and truly doesn't care about something that is important to you and your family? That's when my heart breaks. Even though I tell myself  "13. 13. 13. It'll pass. 13. It'll pass..."

Even though I know that I was a total shit at 13, but I am now an absolute delight to my parents and never give them ANY grief, anymore.

Still. It hurts.

A lot.

I have been offered teenager books to review. I think I even have a few that I'm supposed to be reading. And yet.... I get depressed when I ponder how long I'll be in this stage. How many more years I'll have to deal with the hormone fluctuations and personality changes.

If ever I wistfully stare at a newborn baby or precious toddler with enormous eyes, it's with the knowledge that that innocence is temporary and that each sweet little one is a future teenager. My heart is tainted right now.

I feel so... powerless. I feel so unnecessary. And when I say that Hogwarts is a fabulous idea? When I joke about how awesome it would be to send them off to learn magic in England? I am not really joking.

Forging his own path

Teens.

I have so much to say about my 13 year old, yet so much of it is "unallowed." Crossing the line to the forbidden territory, my tongue is tied and fingers must often remain still.

I can't tell you.

It is no longer only my story to share. His path is quite vividly his own; though we often walk side by side, he is the one who has begun to navigate a unique direction.

I hope he understands just how much I'm holding back. I hope he knows why his stories aren't recounted on my sites quite as often anymore. I hope he knows that I am still collecting memories in my mind of the ups and downs of 2012. I hope that he looks back on these years on my websites and thinks "Ah. She was protecting me and my privacy. Not ignoring me because I was being a teenager."

For I have stories to tell, my friends. PLENTY. Oh, the tales I could share, if only I were not held back by my desire to do this ONE THING for my son - which is allowing him to begin his own version of his life. To tell his tales from his point of view.

Hey Santa? I could use a router-thingy...

I have a 12-year-old.

I have 1 computer.

We don't have any Wifi or a router-thingy-job that allows you to have more than one person on the internet connection at the same time. So, if I want to go onto my lovely internet and tweetle-ee-deet or post magnificent words of inspiration on my blog, there is a 94% chance that I will need to eject someone (namely, the 12 yo) off of the internet.

I can hear the envy from each and every one of you just oozing through the cyberspace.

Typical scene in the house of JAMB:

Phone rings. It's Melisa! We need to chat about Listen To Your Mother. This requires that I be able to Google and sit in front of my screen for a bit.* Seeing as how I was already ON the phone, I used a fairly kind voice and somehow maneuvered my way onto my comfy office chair. (For the record, Melisa found all of these interactions quite amusing as her own boys are older teenagers in high school and college. For the record, Melisa? It's NOT amusing. So stop snorting.)

We chatted and Googled and fretted and planned and, when I finally hung the phone up, there was Justin at the doorway; Ready to pounce upon the computer and all of its loveliness.

I sighed and, quite selflessly, I must say, relinquished the computer to my child. But not before I had to clarify a few details with him:

"You DO realize that this is like, my JOB now, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, my friend and I will be co-producing and hosting a show. This is OFFICIAL work, Justin. We have deadlines to meet and people that will be counting on us. I will be needing to be online when I NEED it, not just when it's convenient for you."

Moaning and groaning at the imposition this entire conversation is having upon him,

"A show? Like, on stage? What's it about?"

"It's called Listen To Your Mother. People will read about motherhood and being a mom and..."

"No thanks."

"Wait... what?"

"No thanks, I don't want to go." (said as he stares at the shiny screen, getting sucked into the web's oblivion.)

"Um, you're going. It's not a question I'm asking of you. It's an obvious GIVEN that when your mother PUTS ON A SHOW that you ATTEND."

Huge sighs and eye rolls. He even HARRUMPHED. I kid you not.

"What day?"

"It's not until MAY, kid. Plenty of time to not think or worry about it.**"

"Aw, MAN!! It's just... It's just that we're SO BUSY. I just want ONE DAY where we aren't doing SOMEthing!"

I maturely rolled my eyes and left the room. Reasoning with a 7th grader isn't my Biggest and Best strong point. I mean, I COULD HAVE said what I was thinking which was "Listen to THIS Mother, kid: You're going and you'll be wearing clean pants, a shirt with NO 'funny' sayings on it, washed AND brushed hair and, to top it all off, I am not allowing the dreaded Flip Flops."

We'll save that conversation for a day near May. Or until he reads my blog. Whichever comes first.


*Admittedly, "a bit" can be anywhere from 5 minutes to 3 hours. I totally understand his frustration and lack of belief in my reassurances that it will only be a "little bit."

**For HIM. Me? I'll be thinking about it quite obsessively for the next 6 months, I'm sure.

Turn down the Bass!

I startled awake. Was there a man in my house? Holy Shit. I think there's a man in my house!

I check the clock. 8:04. Patrick is at work. So who the hell is in my house? I listen again.

There's Evan's high pitched boy voice, talking to the video game he's conquering.

There's Justin's bigger boy voice, slightly lower but still young, smack-talking to Evan about the beating he's taking.

Whack! Damn! There's Corinne, flip flopping in her sleep and causing physical injuries to all within her vicinity right beside me.

Rubbing my now-swollen eye, I pulled the covers to my chin (to protect myself from the potential intruder) and tilted my ear to the hallway.

There it is again! A definite, distinct Man Voice! There is a freaking MAN IN MY HOUSE! And he's talking about attacking... Soviet spies? What?

Holy shit, people. My 12 year old's voice has officially changed.