The Blame for What's Wrong With America

Read carefully the following words. All of these comments were made within the last few months by teenagers in a school with a mostly white student body.

If I were sitting in a room full of ____________ and didn’t know them, I would be scared.

All that is wrong with our country right now can be blamed on ______________.

I was sitting in class, and they were talking about some awful part of our history and someone asked, “And whose fault is this?” Everyone answered, __________________. I was practically the only _________________ in the class. I felt so uncomfortable and awkward.

__________________ have had all the privilege and the power for so long, it’s someone else’s turn. We should just eliminate all of them. Yes, the world would be a much better place if all the ____________ were gone.

Fill in the blanks with the word or group of words you think were originally used.

Did you write in the word blacks? Did you write in gays? How about Jews?

Go ahead. Reread the comments and fill in the blanks with those words. Does it scare you? Are you concerned at all at the casual communications of our youth? I hope it scares you. It should.

Now, let me tell you the actual words originally used in the comments.

If I were sitting in a room full of straight, white males and didn’t know them, I would be scared.

All that is wrong with our country right now can be blamed on the straight white male.

I was sitting in class, and they were talking about some awful part of our history and someone asked, “And whose fault is this?” Everyone answered, the straight, white male. I was practically the only straight, white male in the class. I felt so uncomfortable and awkward.

Straight, white men have had all the privilege and the power for so long, it’s someone else’s turn. We should just eliminate all of them. Yes, the world would be a much better place if all the straight, white men were gone.

That last comment was said in jest, but I’m not sure it matters. Or maybe it does. Maybe the fact that we can casually joke about exterminating an entire race-based gender should matter a lot more than it does. Maybe that’s the problem.

Guy Power

It's everywhere! Girl Power music, Girl Power movies. Girl Power memes and messages and mentors. As a mom of 3 daughters, I could not be happier for it.

As a mom of a son, I wonder where all the Guy Power stuff is.

My son is the youngest of my crew. The soundtrack of his childhood includes Hillary Duff, Kelly Clarkson, Avril Lavigne, and Cheetah Girls. Barbie and her Malibu house and jeep and massive wardrobe, who is employed as a CEO, a veterinarian, a teacher, an astronaut, and looks hot in a bikini, inhabited the play room. Even Blue from Blue's Clues is a girl.

I recently read one of those lists of 20 things every mom should teach her teenage daughter. It included things like "Pizza is always a good idea" and "your weight does not signify your worth". Maybe it's time someone made a list of 20 things every woman should teach her teenage son. If I made a list it might include the following.

1. Don't be afraid to open the door for her. If she gives you a dirty look because she can open her own damn door, try not to let it close on her.

2. Even though too many young ladies can't distinguish between kindness and "into her", be kind anyway. That's her problem.

3. Don't stress over the perfect Promposal that will look good on social media. If she's worth anything, she'll want to go with you just because she wants to go with you.

4. Check her Twitter before asking her out. If she airs everything to everyone (even passive aggressively), don't walk away...RUN!

5. Yes, guys are clueless (including you), but teenage girls are crazy. All of them. If you really want a girlfriend, choose your crazy.

6. It's important to hang our with your buddies without the girls. If she cries about it, let her cry. You deserve to have your own friends and your own time.

7. Regardless of the media portrayals, your muscle mass does not signify your worth.

8. Some teenage girls might fall all over themselves for attention from super athletic gym rats, but those aren't the girls you'll be happy with anyway.

9.  Confidence is attractive. Arrogance is not.

10. You don't need a girlfriend to complete you.

11. Yes, pizza is usually a good idea. So are grapefruit and carrots. Try them every now and then.

12. Life is expensive. Don't feel uncomfortable or embarrassed to discuss with your date who will pay for what. But if you invite her, be prepared to pay. If you decide to do an activity together, discuss the finances.

13. For most girls, sex = love. Don't do it unless you truly love her. Hint: You won't truly know you love her until you are willing to NOT do it for the health of your relationship. Even if she is willing, don't do it yet. You'll hurt her in ways you didn't mean to.

14. Don't kiss and tell. Just smile and make them wonder. In any case, defend her honor and your own.

15. You are enough. Just as you are. Your body, your face, your hair, your brain is all enough.

16. Guys think insulting each other is as funny as a soccer ball to the groin. Remember, a soccer ball to the groin is painful, too.

17. It is perfectly fine to appreciate beauty. And guess what else? It is perfectly fine, when you are with your buddies, to comment on a girl's fine ass and great rack and luscious legs. Don't let females fool you. We are doing the same thing regarding the guys.

18. Even though showing emotion is fine, it is also fine to "suck it up" and "be a man". Again, don't let us fool you. We like a strong man. We like to have a strong heart to fall apart on. Have you heard  "Break on Me" by Keith Urban?

19. Learn to cook.

20. In the history of the world, most of the great poets and musicians and entrepreneurs and military leaders and inventors and doctors and philosophers have been men. Don't apologize for that. They have made mistakes. So have the women in this world. But great men have done great things. Be proud to be part of that heritage.

I'm not sure this is an exhaustive list. I don't even know if it's a good list, but I did hit on some important parts. The biggest message I want young men to understand is really the same one we've been preaching to our girls. That is--don't give up your own power by believing belittling messages. Even if there is no such thing as Guy Power music or movies, create your own power. You are enough. You are perfect. You are Man, Hear you Roar. In numbers too big to ignore...

Wow. You guys really do need your own Power Music, don't you?

Bad Kid!

He’s a bad kid! The words came from an adult, passing judgment on a boy she didn’t know. I corrected her. He’s not a bad kid. He’s a good kid who made some stupid decisions, but he’s still a good kid. She pointed to his stupid decisions and relentlessly insisted he was a bad kid! In sticking up for him, I found myself raising my voice and angrily gesturing. I actually started shaking, I was so mad and the boy isn’t even my kid! I wanted to point out to her the stupid shit most teenagers pull from time to time and how we are called not to label them for their stupid actions. This woman, who works diligently with multi-cultural issues such as inclusion and acceptance, was labeling a child she didn’t know based on gossip. Her judgment rattled me for the rest of the afternoon, but also got me thinking. What exactly is a “bad kid”? There are extreme examples, like school shooters and such. But what about everyday examples? What separates the Ornery Kid from the Bad Kid? The Stupid Decision Maker from the Purposeful Instigator? The Peer Pressure Caver from the Willing Participant? What gives parents that gut feeling that we don’t want our children hanging out with THAT kid? Furthermore, what separates the Judgmental Mom from the Gut Truster Mom? Honestly, if most of us knew exactly what our own children were texting and tweeting and chatting and drinking and doing outside of the prying eyes of parents, we might condemn them, too. I’m not saying all kids who make stupid decisions are blameless. I’m also not excusing poor behavior because everyone else is probably doing it. I guess I’m simply empathizing with those my friend calls “Bad Kids”. I would not want to be a teen in today’s world. The pressure, temptations, justifications, opportunities, disturbing role models, and mixed societal messages have magnified a million times compared to earlier generations. When otherwise good, decent young people fall into some of that muck, I don’t think our first reaction should be to label him “Bad” and spread his dirty secrets. After all, we adults have created the muck, isn’t it our obligation to help teens avoid it or help rescue them when they don’t? Don’t misunderstand; I still believe there are young people who are bad influences. I’ve witnessed good kids go down bad paths, led by some pretty bad kids. There are people of all ages out there who give me that gut feeling. But I think it’s fair to say that there are some kids out there who give me the opposite kind of gut feeling. There really are good kids who make stupid decisions. And apparently, there are good adults who say stupid things. I guess that doesn’t necessarily make them bad adults.

There's No Feeling Sorry in Soccer

I almost can't watch NCAA March Madness or Superbowl or NBA Finals with my son anymore. He gets so mad at me. Inevitably, when it gets down to the final seconds, he'll turn to me. "Don't say it, mom! Do NOT say it! Don't say you feel sorry for the losing team."

I can't help myself. I do feel sorry for the losing team--even if the losing team just lost to the Jayhawks.

Yet, as much as I feel sorry for the losing team, I have yet to figure out how to parent losing. It's easier with my Drama Queen Daughters. When they don't get the part, it's easier to understand that maybe they didn't fit the "type". They were too tall, too short, too pretty. It's like this--an actress can be the most beautiful, most talented, most experienced blue puzzle piece on the planet, but if the director is looking for a yellow puzzle piece, she's not going to get the part. So they go on and find the director looking of the perfect blue puzzle piece. Not that there aren't Pity Parties. After all, what's a Drama Queen without her Pity Party?

The analogy doesn't work with athletes, though. When the buzzer sounds, one team was better than another. Period. That's it. Somebody loses and somebody wins. It doesn't matter what color your puzzle piece is. Somebody was clearly better than you.

So here's what happens when a Roaring Stage Mom tries to be Roaring Soccer Mom. Second Place Kid saunters to the side lines. Roaring Mom smiles. "You did great!" Dirty glare from Kid. "I'm so proud of you." More Dirty Glares. "I could tell you were giving it your all!" Huff and Glare. "You don't have any reason to hang your head." Finally, a verbal response, "Mom, we lost." As if Mom wasn't watching the game or something. "Yes, but YOU played great." Another, huffier response, "I don't want to talk about it!" Mom goes in for the hug. "Seriously, Mom!" Huff and Stomp Off.

I have probably spent twice as much time at soccer practices, games, tournaments, try-outs, conditionings as I have at theatre activities. You'd think I would have figured this out by now. No consolations for the Second Place Kid. No Pity Parties. No Puzzle Piece Analogies. No feeling sorry for the losing team. At least not immediately.

World Cup Champion Brandi Chastain, in her book It's Not About the Bra, says it's about finding balance. "One of the first things I learned about losing is not to overreact to the emotion of the moment." I've never been good at not overreacting to the emotion of the moment. I've cried in almost every darkened theatre my kids performed in and, more embarrassingly, on plenty of soccer sidelines as well. But my Soccer Kids rarely do--not on the sidelines. They celebrate victories and accept losses. Then they refocus, reload, and reclaim success as quickly as possible.

And if you think about it, that's what the Drama Queens do, too. It's the Roaring Moms who are left watching, helpless, from the wings--cheering, crying, praising, praying--win or lose. In fact, I think the Roaring Mom has the harder job.

So when the World Series rolls around this year, I won't tell my son I feel sorry for the losing team. I'll tell him I feel sorry for their Moms!

Roadtrip Survival 101

At the airport the morning of the big NYC trip
just before the flight was cancelled and they had
to scramble to find another. Clearly the travel
gods do not love us!

Here's how I know my teenager is prepared for her travels to the Big Apple: I've set a splendid example. Sort of.

It is one of the summer days when I sleep in too long and wake in a panic. I have a ton of stuff to do. No time for a shower, I shellack the hair, throw on a bit of make-up and run out the door. By noon, I have successfully completed the errands, put out at least 2 figurative fires, and avoided 3 future problems! I am a woman on a mission. In fact, I am a woman done with her mission and who desperately needs a shower after running around, unbathed in the already 90 degree weather.

But fate has other plans. As I pull in, Sophie is pulling out. She is headed to Oklahoma City (about 2 1/2 hours away) for a master voice lesson. Suddenly, I have one of the Roaring Mom gut feelings that she should not go alone. So I jump in her dad's SUV with her, which is already gassed up and ready to go, and we head out.

It is a lovely mother/daughter bonding trip until...it isn't! On the way out of town we decide to grab a bite. However, according to Dirty Shirley (the technological witch referred to in the February 18, 2012 post Tech Trouble), there is nothing available other than Asian food. No offense to the Chinese, but Asian food is the only food I really, really do not like. Finally, after 45 minutes of rush hour driving while my stomach attempts to eat itself, the Hunger Anger sets in and yelling starts.

"Fine!" Sophie yells back, "It says there's a Grandy's up ahead. Turn right." Only Dirty Shirley did not signify on her deceptive little Garmin screen that this is the dirtiest Grandy's in America! Hunger wins out and we order. We ignore the bugs and spider webs and sticky substances on the tables and try to eat. But it can't happen. My hand will not let itself bring that "food" to my lips. So we leave.

An hour later, the SUV crawls to a stop on the highway. Of course, it happens as I am passing a semi, so we barely make it to the left side of the road. Vehicles whizz by, 6 inches from the passenger side. A lot of the honk. None of them stop to help.

So we help ourselves. After 45 minutes of sitting in the 100 degree heat, making numerous phone calls home and to AAA and to the tow truck place, we decide to forge the 1/2 mile walk down the nearby exit ramp to the Conoco--correction, the Dirtiest Conoco in America. I decide to make the best of it, find the humor. That's what I do, right? I grab my bag and an umbrella for sun protection, lock the car and start our journey through the tall prickly grass that lines the exit ramp.

I'm thirsty. I'm hungry. I'm ruining my pedicure and my overpriced Grazies. I open the umbrella. At least I won't be sunburned, too. But the umbrella is no help. The spokes were broken and it won't hold it's shape. The wind turns it inside out.

Suddenly, a tortured laugh escapes my parched throat. "Sophie, this just goes to show you that you should always travel with sensible shoes and water. Just in case."

She stops, unamused, turns to me, and says in all seriousness,"Mom, I'm wearing tennis shoes. I have a liter of water in my bag, three oranges, a long sleeved light weight jacket and a fully charged cell phone. You are wearing blingy flip-flops, carrying a broken umbrella, a dead cell phone, and a bag of make up. I think I got this."

"Well...at least I'll look good!" Only I don't. Nor do I smell good. That extra hour of sleep was really not worth it.

An hour later, cramped in the cab of a tow truck with a mute driver who apparently doesn't believe in radios, I'm starving to death with no connection to the outside world. Sophie is still hoarding her oranges and cell phone. I hope she knows that if we are ever on Survivor, I'm voting her off and stealing her supplies!  Wait! Strike that! I'm voting myself off so I can take a hot shower in a cushy hotel. She'll be fine with her Mary Poppins backpack. And she'll be fine travelling to and from NYC, too.

What can I say? If you can't be a shining example of the right way to do it, be a memorable model of how to do it wrong. And pray your kids run in the other direction.

I've Created a Monster

I'm outnumbered, pure and simple.

You would think that this would be a familiar feeling, considering I am a single mom with 4 kids. You would think, but you would be wrong.

Now that I'm down to only 2 at home, I am more outnumbered than ever because the 2 who are still home are frequently referred to as "The Frank-n-Carmen". When they were toddlers together, the monstrous nickname was cute. It was funny. Now, it's downright scary.

I wish I could have recorded our first serious conversation in our new home. It had obviously been planned for some time. But not by me.

F-n-C: Mom, now that we're in a new place, there should be new rules. So we're each going to write down 3 rule changes that should happen.

Mom: Ok, how many rule changes do I get?

F-n-C: (Exchange of secret language expression) You can have three, too.

Mom: Oh, good.

F-n-C: (In unison as if scripted) Three total. Not three for each kid.

Mom: Well, let's see your changes.

Rule Change Lists:

1. Later Curfews
2. Cussing is allowed.
3. Ability to come and go when you want and all you have to do is tell mom where you are going.

1. When we go out, we don't have to give a big background check on our friends.

2. Everyone go with the flow.

3. Mind yo own business, Fool! (That includes everyone).

Mom: You understand that I do have veto power on all of these, Fool?! (Okay, I didn't say, FOOL, but I dearly wanted to. But this was their first attempt at sitting down to discuss rules in a mature manner. I wanted to respect the process.)

F-n-C: Come on, Mom. We thought that once we moved to the apartment, you would be cool. All kids who live in apartments have cool parents.

Mom: How many kids do you know who live in apartments?

F-n-C: (Again, in unison) You know, on television.

Clearly, I would never make it as a TV mom. 

I have feeling this is only the first of many double teams for which I will have to brace myself.

For years I have told the Frank-n-Carmen, "Do you know why you guys are so close together in age? It was planned that way, so you would have a playmate. Now, go play." It seemed like such a good idea at the time--you know, sibling bonding and all that. Well, at least I can say the bond that was created is a strong one. I guess I can take solace in that, even if it means I'm outnumbered!



Get A Life

So apparently my life is over and I didn't even know it. I made this realization, quite unexpectedly, while cooking dinner in my kitchen on an otherwise uneventful Monday evening. The revealing conversation went a little something like this:

Beloved Son: Why would anyone want to get old? Wouldn't you rather die young, like at 40 or something? What's there to do after 40?

Me: (mildly amused and slightly offended) Uh, I'm 40.

Beloved Daughter: Yeah, 40 isn't young!

Me: (mildly amused and reasonably offended) What do you mean 40 isn't young?

Beloved Daughter: Well, it's not like anyone really has a life after 40.

Me: (curiously annoyed) Oh, really?

Beloved Daughter: Think about it, Mom. What do you do with your life? You go to work. You come home. You grade papers. You take care of us. And we're almost all outta here. What will your life be when we're gone? Go to work, come home, and grade papers? That's not much of a life.

Me: (thoroughly depressed) Well, thanks for clearing that up.

Beloved Son and Daughter: (Laughing) But as long as YOU like it. That's what matters.

Me: (plotting revenge) Is that right?

Beloved Daughter: Well, it would be an okay life, I guess, for normal people. But you're not...normal.

Beloved Son: Yeah, you're not normal.

If any one of you Roaring Moms and Dads ever wondered what your adult life looks like in the eyes of your got-it-all-figured-out teens, there ya have it--abnormal and old. Shortly after this enlightening conversation, my normal, young teens went back to their exciting lives of staring into a cell phone screen and tweeting one-liners for the next 4 hours. So, I called a girlfriend and planned a Margarita night. I had to squeeze it in between my upcoming trip to Kansas City to watch my published author friend accept a Reader's Choice award and a fund raiser event.  Then I searched the calendar for a day I could pencil in "Get A Life." Unfortunately, there wasn't anytime available. Maybe I'll get around to that...when I'm done grading papers and taking care of my kids.

Drinking Practice...for 13 Year Olds

I still remember my first(and last) drinking game. I was terrified and embarrassed and humiliated. Everything my mother said I would be...or would have said I would be if she ever would have acknowledged the presence of drinking games. (Instead we usually got the very cryptic, generalized "nothing good ever happens after midnight" speech. And if it wasn't good, we didn't need to know about it.)

I was so naive. How they ever let me into that sorority, I'll never know. And why I thought it was a good idea to attend that frat party is even a bigger mystery. Nevertheless, there I was, surrounded by a bunch of very impressive, beautiful, cool, drunkards falling all over themselves and each other with inebriation and laughter because of a question and answer game that resulted in someone--the winner, the loser, I'm still not sure--chugging a beer.

Ok, let's stop right there while I give you a bit of history. First, I HATED the taste of beer. Still do. It tastes like sweaty gym socks soaked in urine. In addition, the only experience I had had with "chugging" was downing big gulps out of the milk carton before my mom walked in the kitchen and caught me.

So I decided I just had to be part of this party game. I answered a question, everyone laughed, and before I knew it, someone was shoving a beer in my face. I chugged a can of sweaty urine and it came right back up, like a baby who sucked down his formula too fast. As if the fact that I had no idea what the game was, how it was played, how you won or how you lost was not embarrassing enough for my stupidly naive college sorority self, now I was covered in beer vomit. Soooo cool! At least I wasn't so stupid as to repeat the drinking game experience. I did have enough brain cells left to figure out that the name, rules, and winners of the game truly didn't matter. The purpose was to get drunk--that was it. Wow! How bored and pathetic must the very impressive, beautiful, cool people be if this was their idea of fun.

So here's the question. Why, if the purpose of a drinking game is to get drunk, why oh why are our middle schoolers playing non-alcoholic versions of them at parties? I was shocked the night my 8th grader came home from a birthday party at the home of a friend with the parents present, and he started describing the fun party games--various versions of Truth and Dare or Have You Ever where the party players had to drink for answering a certain way. There was also the Blink and Drink game where partiers watched Twilight and took a drink of soda every time Kristin Stewart blinked. So I asked my child what was the point of those games. His answer came with a vague, confused expression--to find a reason to take a drink.

I was shocked. Then I was mad. Then I was disgusted. Not with my child, but with the parents. Does it matter that there was no alcohol in their Red Solo Cups? Did the parents ever check on the kids? Did they not provide alternative activities that didn't involve mock drinking games? Was this the best entertainment they could come up with for a bunch of 13 year olds? What is wrong with parents who think this kind of fun is ok or even cool for our kids? For crying out loud, do we not have Google for a reason? If you can't think of something more appropriate, Google it. If nothing else, go to Laser Quest. Rent an inflatable obstacle course. Host a Nerf War. Play Dodge Ball. Surely, we can do better for our kids.

One humiliating, gross experience with a drinking game made me realize that all these cool kids weren't really cool at all and that games played for the purpose of finding a reason to take a drink were not only a waste of time, but also a poor determination of friendship. I was in college, arguable the appropriate time to become "educated" enough to make those kinds of educated decisions. And maybe I didn't need that much "education" because I had been exposed to a myriad of other kinds of fun that don't have "finding a reason to drink" as the purpose. So I guess I'm admitting that I'm glad for naivety that night. I think it gave me healthy perspective. Maybe we should give our kids a little naivety too, instead of helping them find a reason to drink. Wouldn't that be cool?

Praise for the Super Nag

I thought I knew all the parenting tricks. I really did. Then something interesting happened. My teenage daughter said I could nag her. In fact, she insisted I nag her! Now that's a new twist in motherhood I never expected. The same teen who tells me I care too much and that it makes her angry when I praise her asked me to nag her into submission!

You see, she's got a fitness goal. I'm really proud of her for making this goal. She's new to high school sports and wants to make sure she can compete. I tell her she's awesome. She's great! She can compete with the best of them. Her response--the ol' Huff and Puff followed by the ever effective Eye Roll. Sometimes there's even a bit of "You don't know anything, Mom" or "You have to say that. You're my mom."

And yet she comes to me, Roaring Mom, for the Super Nag! YESS!!! All those years of perfectly punctuated lectures have paid off. 

Who knew that the perfectly punctuated lecture was the desired parenting procedure, even over the perfectly punctuated praise. I sure didn't. But that's the thing about parenting--we learn more from them than they probably ever learn from us.

So, I eagerly awaited my first nagging opportunity. It didn't take long. It was only later that week, in fact. She'd been sitting in one position, staring at her phone screen so long that muscular atrophy was only minutes away.   Here was my chance and I jumped right in!

"You need to work out. Get off that phone. If you wanna earn your spot, you gotta work harder than everyone else. Stop staring at that phone. Don't be so lazy. Get up and get going! Let's go! Let's go! Let's go!" 

"Mom!"

"Come on! Let's go! You said I could nag you. You think Hope Solo stares at her phone for hours on end? Let's go! Let's go! LET'S GO!!!"

"Mom!"

"What? You said I could nag you."

"Yeah, I said you could nag me. I didn't say you could be annoying!"

"Oh. Is there a difference?"

"I guess not with you."

"Well, I'm just gonna keep on being annoying until you get up and go. So deal with it!'

"Fine."

"Fine."

And she got up and go-ed! Yes!  Success!

Funny, all the Roaring Mom Praise in the world couldn't motivate her, but the Super Nag did the job splendidly. 

Guess you can teach an old Roaring Mom new tricks! 

Teens Say the Darnedest Things

It seems completely ludicrous--the babble that comes from the mouths of teens. I mean, seriously, toddler babble sounded more credible, didn't it? Do they really hear themselves? Or maybe it's not a matter of hearing, but rather comprehending.

Like tonight. Frank comes into to help with the dishes. There's a counter full that needs to be put away. He puts away the first dish, turns and looks at me with an incredulous expression and asks, "Now, why do these need to put away?" I return the incredulous stare, but he doesn't get the message. I muster patience and explain, "We're getting ready to eat dinner. There will be more dishes to wash. Where will I put those to dry if that counter is full?" This time he looks at me like I'm the stupid one and points to the other, cleared off counter. Duh!

I'm beginning to wonder what's so wrong with that "Because I said so" comment we were taught was not good parenting.

But the "why do we have to put dishes away" comment is mild, really, in comparison to other quotable moments like...

...when Carmen was grounded from her phone. After a week of angry tantrums I tried to explain that when she was more respectful, she'd get the phone back and she and answered, "Well, I'd be more respectful and nicer to everyone if you'd just give it back first. I think that would be a better deal for everyone."

...when Kate was on her way out the door to school after I had tried to give her a Be Positive Pep Talk, and she answered, "I can be a positive as you want, Mom. That doesn't change the fact that everyone around me is a dumb ass."

...when I explained to Sophie that she really does have to help with dishes because she lives here, she eats here, and she does, in fact, dirty dishes from time to time, and she answered, "So." Then she walked off.

What's really fun is getting to see that teen twit perspective tweeted all over Twitterdom.

"...when my parents don't let me go where I want" #itsmydecision
"...when my mom stalks me on twitter" #getofftwittermom

So, what's a Roaring Mom to do when the teens have got it all figured out? After all, we're just fuddy-duddies living in their world. Perhaps I should try harder to understand their language. Maybe I should brush up on my Eye Roll and the Huff and Stomp. Maybe an angry tantrum or two followed by a well placed So and Walk Off would help. Yeah, that's it. I think that would be a better deal for everyone!

Then maybe, once I really get the teen lingo down, I'll hashtag it to my friends! #becauseisaidso

It Sneaks Up On You

I truly never thought this day would come. I really didn't. They all kept telling me to "just wait", and I laughed. HA! My sweet boy would never turn into... a teenager.

I gloated when he turned 13 and didn't turn into that alien other parents describe as invading their children's bodies. I pitied the poor mothers whose sons exuded more attitude than all of my teenage girls put together. Those poor mothers. Those poor, poor mothers.

Then it happened. It was a small and sudden change. It could have easily been disregarded or explained away if it had been an isolated thing. But it wasn't.

Just today, after forcing...er, I mean inviting...Frank to join me on Saturday errand running, the following occurred:

ME: (Random funny comment)
FRANK: eye roll
ME: Hey, did you hear me, I said...
FRANK: I heard it. It was funny. I just didn't laugh.

It wasn't really so much what he said, (although he used to ALWAYS laugh, even when it wasn't funny) as it was the way he said it. And the eye roll! What was the deal with that eye roll?!

Then we got home and he disappeared. I found him hours later in his room chatting it up with his Facebook friends. This was the same kid who incessantly harassed his older sister last year for her Facebook obsession. I forced...er, I mean invited, him to join us in the family room. I watched carefully for the eye roll. Luckily, it didn't come. However, it was replaced by the resigned, "Fiiiiiine." I guess I should be grateful it wasn't followed by the Huff and Stomp.

It's happened. It has really happened. I guess I blinked or something. My saving hope is that he's a good kid, he's not female, and he's watched his poor, poor mother go through the teenage thing with his three sisters, so maybe he'll take it easy on me.

Nevertheless, this Roaring Mom's advice to all parents whose kids aren't yet teens--don't blink.

I'm Bored!

It's the first official weekday of Spring Break and I've already heard the dreaded words at least three times.

"I'm bored!"

Really? All I've heard for the last two weeks is, "OMG! I can't wait for Spring Break! I'm so ready for Spring Break! Spring Break is gonna be soooo much fun!" At this point I'm not sure just what exactly they were looking so forward to. Apparently we' ve done all there is to do in the weekend before the break actually started. Can't I just send them back to school now?

My biggest fear is that this is a forewarning for summer--bickering, interspersed with huffs, checkered with eye rolling, followed up with It's-not-fairs! All topped off with the big I'm Bored!!!

I don't understand it. We have three computers, 2 Nintendo DSI's, 2 Wii systems, 2 I-phones, and 4 televisions. I'm pretty sure that somewhere within the dusty entertainment center lies enough games and movies to have paid for college twice. Then there's the bicycles, scooters, soccer goals and skateboards that make every pull into the garage a very tight squeeze. For those moments of extra desperation, we do have shelves full of Harry Potter books, the Twilight Series, and evener Hunger Games. One kid has an entire art studio in her room. Another kid has a personal Lego Land and the other, a library of Broadway musical show tunes (both sheet music and CD's).

Nevertheless, they are bored.

 I think "bored" might just by synonymous with "spoiled".
 
Never fear, kids! Here's the good news! You can not actually die from boredom. If you could, I'm sure your parents would have never made it to parenthood. I'm not sure how we survived with only record players, cassette recorders, maybe a bicycle or a basketball and only one land line phone that we had to share with our siblings AND our parents. We promise, you'll make it through the week.!

By the way, I've got a remedy for that boredom. So, go on. Say it one more time. Please!My bet is, by the end of the week, that entertainment center will be dust free! And so will the window sills and book shelves and end tables. Then there's the bathroom counter tops and under the beds... I think you get the picture.

Balancing Act

Motherhood is always a balancing act.

Life lessons usually present themselves to me in humorous visuals. And if a little embarrassment is used, the picture lasts even longer.

I was pregnant with my third child when my oldest entered Kindergarten. She had learned to ride her bike the summer before and was determined to ride it to school. The school was a few blocks away, but there was enough traffic that I didn't want her to ride alone. So I did what any Roaring Mom would do. I balanced my big ol' baby belly on that ten-speed (Sophie strapped into the toddler seat on the back) and accompanied my daughter to school and back every day up until one week before the baby came.

When I think back on what I must've looked like, I completely understand the snickers and stares that used to greet us. But when I consider what I balanced every day, I'm kind of proud. Not only was I physically balancing that distorted body, and a toddler, and her baby doll she wouldn't leave behind, but I was also emotionally balancing some other pretty important stuff.

First, we had Kate's desire to utilize her new skill. We had Sophie's desire to bring along her "baby". We had my desire to ensure Kate's physical safety to and from school. We also had, as always, my unending desire to make sure that they have their desires fulfilled. In reality, it might not have been the safest choice to put my pregnant body on the bike. But when you are in that third trimester, you feel pretty invincible. Or if not invincible, at least so irrationally pigheaded to do whatever the hell you want to do that you don't necessarily listen to reason, right?

With teens, maintaining equilibrium in providing for their physical needs and attending to their emotional ones only becomes more challenging. And isn't it interesting that just as they reach those teen years is just about the same time we realize that we've be neglecting another part of the balancing act--our own needs. No wonder those teen roads are so rough. We take off their training wheels and at the same time realize we may have forgotten how to navigate our own ten-speed.

Even when Kate was older, we still enjoyed riding bikes together. On one outing, I urged her to go ahead of me and lead the way. As she passed, her tire got caught in the groove between the grass and the sidewalk. The bike and Kate toppled on the path in front of me. I was going too fast to stop. I tried to swerve to the left, but I wouldn't make it all the way around the bike and I would have crashed on top of her. I couldn't swerve to the right or my wheels would have rolled over her neck or head. I panicked. I froze. I rode right over my daughter's back. A horrid scream caught in my throat.

When I jumped off my bike and ran to her, she was laughing. She was fine. No severed neck, no bruises, not even a scrape. Only a couple of tread marks on the back of her t-shirt. I was shaking so badly I could barely push my bike, let alone try to get back on. A witnesses stopped his car and asked if we needed help. Kate laughed louder, "I think she does. I'm fine."

We still laugh about that day. And Kate still milks it whenever she can. "Well, Mom, you did try to assassinate my with your bicycle."

I can't help thinking of that visual life lesson as I prepare my oldest for the next phase in her life. It's challenging enough to keep the wheel on the high wire when I am the only one steering. Letting her take the lead will be tricky. What if I've misdirected her? What if I've not prepared her for cracks and bumps and pot holes? What if I can't stop mothering and I run over her again?

If only I could strap on the helmets, air up the tires and choose an unencumbered path. If I only I could guarantee her a smooth and safe journey. But the training wheels were off a long time ago. I couldn't get her to wear a helmet if I super-glued it to her head. And as for the path...she's always chosen her own.

I guess the adjustment is now mine to make. I'm still creating balance. I'm a mom. So I guess I always will.


Recently I've been considering the never-ceasing balancing act all mothers perform. No matter what path you are on--working moms, stay-at-home moms, married moms, single moms, remarried moms are all required to find, create, and maintain balance and harmony. We're not alone on this wonderful, precarious, precious ride. So for the next few weeks I hope you'll join in the discussion. Leave your comment concerning your tricks for maintaining balance,or e-mail me privately. Can't wait to hear from you. Surely, I'm not the only Roaring Mom who's run over her own child in an attempt to balance the teen's need for space with the mom's need to stay too close.

Or does stuff like that really happen only to me?

Kate's Karma

Patience might be a virtue, but it's not one I own. However, if I had known the wonderful, delicious, satisfying taste awaiting me in the form of consequential payback, I would have enjoyed the challenge of raising Kate even more than I have. And I might have gotten through the last 18 years without the bald patches. But I'm told the hair will grow back. Not until the youngest graduates, of course, but it will all be gray by then anyway, right?

But back to the payback.

Last week Kate experienced a last day of Catholic School Education that was hysterically karmic. Well,hysterical for me.

To truly appreciate the situation, you have understand a few things about my beautiful, stubborn, willful, hard-headed, intelligent, determined daughter. Perhaps I can most efficiently communicate my point by explaining that when she was five years old, I bought and read in one sitting a parenting book entitled The Manipulative Child. She was five. And I was already feeling continuously played. Did I mention, SHE WAS FIVE?!

Kate had her own way of getting what she wanted. Even if I went into a situation planning to say no to whatever the request was, she knew exactly how to work it so that I ended up saying yes. For example--How Kate asked to go to friend's house:

"Mom, Cory called and she's upset because her brother rode her bike and broke it and her dad said it can't be fixed and that was the bike her Grandma gave her and you know she's very close to her Grandma. You know, the same Grandma who had a heart attack last month and they thought she was gonna die. Her Grandma's doing better, but Cory's hamster actually did die, just this morning and you know that's the hamster she begged her parents for for two years and finally Santa brought it and she said that was the best Christmas ever and now she'll only remember it as a sad Christmas because the hamster died, which reminded her that her Grandma is still sick and is not getting any younger. So Cory is having a really bad day and she really wants me to come over just to bring a little happiness to her existence. Don't you think I should go over there?"

How could I say no to that?

Kate also has a knack for getting out of anything that even remotely looks like a consequence. And in Catholic school, where you get a demerit for having the wrong color socks or even the wrong color ink in your ballpoint, getting out of consequences is quite an accomplishment. Here's how Karma finally came back around:

I tried to wake her up before I left. Even though it makes her mad because I leave 10minutes before her alarm goes off so I interrupt her precious last 10 minutes, I do it anyway. Habit, I guess. But this time she fell back to sleep and the alarm failed. Score 1 for Karma! SO she wakes up 45 minutes late, pulls on whatever clothes happen to be on the top of the clothes hamper that is her bedroom floor and speeds to school. She missed her first hour finals. She's sent to the Principal's office where not one, but three principals interrogate her on the reason for her disheveled tardiness. Luckily, they believe her excuse, but don't excuse her absence. And for that, she must serve a detention...during 4th hour...in the lunchroom...on her last day...with 800 student witnesses.

So Kate, still bedheaded and morning-breathed and now red-faced heads to the lunchroom where she sweeps and mops and wipes and cleans everyone else's garbage. Then, they marched her to the hallway to clean those because she was out of uniform!

When I hear this, I have to laugh because she doesn't even clean up her own garbage at home. That's mom's job, right?

I remember when I was Kate's age and how my parents used to shake their heads and tell me they hope that when I have children of my own that they are just like me. They were true believers in "what goes around comes around." And now I've joined that club--the one where membership is earned only when you've been able to witness whatever your kids sent around, coming back around. I'm actually a VIP member, because Kate's Karma was witnessed and documented by her peers.

I'm also a true believer that if you are going to laugh at a situation sooner or later, you might as well make it sooner. Luckily, that is one bit of mom philosophy that Kate has bought into. It served her well on the last day of Catholic School and I'm sure it will serve her well next time Karma comes around.

By the way, Kate--for all the laughter and smiles and happiness that you have sent around--be patient. If you learned nothing else in 12 years of school, surely you'll never forget your last day lesson. What goes around comes around. If you are patient enough to wait for it.