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. 

(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?

Homeschool to High School

When I'm wrong, I am not too proud to admit it.

Justin, I was wrong.

You have made me so incredibly proud, these past few months. You have taken on the responsibilities and pressures that come with attending high school, and you've taken them on with more maturity than I ever imagined. Obviously, there is always room for improvement, but I did NOT envision that you'd be taking the reins of your education this quickly.

When we started homeschooling you, I distinctly remember you declaring that you were "Never going back to school, ever again, EVER" and I took you at your word. You are, quite often, determined about your opinions, so I couldn't foresee the sudden switch that took place in 8th grade. You knew what you wanted and nobody would stop you from achieving your goal of going to high school, not even ME; that's pretty remarkable, especially for a pre-teen. I know this year has NOT been all sunshine and roses for you, with lots of surprises on what school would really be like, and we still argue at times and have wildly differing opinions on what is important/necessary/acceptable, BUT you are dedicated to your education and future in ways that make me marvel. You have become a pretty awesome teenager, with goals and plans of becoming an even more amazing man... Just writing that makes me tear up.

I don't tell you often enough, but I am PROUD of you. So is your dad. So are your grandparents. So are all of us who have watched you struggle through the years. I love you, and honestly don't care all that much about the grades you get this Finals Week because the effort you've invested is worthy of a solid A+ across the board.*

*NOTE, this does NOT give you free license to goof off. STILL STUDY.

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.

Boy Mom

Listen To Your Mother Chicago was 10 days ago! I cannot believe it... Here is the written version of the piece I read on that amazing day. The video version will be on the LTYM You Tube channel sometime this summer and you can rest assured that I WILL LET YOU KNOW. Oh yes, I will.

Photo credit Sabrina Persico

"Boy Mom"

For me, the shock of giving birth for the first time involved more than just the all-encompassing pain and embarrassment of being on display for a room full of acne-ridden medical students.

Because I? 

Gave birth to a boy.

ME? A son?

Me? A mother of a…. boy?

The idea was absolutely foreign to me. Weren’t babies supposed to be…well… girls? Wasn’t I destined to bear only precious little female babies?

Wasn’t I supposed to have a houseful of pink and ruffles? Isn’t that what I’d always dreamed of? 

What I’d grown up with as the middle daughter out of 3 girls?

A… BOY?

Not surprisingly, this was the overall response of most of my family and friends that were in the waiting room on that frigid February day.

The reactions were something along the line of “Congratulations!!! Is Tracey ok? And the baby! How big? And… wait. Did you say a… a … BOY?”

Needless to say, I fell madly in love with that little guy; Immediately and overwhelmingly in love.

It was exactly like I’d read about, and exactly as I’d dreamed. The delivery room was overflowing with tears of joy and laughter and love and… well. You’ve probably seen “A Baby Story” at least once or twice, right? You get the idea.

But while I was totally in love with my baby son, I was ABSOLUTELY, Completely thrown for a loop by all of the blue hats and blue socks and blue overalls….

And more importantly, what does it mean to BE a mother to  a boy???

Somewhere around his 3^rd or 4^th week of life, I broke down on a phone call to my mother. Through snot and tears and that gaspy-chokey cry, I apologized to her for all of the times I’d been aloof as a teenager; for all of the indignant sighs and eye rolling I threw at her, when all she wanted was to spend more time with her baby.

I couldn’t imagine my precious infant turning away from me. I couldn’t imagine being treated the same way I’d treated her. She cried with me, and consoled me and reassured me that she understood then and understood now that I have always loved her.

She also threatened me with bodily harm if I ever made her cry while she was at work again.

The hormones abated and crisis averted, I hung up the phone and shakily stared at Justin’s sleeping face. I tried  to picture him at 13, at 18, at 25…

I envisioned him pulling away as a teen, graduating high school, moving away, getting married and having a family of his own.

I wondered; would he ever call me to talk about parenthood and life, the way I’d just called my own mother?

Would he treasure time with me, the way I treasure time with my own mom?

Do grown men do that with their mothers?

My own father’s mother passed away when he was very young. I never grew up in the witness of an adult mother/son relationship. I realized that I had a very real, very deep fear that I would become the classic “Mother In Law” and the butt of all jokes. I feared that one day, Justin’s future spouse would resent my very existence with degrading remarks about how intrusive I was to their relationship and their family and how I just couldn’t get a life of my own…

Once I ran out of tears over THAT scenario,  my mind turned to my own mother in law. I thought of how she treated her son, my husband, with love and respect. I pictured how he continues to share his life with her.

I thought  about how the two of them have always been so open with each other.

I thought back to one time, when Patrick and I were still newly dating; I found a package of condoms lying on his bed. I snatched them up and hissed that he shouldn’t leave them out like that! His MOM might see them!!

“I didn’t buy them,” he replied. 

He said that his mother must have left them on his bed, just in case.

I was MORTIFIED.

But for my husband? It was totally normal. That’s just the type of relationship they had.

That’s the type of relationship they continue to have.

Open. Loving. Trusting.

And able to talk to each other about anything…

Just like me and my mom…

And then I realized that she cared for me as not just a daughter-in-law, but as a daughter, and as an adult woman who is capable and intelligent. My choices aren’t always the same as hers, and our relationship didn’t have decades of history to build upon like mine with my own mom did, but my mother in law has never made me feel  anything but the same love and respect that my own mother has always showered upon me…

Looking down at my tiny son’s  face, through my tears and fears, I realized that I already HAD 2 fabulous examples of how I wanted to mother my son.

Suddenly, a life full of trucks and trains and dirt and camouflage and sticky little boy kisses was a dream come true…

Friday February Fifteenth*

Just Another Ordinary Day

Only it's not.

Because my BABY turns 14 today.

Fourteen years ago, I was holding this baby that went from screaming bloody murder to absolutely indignant silence as the nurses wrapped him up. My kid still doesn't like to be uncomfortable.

Today is even more out of the ordinary because I am typing this from a kitchen table in Orlando, Florida as we relax and wait to go pick up Patrick from the airport. It's even more unusual because Justin (MAH BABY) met his first girlfriend for the first time in person last night (and I tricked him. He thought he was meeting her today and they pulled up last night for about 2 hours. I even got it on video. I really am cruel, aren't I?).

Happy Birthday, to my baby. Even if you're bigger than I am, you are always my BooBoo and always will be. I love you, Justin!

*Alliteration is Awesome!

WoW and BoB

"Be careful at dusk. Dusk is the time when most other drivers won't see you. So, while you don't really need the light to see the road, you want your headlights on so that other drivers can see YOU."

"Ah, good point, Mom."

"And be sure to always tell the people you love that you love them. Really. It matters. Hearing the words is more important than you realize, so always say it."

"Ok, Mom."

"Also!! Girls like to get flowers. Even if they say 'don't waste money on flowers for me,' they still like to get flowers. So make sure to be the type of guy who picks up a rose at a gas station or a small bouquet when you're buying groceries. Not all the time; just every once in a while when you're thinking about her, or when you don't really have a lot of money but want to spoil her. Those are the flowers that matter the most. I promise you, this is important shit. Maybe you should be writing this down?"

He sighs and rolls his eyes.

I find myself flinging these Words of Wisdom at my eldest a lot lately. Random Bits of Brilliance. WoW and BoB for short.

It seems as though time is on fast forward. In fact, the years of "childhood" are now countable on one hand and I fear that there are lessons I haven't fully covered; wisdom not completely imparted. Hopefully, there will be time when he's an adult to continue sharing my experiences and opinions, but... what if?

What if?

Driving home after a long and emotionally exhausting day of auditions for Listen To Your Mother,* I found myself contemplating my Soon-to-Be 14 year old. I love that kid so much... So very much. I wonder; If I died today, would he know? COULD he know? Could any of my children truly understand how very intensely I love them if I was suddenly snatched from their lives?

"Be sure to wash your face every day! Your skin is the first thing people see, you know. And don't be afraid to try something new, just because it's a little scary. Most of my favorite memories in life resulted from taking a risk and being bold. I can't say I have very many outstanding memories because I played it safe and sat on the sidelines..."

"O.KAY. MOM."

Sigh...

* Oh my God, the talent was amazing. AMAZING. And we still have another day to listen to! Melisa and I are drained because we know that in order to have the show, we get to say "yes" to some people and "No" to so many, many more... We could easily do a 3 hour show with the amount of talented writers we heard today...

Like Kindergarten! Only With More Drugs and Facial Hair!

It's been one of those days, you know? Some questionable health news about our kitten which sort of makes me want to throw up with worry; a 10 year old who was more than a little bit stubborn about dividing his fractions during math and whether or not the "e" was dropped when the word "trade" became "traded"; and having to prep myself to walk into the high school for my eldest's high school orientation.

It's kind of like the first day of kindergarten. Only worse, because we've been through this whole scene before and it wasn't such a thrill the first time. I had considered keeping my reggae tam and ratty hair with tear-streaked make-up so that I could be all "WHAT?!?" to any parent or administrator who gave a sidelong glance when I said we homeschool, but I decided that this was just a wee bit immature and, perhaps, setting my son up for a poor experience. Instead, I have a moderately clean shirt on with brushed hair and fresh make up. I even reapplied deodorant.

That's going all out, folks. All. Out.

Deep Breaths are going to be required. Mock me all you want, but this is going against everything I have fallen in love with in these past 4 years of freedom. I feel like I am being forced back into a box full of windows again...

Here's a puppy and kitten love-fest picture to distract us all....

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!

I Remember A Time

I remember a time when my eldest would happily count from 1 - 12 in Spanish at the top of his lungs from his seat in the Target shopping cart. Shoppers would grin at him and his bouncing white-blond curls as he purposely "forgot" to include "cuatro" between "tres" and "cinco", simply so that he could pretend to have lost the number four. I have many a memory of him shouting "Cuatro?!? CUAAAATRO!!! Where are you, Cuatro?!?"

Today, he is a baritone teenager who towers over my head and knows everything about every single gaming or computer system in existence but couldn't count to 5 in Spanish to save his life.  "Squat down!" I scold him as I pull on his long and brown curls, "I can't see the top of your head to check your shampooing skills."

I remember a time when my middle son would win over every crowd with his enormous brown eyes and perfect little face. Always a smile and a hug for even strangers, he was the baby to bring to a party. Want to feel good about yourself? Hold this baby for 10 minutes.

Today, he is 10 and lanky and still adorable in that way that lanky 10 year old boys are. Elbows and knees and feet are growing faster than seems possible. And for as awkward as his growing body is, he still has that smile and hug for strangers; though he tends to follow the smile with a mischievous, sarcastic remark or joke that will either have you busting out laughing or shocked at what has just come out of his seemingly innocent mouth.

I remember a time when my baby girl was actually a baby; curled perfectly into body and arms in her rocking chair,  I'd weep as I sang "Silver Bells" with her on countless winter nights. Her ridiculously young toddler voice would lisp the lyrics of both verses... She has always had an astounding ability to remember lyrics.

Today, she is a stunning, athletic 6 year old who prefers singing the incredibly inappropriate lyrics to that annoying LMFAO song. Thankfully, she can still "kind of" fit into my lap where I desperately kiss her cheeks, smell her hair, and attempt to memorize this current stage before it, too, fades into a mere memory...

Someday, I'll remember a time when my children were 13, 10 and 6. I'll remember the craziness, the fights, the laughter, the struggles... It will all be a memory, someday.

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.

Go Fly a Kite...

Blue skies and gusty winds... Sunshine on our faces. What more do you need?
A kite made by a 6 year old who found an old Pirates of the Caribbean dollar store prize in the back corner of the closet may not hold up perfectly, but it's interesting enough to draw the attention of a couple of hawks that will swoop and dive beside it, eliciting shrieks and laughter from your entire family.
Grabbing the fishing pole on the way down to the lake will mean all of the confused fish who don't own a calendar will be biting and biting and biting.
Success! The kite is up!
Figuring it out together is priceless.
She's not a baby anymore, is she? 6 and a half. How did that happen?
And speaking of getting older, I'd like to give you a glance at my 9 year old, before he turns 10 this weekend. He has grand, GRAND plans for his first friend birthday party sleepover which is a privilege only available to ten year olds in this house. Plans of acting out the Hunger Games, eating pizza, watching some army movie and then waking up to chocolate chip pancakes in the morning. He is also itching to find out where his special birthday trip will be. Some of you may remember that I took Justin to Mammoth Cave when he turned 10. Sort of our last hurrah before they become too cool and mature to think that a weekend with Mom is fun. (though I know that Justin would still like a trip away with me, if only to be away from his siblings).

411

Desperation won. Cracking beneath the strain of new motherhood, I balanced my infant first born in one arm as I shakily dialed those three little numbers that were the Google of the 90's.

Hello, this is Information. How can I help you?

Hi. Um. Heh. I really need a number for a group... for moms? Do you have anything like that?

Sure. City and name, please.

Heh. I, ah. I don't know a name. My home town is Small Town, Illinois but I can't find any groups for moms and I just wanted some, um, help? Can you help me? Please?

Baby Justin begins to fuss. I jostle him in the universal baby dance that all mothers seem to learn without lessons. He quiets and I can feel the tears catch in my throat.

Please? I really, really need.... friends.

She's quiet. I can honestly feel the pity through the phone.

I'm so sorry, but without a name or city listing, I can't really search for you...

Isn't there any way? Anything you can do? I'll try anything... a baby group? A play place? Somewhere for mothers to meet?

I'm... I'm sorry. No.

Oh.... oh. Thank you, anyway....

The connection lost, my heart breaking, the loneliness closed in and the weeping commenced.

~~~

I was utterly alone in my new motherhood. Well, not utterly. I had plenty of family who loved me. I had friends who adored my son. But there wasn't a single, solitary soul who was home during the day to talk to. There wasn't anyone who was marching through the infancy stage with me. Justin was rapidly nearing his sixth week and I was rapidly approaching my return to the office. Torn by the overwhelming desire for human contact and the primal need to stay with my baby, I was a gigantic mess of hormones and mood swings.

I am so grateful for the Internet. What I wouldn't have done for its instant connection to similar people and similar issues.

I love you, Internet. You beautiful, shiny, brilliant creature.

Muwah.

How many drafts DOES it take to write a birthday letter to a 13 year old?*

There's so very, very little left of him that is, well, little. No soft, curling locks or deliciously aromatic neck to sniff. In fact, I rarely approach my almost 13-year-old with my nose unless it's to determine if he needs a shower.

Nobody tells you about having to smell pre-teens when you get pregnant. Rather, they do, but all new parents laughingly ignore the warnings of doom because we** all say:

"Look At This! I have a BA.BY. I will never have to be where you are! That is impossible! Not only because my baby is my baby, but also because the possibility of my baby becoming a teenager would mean that I would have to AGE. And that? Ridiculous! I mean, come on! I like Pearl Jam and go to Lollapalooza and am FAR TOO YOUNG to ever have a teenager!! "

This lovely reality of parenthood is hidden in a dark dresser drawer, shoved underneath other less-desirable aspects like the first time your child bites somebody else and the first time you realize that you will NOT be "better" at this parenting gig than your parents or your neighbor or that woman down the street who never wears anything but sweatpants.***
My eldest is a near-man. I'm definitely not his "best fwend in da world" anymore. Not to say that we don't get along, because we do. Especially when we're not arguing. We get along really well when we're not arguing. Or when I'm not asking him to take out the trash, do schoolwork, get dressed... In fact, if I were to just stay out of his way, we'd probably never have any problems, EVER.
Back when I was able to hold him, whenever I felt like it, for longer than 2.3 seconds. Back when he liked me without reservations; without qualifications. Back when I wore overalls and had a perm.

I have been poring over the old journals I have from my pregnancy of Justin. I have been reading the letters I've written to the tiny little soul who changed our lives, nearly 13 years ago. Naturally, many wistful tears have been spilled and memories rediscovered of who I was back then and what our family was like. Nearly everything has changed. Our address, our careers, our lifestyle, our family size. The only constant is our love. The love that I wrote to that tow-headed baby boy still exists for my baritone teenager. It's not the same, obviously. A mother's love, like everything beautiful in the world, must evolve to continue to survive.

He doesn't need me to rock him to sleep or prepare his food and holding his hand to cross the street is something I haven't had to do in eons. The needs for my 13 year old are more... abstract. He needs me available, but not intruding. He needs me to provide him with more space than most mothers are ever comfortable giving over. He needs me to tell him I love him, every day, even when we're arguing (especially when we're arguing).


I'm thinking he also needs to not have his mom gush about him for too long on the internet. That said, I will end my weepy, week-long attempt at capturing how much I love him. I will quietly forward the link to him on his Facebook account and not be sad when he doesn't come to talk to me about it, wrapping his arms around me and proclaiming just how much he still loves me. I know he loves me. Even when I'm the lamest mom in the world, he still loves me.

Happy Birthday, Justin. You are a cool, cool kid and I'm so, so proud of you.
*Answer: about 6 drafts. SIX.

**By "We" I mean "Me" and probably "You" but it's quite possible that you are more intelligent than I am. Perhaps when you were 23 with a newborn, you realized that Time Marches On, but it kinda sorta escaped me, back then...

***See also: potty-training, IEP meetings, Boy Scout camp outs and anytime the words "...promise you won't get mad...." are uttered.

I love Facebook chatting with my 12 year old...

Click on the pics to make them bigger because I personally feel this is too good to miss...

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.

A Letter to my Eldest

So you want to go to high school? Listen, Justin: I'll try to support you in whatever you decide, but consider the opportunity you have through homeschooling to develop into an adult without the pressures of The High School social mentality which (in my opinion) equals the death of individuality: at least for 4 years. If we were to poll all the adults in America, I will guarantee you that the majority of them would state that high school actually kinda sucked...

I hate to think that your confidence in yourself might be squashed before it has a chance to truly bloom. For no one and nothing can squash confidence and individuality like a couple hundred teenagers can...

Please don't get me wrong. My fear lies not in your ability to be strong against the forces of peers and their group pressures, but in the abilities of the entity that is High School to devour anything that rocks the boundaries of their definition of "acceptable."

College accepts and treasures that which is unique. In fact, it heralds it! But high school unfailingly succeeds in separating and segregating. In categorizing and labeling. Jock = popular. Techie = nerd. In high school there exists such a thing as a "social ladder" that makes me want to vomit.

There is definitely a huge value in figuring out how to defend oneself against bullies, snobbery, jeering in the hallways and getting picked on. And if you are one of the lucky ones who finds their niche in the social ladder, you might just find yourself nearer the top than the bottom, and so won't need to defend yourself at all. But do you WANT to know that there are people "below" you? Do you want to wonder if you should be a friend to someone who is considered the "most unpopular kid" in the class because of what that would do to your "standing"? Even if that kid is hysterical and kind and really, really "gets" you?

Maybe having to make that choice is what makes us stronger. But maybe having to make that choice is also what kills our ability to just LOOK at a person without judging them. To just introduce ourselves without a pre-conceived notion of their "coolness". I think that you have that ability right now. I think that you just see people as people, without wondering if they will like you or accept you. (which is exactly WHY they all DO like you and accept you!) I guarantee you that high school would make you question someone's social standing; at least once. I still hurt inside from the times that I was cruel to other kids; either from my actions against them (I wasn't a bully) or from my inactions to save them from taunting or loneliness. There are so many lonely kids in high school that could have used a friend, and I didn't befriend them out of fear of what others would think. This? This makes me cry as I type it, honey. It still hurts.

There IS no pecking order in homeschooling. We learn to learn, not to prove to some government group that knowledge has been attained long enough to pass their tests. The speed and velocity of what and how you are educated needs not be evaluated by strangers who have no emotional investment in your education.

Also?

Screw grades.
Screw tests.

I don't want you to be sucked into the vacuum of learning to pass, learning for "A's", and learning to judge based upon what is perceived instead of what you feel in your heart.

Don't think that I think that you "can't handle high school." That is absolutely not the case. Not at all. My worries are that you WILL learn to "handle" high school. That high school will "handle" and alter you beyond what I recognize as a funny, intelligent, unique individual. I worry that you seek this change because you feel as though you may be "missing out" on the High School Experience. Did you ever stop to think that by being homeschooled, you are privy to an experience that most teenagers would kill for?