On Strike

In my memory, this iconic sign said "Strike." 

Okay, I'm not really on strike. I'm just considering it.  Having a pre-teen daughter and a teenage son is not all it's cracked up to be.  Not that many people think it's tons of fun but I guess I thought it would be.  Well, that's not it either, really.  Here's what I thought, honestly.  I thought that my OWN teenage years were so recent that not only would I be sooooooooo understanding, I would also be an ally instead of Other.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA!

I'm sure those of you who have already been through this just fell off your chair at how dumb I am.  But I really did think that.  I can remember, almost tangibly, how tortured I felt--stuck somewhere between I Want My Mommy and Why Won't She Just Leave Me Alone.  Because I remember it so well, I thought I would understand from the parent perspective as well.  

Turns out it hurts.  A lot.  I didn't realize how much it hurts my feelings that I seem to be the punching bag for my daughter and invisible to my son.   This is just one of many moments that I wish I could talk to my mom about how she felt.  And to hear that Everything Will Be Okay.  

She looks nice here. Don't be fooled.  She crazy.

Since, short of calling up that Medium wanker (and what a bee-eye-tee-see-aitch she turned out to be!), I can't talk to my mom, I'll have to lean on my friends.  Lynn, Judy...you've been warned.

Dear Mommy,

       If you were here today, there is so much that I would want to say to you.  I don't think we'd ever stop talking.  Some of it is pretty mundane stuff, like I would want to tell you that I could indeed train not only one puppy myself but two because yes I DID have enough patience.  

And I would want  to tell you that I don't live in a teeny little house that you have to walk through my bedroom to get to the baby's room anymore but instead have a medium house that I've "decorated" with stuff I love and I think you would love.  

Not mentioned in the letter below: it was okay to NOT breastfeed.  Thanks, Mommy!

I would tell you that I'm back in school and then you would say

  

"WHAT???!!!!!!???" 

And then I would tell you that so far I have a 4.0 but I'm really afraid of this coming semester because I have to take Statistics.  And then YOU would say that you don't know where I got my math ineptitude because both you and my father are very good at it but you're really really proud anyway.

And then we would talk about gardening and the kids and the husband and whatever we'd read recently or watched on tv.  We would just chatter and say "I really should go" and then either talk a 1/2 hour longer or hang up and call right back with "just one more thing."

I would do nothing except maybe kill someone in order to have these every-day, whatever kind of conversations with you.  But I'd really consider homicide if I thought I could talk to you about one thing---raising a daughter.


You always said that you would rather raise 10 girls than even one boy again not because I was such an angel but because those boys in our house were, ahem, a handful.  But I could be an emotional handful too.  So here's what I would say to you if I could:

I don't even know where to start with this.  

I grew into my forehead since then but came to understand that

bangs are my friends.

• Thank you for telling me I was beautiful even though there were times I was definitely not (see above) and never making me think you didn't mean it.  Now I know that you actually did mean it because a mom can look through the tell-tale awkward phase and see the girl within.  Most of the time (see below). 

• I'm sorry for that time at the mall when I walked 6 feet in front of you so no one would think I was with you.  I remember you telling me how much that hurt you and now I can safely say that I feel your pain. 

• Thank you for putting up with other inexplicable moods that had nothing to do with you but were nonetheless aimed at you.  And having the where-with-all to photograph it because I laugh/cringe every time I come across it.  By the way, I also forgive you for allowing me to have that hair.  

That, my friends, is a PUSS on my face.  I was going sailing and my mom MADE ME.  Poor thing.

•  Thanks for giving me a lot of freedom.  I know some of this "giving" was actually exhaustion on some level (reread the part about the boys in my family, above), but still.  It's hard to send a kid out there and to let them spread those wings.  And when there's a car involved I really have to hand it to you.  But, speaking of cars, I also thank you for having the smarts to know that teaching me to drive would probably cause damage to our already tenuous-at-the-time relationship and hiring a driving teacher.  Smart. 

 

This picture was taken right after I got my license and right before I left for the four

hour drive to Penn State. Without a cell phone. I just got my license. Get it??!!

• Thanks for letting me buy a $200 dress for the prom because it was the only one I really liked and you thought it was awesome too.  Now, in retrospect, and with my current shopping experiences with my daughter I realize that writing out that $200 check might have been exhaustion too. But thanks anyway.  I felt like a very hot Minnie Mouse. 

 

                                                                                          It was the 80's alright?  And this dress still rocks.

• Most of all, I would thank you for sticking it out with me.  I think you knew we'd be back to being close, that I would no longer wage that battle within myself of needing you and hating you for it but instead just needing you and liking you again.  You told me that age 12 to 17 were a little rough but that even though you sometimes didn't like me, you knew you would again.   

 

• Lastly, I would tell you that I wish you could come back here for at least the next 5 years to remind me that even though my daughter will probably bruise my heart like I did yours, we'll be more than fine in the end.

About a Boy

Yesterday was The Boy's 14th birthday.  How the hell did that happen?  Two weeks ago  we got a letter in the mail about high school orientation.

WHAAAAAAT????

Because it was only 3 weeks ago that HE WAS BORN.  Really.  And I was 25.  I know that I have really become my parents because every Friday I am {dumbfounded} how fast the week went.  And the months.  And the years.  Ho-ly crap.  Before I know it I'll be a GRANDPARENT wearing {slacks}.

But this isn't about me. 

This is about the baby who was born who made me a grown up.  I know, I know, I've brought it back to me again but I can't help it.  The Boy's birth was not for the faint-hearted.  If there was ever a time in which I wished I could crawl back into my mom's WOMB let alone her lap it was when Sam was born.


My sister-in-law doesn't like to talk about this because it reminds her of her son's birth which, in so many respects, was freakily the same as S's.  Normal pregnancy, etc. etc. and then WHAM! Scary birth.  NICU.  Tubes.  No one telling me exactly when he would go home (because, they told me later, they didn't know not when but IF).  

I think of this picture as a Before and After.

Before, S=fetus

After, C=actual viable baby

And then, he was home and everything was great and then WHAM-O, {postpartum depression}.

And THEN, in the midst of the PPD, near-constant crying on both of our parts.  And a pediatrician who told me "Mrs. T, all babies cry." and hearing his office staff say "It's HER again!" and THEN the good Dr. hinting that perhaps I had been expecting--I kid you not--a "perfect baby."


All this with me {not sleeping AT ALL}.  And thinking about throwing myself down the stairs every time I passed them because maybe then I would be left alone in the hospital.


Wow, have I really brought this back to me.  But here's the happy ending: the end of my PPD coincided with a second opinion about the baby who cried even when he nursed, thanks to my childhood pediatrician, Dr. Paolini of Reading PA, who listened to me. Who took me seriously.  Who found that my baby had such {reflux} that he had the start of an ulcer.  Who put him on prescription Zantac and turned him into this:

4 months

This is one month after Zantac.  Happy, healthy baby.  With fantastic hair.

I kicked that ****** pediatrician to the curb. 

So, now you know why I felt like a grownup when I had The Boy.  He turned me into a Mom and Someone To Be Reckoned With.


And this boy, after all the upset and hard beginnings turned into the sweetest, the kindest, the most fun baby a girl woman could wish for.  He would wake up happy, he would go to sleep without a fuss, and in between delight me with his way of looking at the world.  It was so amazing to see everything as if it were new through his eyes.  I never thought I could love anyone as much as I loved him.  

Another memory is of a day late in my pregnancy with his sister.  He and I were taking a walk around the block, with him running ahead and me waddling behind. I was watching him with the gooey eyes of a hormonal woman (who cries at everything anyway) and he turned around and reached for me with one hand.  I burst into tears and thought I was ruining his--our--life because I was having another baby.  This was the last time it would be just him and me.  I could cry now thinking about it. I thought my love for another baby would somehow take away some of the love from him.  Sounds stupid, I know, but I am still amazed at the heart's ability to expand and include.

S,almost 3; M, 3 days

And he was a perfect big brother.  Gentle and kind.  Not too jealous.  The love that he is.  When his sister got big enough to take things from him I worried that maybe he was too kind, too mild-mannered. She would take his toys and he would cry.  He would take hers and she would grab the scruff of his shirt, look him in the eye, and growl GIVE IT BACK.  And he would.  Yikes.

Yeah, this picture pretty much sums up their differing personalities

But HH and I have found that although he's patient and kind and everyone likes him, he's no pushover.  He doesn't say much, but he doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do.  And that is a relief that I hope I keep feeling.  High school is NEXT YEAR.  I know we're not out of the woods yet.  And he doesn't tell us things and he doesn't talk about stuff, but his friends are nice.  And smart. And involved in school.  Not surprising that he's chosen to surround himself with kids like this but still, it's a relief.

The boy on the right is raising his hand for more food.

I love to feed him.

He doesn't tell me he loves me anymore unless I beg.  He stiffens up when I try to kiss/hug/come near him.  He likes to look at girls' boobs.  But he's still my baby.  

And he teaches me everyday how to be his mom.  

My Girl

From the very beginning, my girl was sassy.

4 months

Under this picture in a photo album, the caption reads

"This girl is FUN!"

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

She has always had a flair...

2 yrs

...for the dramatic.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

She and I often look at the world

the same way.

29 yrs, 3 months

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Sometimes that way is just plain nuts.

6 yrs

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

As she's gotten older, I've often worried that she was lonely

or that something was wrong because she didn't want to spend a lot of time

outside school with her friends.

10 yrs

But I've learned that she likes being with herself,

that alone-time is precious to her.

It's funny because I'm like that now, as a grown up. 

I used to feel like I always had to be with someone.

It's taken me a long time to learn to like my own company.

It took my girl just a few years.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

This is my girl a month ago, at almost 11.

It's gone by so fast.

And even though every morning I don't know which girl

is coming down the steps...

Baby Girl who is nervous and needs her Mommy 

"Teenage" Grump who is embarrassed by her family's (MY) existence

Goofy nut who is all about fun and psyched about life

?????

Even though it can be challenging, knowing how to react,

how to be Her Mother..

Even though I know she'll sometimes hurt my feelings

because she just can't help herself...

Even though ...

Life with My Girl is interesting. 

And fun.

And messy.

And, it's pretty cool knowing that your kid is someone who you'd want to know

even if she wasn't your kid.

Happy Birthday, Pie

1.27.99

love xoxo
 Mommy

"I Like When You're Home, Mommy"

Me too, Pie.

How to Bar Mitzvah on a Budget: Part Two::The Centerpieces

Here's where I show that I'm actually doing some of the things I talked about in Part One! And I've been having way too much fun doing it!

I often say that I'm creative but not original. I can imitate/copy almost anyone in drawing, crafting, etc., but don't come up with ideas on my own. Until now! Check it out!

Red Sox Nation! in GUMBALLS!!

IKEA pot filled with a Styrofoam cube, a dowel hot glue-wrapped in three colors of curling ribbon, a Red Sox mint canister from Wegmans , paper "grass", a 'B' painted and glued to a skewer (also painted), a gumball and Hot Tamale-covered Styrofoam ball and star stuff to wrap around and fill in the holes! Everything hot-glued within an inch of its life!

I have 8 of those IKEA pots, so I made 4 more candy-constructed centerpieces: 2 Simpsons-themed ones and 2 with a triangle-shaped styro form covered in green--Sam's favorite color--candy (including Skittles with the S's showing) with green star garland and Stairway to Heaven sheet music as a base filler along with green tissue paper. To the top of each green cone I glued a large wooden S that I spray painted black and sprinkled with glitter. The remaining 2IKEA pots will have candy button paper glued around the top edge (hot glue!) and some hot pink and yellow Zinnias planted in them. Basically because I've run out of candy ideas and can't think of how to recreate the XBox in a centerpiece.

OTHER centerpieces I did crib from a blog about weddings. The couple were self-confessed book nerds so they had piles of books as their centerpieces. Because Sam is doing a mitzvah project for our public library and collecting used books from his guests to donate to the library's book sale, this idea was perfect. And behold!

this one is dog-themed

My second favorite craft supply right now is shrink wrap! All you do is wrap stuff with it (ANYTHING) and then use your hairdryer to heat it and shrink it. AWESOME. The dog is lucky he didn't get shrink-wrapped because it is sooooooo much fun! I finished each off with a beautiful brown wired ribbon in a nice big bow.

That stack is actually one of my least favorites. I got more daring (I'm so crazy!) with the others and made bigger stacks. I made a HUGE one full of kids' books that will serve as a centerpiece on the bimah which is like a stage in a synagogue. Flowers are lovely, but this is free, appropriate, and very Sam.

After tying the big brown bow on each centerpiece, I affixed these little signs made out of card stock and printed on my computer:

I've also been doing a TON of baking. Sam said his least favorite 5 words in the English language are "it's for the bar mitzvah" whenever I tell him what smells yummy! In fact, I've got a cheesecake in the oven as we speak (at 12 am!). It's the best cheesecake ever and I'm going to post the recipe next time.

Before S started middle school the questions began: Are you worried? Do you think it'll be safe? Do you wish he was going to the other school? My answer was always No to all three questions. Yes, I was worried, but not for the reasons they meant. Middle school is a living hell for a lot of kids and just extremely uncomfortable for some. How would he navigate new social situations? Would he still be a "good boy" or try on some new bad-ass clothes?

These questions were asked, for the most part, by good people, all parents from S's elementary school. Most of them were people you would want to be friends with. People who would never consider themselves to be intolerant. Your average everyday nice white person.

Our elementary school's idea of diversity is the recent array of Asian students who have begun to arrive. A good portion of the school would probably be classified as upper middle class. While we do have some families in need, the school and the school's PTA is well-funded. Not so with the middle school S attends. His middle school has a real cross-population of our community: "well to do," working class city kids, and people from public housing.

It's like real life and I love it.

So today when I dropped S off at school, my heart got a little lift from seeing him walk over to a group of kids as diverse as our country. My peachy white boy slapped hands with another boy with milk chocolate skin who was talking to another the color of mahogany. All were laughing, all were welcome. It was a beautiful thing to see.

But the most amazing part of it is the idea that maybe my children won't even notice how great it is, that this is just the way the world is. Colorful and beautiful.

My little baby boy (who is almost 5'10" with size 12 1/2 shoes) is right now, as we speak, snuggling on the couch with his girlfriend and watching the romantic classic, Adam Sandler's The Longest Yard.

How did this happen? When I am STILL 25 YEARS OLD??

My Girl

...longs for her own home in the middle of trees with animals and privacy.


...likes to talk for the animals and always has them call me Mama.

Mom and girl time at a local tea shop


...told me that of course I can live where she does when she grows up. In fact, I can live in her mansion.


...isn't sure what she wants to be when she grows up but wanted to know if bartending was okay.


...is not always sweet or kind or loving but is always interesting.

we both love to watch the cream swirl


...has a deadly sense of humor.


...is not a morning person.


...marches to her own drummer.


...could not only survive forever on a desert island but also be fully accessorized within the first half hour.

...loves to sing.


...still lets me hold her hand as long as she's the one who makes the first move.


...still likes me even though I embarrass her sometimes.

Right Now, Right Here

from here

My intent with this blog has always been to be a kind of journal, filled with whatever was on my mind or tickled my fancy. I thought it could be about me, me, me. And I am a complete idiot to not realize that what "me" is still all about my children.

S is in the crapper again and AGAIN it's because of lying. Helping to shape a young person's character is exhausting. I thought it was taxing to my sanity that I had to say "Say thank you" or "Eat with your mouth closed" 4,507,243 times a year, all the while thinking to myself (and occasionally saying out loud), "It's not like I've never told you this BEFORE!" But that was just developing manners. Repetition is almost guaranteed to work. The success in correcting this behavior is a crap shoot (heavy on the crap). You can repeat the mantra "Lying about doing something wrong is worse than the wrong thing you've done" a zillion times since they are young enough to understand it, but still they try.

This time S's nontruth involved teachers and school projects and made up data for a science competition. In reality, making up the data was probably harder work than just doing it the right way. As my friend Lynn, put it, it would be so much better if he wasn't such an Evil Genius and that he'd use his powers for good.

He has been taken off the honor roll and, thankfully, that means something to him. Learning about honor first-hand might (pleasepleasepleaseplease) make an impact on him to help understand what building character means. I'm hoping it does.

But I've had to remind myself how hard these years are when your body is ahead of your mind in development. Everything is all confused. I can remember thinking to myself, I want my mommy and in the very next breath wondering WHY she treated me like SUCH A CHILD.

Anyhoo, even though I would love to have this blog be more about things like baking, decorating, and hell, even organizing under my sink (I find all that domestic shit so soothing...), I guess this is life for me right now.

And I hope you stick with me.

The Gift

Every once in a great while, it happens. The planets align, the setting is right, the words are there.

A mother says the right thing to her upset child.

My beautiful 10 year old girl is hormonal. As in about- to-get-her-period hormonal. At least I think that's what it is. She's gotten it once, back in the summer, and the signs were the same: crying "for no reason," totally irritated by everything I say, and complaining of everything. Now, granted, this could've been M on any day of the week the six months before she got her period for the first time, but ever since then she's stablized and has been back to her sweet(er) self.

So the past two days I've seen the warning signs again and today she was worse. After yelling at her (I didn't say I was perfect) for being nasty, I told her to go get into my bed so we could talk. As we lay on our sides facing each other, I reminisced about being a preteen. Weepiness, easily hurt feelings, irritance at people (especially my mom), and a general yucky feeling. I had it all, I told her. And she looked at me and she listened.

Her complete attention was mine and though her face was blotchy from crying and I knew she was hurting, I loved it. I marveled at her beauty and I relished the moment. I couldn't help it. I know I'm on the edge of the precipice of REAL teenage girl behavior. I know the snuggles and the talks won't last, at least for awhile. So I gave myself the gift of enjoying the moment, even though it came out of M feeling bad.

The best part, though, was the fact that what I said worked. Those of you with little tiny kids are still in the phase where you are a rockstar. If Mommy says it'll be okay, it will. But the shine is off that rose (or whatever the hell that expression is) in our house and we never know if what we say will be listened to, let alone believed. But this time it was. And I just had to write it down so that some day (tomorrow? next week?) I can read this again when I'm feeling like the stupidest person in my family because I've been told I am by my teenager.

And so it begins...

Conversation earlier today between me and The Boy:

Me: Did you walk home with C today?

S: No.

Me: Did you walk home with C today?

S: Uh. Yeah.

Me: Did you kiss her yet?

S: No.

Me: Did you kiss her yet?

S: No.

Me: Do you hold hands when you're walking?

S: No.

Me: Do you hold hands?

S: Uh. Yeah.

Me: Is she going to be at the game tonight?

S: No.

Me: Is she going to be at the game tonight?

S: Uh. I don't know.

Me: Is she going to be at the game tonight?

S: I DON'T KNOW.

Then, later (just now, in fact) I found some emails about meeting behind the school so we can "try again." WHAT?? AND I found an email from S in which he told C not to reply to his emails but to make a new message. The little sneak is trying to, well, sneak around me! Ugh.

I hate this parenting thing. I've often said that this feels like the longest fucking babysitting job of my life. WHEN ARE THEIR PARENTS COMING HOME?

So HH and I called The Boy downstairs to put the kibosh on this whole thing. From now on I will be picking him up every day after school (this is just as annoying to me as to him as it will lessen my Howard Stern time). They are allowed to talk on the phone but that's it. I told him that we didn't like this new sneaking and lying and that if we couldn't trust him then we didn't have anything.

Then we tried to explain to him that we would probably not be having this conversation if C wasn't in 9th grade. How do you explain that a 9th grade girl is different in every way from a 7th grade boy TO A 7TH GRADE BOY?

S got blinky (with him that means he's about to cry because he's sad/angry/tired/frustrated) and then said he was going to bed (it's 8:00 right now). I know it's weenie of me to worry, but no kid understands (and won't until that kid has a kid) that no parent wants their kid to be angry at them. It breaks my heart to be the one he's angry at.

Sometimes being the grownup sucks.

There's absolutely no reason why this picture was added other than it gives me something to focus on while I breathe into a bag.

Roots and Wings

Aren't they so friggin cute?

Some days it hits me more than others. My children are getting old. They've become individuals with their own thoughts, their own interests, their own lives. For the most part, this thrills me. I'm so happy to be able to say that I really like my kids. They both have a great sense of humor (very important) and they still like me (a real plus).

Last year was pretty hard with M. She was going through a lot of what turned out to be hormonal changes which made her a real bear to deal with. She's still only 9 1/2 years old but she's so mature physically that I think it was really hard for her to wrap her head around all the changes her body was going through and the weird feeling she was having. She was crying "for no reason," she was mean to me at times, and it often made me incedibly angry and broke my heart on behalf of both of us. I know there are tough times ahead again (I'm not looking forward to the middle school years for Maya or anyone in our family) but right now our relationship is in a kind of dream state--we really like to be together and she's much happier in her skin.

I'm trying to take advantage of this honeymoon period in that I talk to her about a lot of tough things--drinking, sex, and even god. I keep everything PG (ish), but I know in my heart that this is the time when I have influence with her, when I can help her understand what's right and wrong before she meets up face-to-face with these issues. When that happens, all I'll be able to do is to try to keep talking to her and to cross my fingers and trust that she makes the right decisions.

With S, everything after his infancy was easy. He's a nice boy who is conscious of what it means to be a good person. He is well-liked by all sorts of groups. He does well in school. He's almost 13, 5'7" (right this moment) and looks, but doesn't necessarily act, older than he is. He's also someone who keeps his feelings and thoughts close to his chest. I've always talked with (to) him about all the stuff M and I talk together about, but with him it's always been me talking and him being mortified/embarrassed/wanting to end the conversation.

Anyway, we came to find out (I asked and he actually answered) that he has his first girlfriend. And she's in 9th grade. Did I mention he's in 7th grade? My husband's first reaction was "That's my boy!" (he's a dumb boy too). Then we both thought "WHY would a girl that age want him?"

I alternated between a total panic that HH has to have the blow/hand job talk right now and thinking that this girl just must be extreeeeemely immature and maybe finds a younger boy less threatening. I decided to go to my Girls for advice. An informal poll revealed that they all thought it was WEIRD with one weighing in with "the girl's a skank." But I decided to let it play out a bit. She called a lot and he grunted to her. Emailing was done. And that's about it for the time being. I told him he was too young to date and he said he understood. "Just concentrate on being friends for now," I said. "Okay" was his only reply.

Am I overreacting? HH and I worry about saying too much about it lest we give off Annoying Parental Vibes so that S won't ever come to us and reveal anything ever again. I'm quite sure a lot of my worry is simply because my baby is turning a corner. I know that. But I can't let go of the idea that this cougar wants to try stuff out on my sweet/witless/nonthreatening son. I know this is the first of many tests for me as a parent. And I want to let my children make their own decisions, knowing that Mom and Dad are back here to help if they need it. My parents made a lot of mistakes (of course they did, being Human), but they let me make my own decisions (I honestly can't remember one single time in which they told me my decision was wrong. Wow.). I want to be that kind of parent, but holy shit is it hard to do.

What would you do?

Rated C for Childhood

from http://www.examiner.com/

My son and I recently had a conversation about a video game that he wanted to purchase. The description of the game was fairly tame but I noticed that it was rated , T for Teen. Since my son is 12 I understand that those days of E for Everyone might be long gone but still I needed to know why it got that rating. "Don't worry Mom," said son. "It's only rated like that for some violence." "Okay," I replied. "As long as there's no sex."

HUH?! I thought of this conversation later when I was at the movie theater seeing Rob Zombie's Halloween and was seated behind a girl who was maybe 5 years old. My friend Lynn and I were indignant about the mother's parenting skills. WHO would allow a little kid to see such violence?

I guess the answer is me.

I was watching some English TV interview show (can't remember the name) and the host was saying how funny it was that in America it was totally decadent and immoral to show nudity on TV but it's typical to show violence. So true. Why am I more worried about sex than violence when it comes to my own child?

I guess the easy answer is that *everybody* eventually has sex and that includes (gulp) my son. Wouldn't want him to do that too soon, would I? Wouldn't want to encourage his burgeoning sexuality...But showing him violence, as long as it's not too bad won't influence him. Not my son. He'd never hurt someone as a result. Maybe not. I'm not someone who thinks that lyrics to a song or seeing a violent act turns a normal person into a serial killer. But why would I allow him to see any violence and more than I'd let him see an explicit sex scene?

I don't have any answers. I'd love to keep him in some kind of childhood bubble where everyone is always good, where you can be a kid for a long, long time. But I can't do that. He's on the cusp of mini adulthood and I'm just trying to do my best to help him navigate his way through. Maybe instead of taking him to see *Wanted (like the person in front of me did with her 7 year-old-looking kid) we'll rent Juno instead. And talk about it later.

from http://www.examiner.com/

*By the way, Wanted was highly entertaining if a tad silly (just a tad). And you know I love me a "diminutive Scot."

My daughter said something tonight that scared the crap out of me. She was telling me how she coughed so hard on her way home from school that she threw up. Then she says "After I threw up I felt like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. I felt so empty."

Why does this scare me? Because from the time I was 19 until I was 22 years old I was actively bulimic. I'd always had to watch my weight and hadn't been truly *thin* since I was probably 4 years old. So I went on Weight Watchers and began to lose the weight pretty easily. But the weighing and measuring and writing everything down tapped into the OCD part of my personality--which, up until then, had really only manifested itself in wondering each night "did I put the cap back on the toothpaste??" until I had to get out of bed and check. Followed by "did I close the cabinet door?" You get the picture. Anyhoo, I was writing everything down, I was eating exactly how I was supposed to according to The Plan, and there was no room for error.

This is not how Weight Watchers is supposed to be followed. I don't blame them. It's how I am combined with WW that was a bad mix. So I followed it and followed it and steadily lost 4 pounds a week for maybe 3 weeks. And then I snapped. I don't know what started it. I don't remember the day. All I know is that at least once a week I began running to the bathroom in my college apartment and running the water in the sink while I made myself throw up whatever I'd eaten in a frenzy a few minutes before.

I did this for a long time. My roommates never knew. My boyfriend (the very same HH who is still around) didn't know. I was looking fantastic (not too thin like an anorexic--no one would've guessed) and I while I had a kind of hangover of shame later, immediately after I threw up I felt euphoric. Yes, euphoric. Weird, I know. But according to some studies about seratonin and bulimia, There is a definite “high,” which comes with the purging, and which has no analogue in anorexia. I felt in control. I felt light. I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

Now do you see why I'm scared?

When I was pregnant and after I found out I was having a daughter, I had some really serious panicky feelings about raising one. Did I have my shit together enough (because it never really ends--it's a lot like alcoholism except you need food to live) to NOT pass on this skewed way of looking at food to my little girl?

So now here we are today. And I forgot to mention that she told me all this after we'd just gotten done swimsuit shopping. Even skinny girls hate shopping for swim suits. And M had a really tough time finding a suit because, along with my dazzling personality I've also passed on my hips to her. And she was saying things in the dressing room like "It's not the suit that's bad. It's my body."

And, remember, SHE'S NINE YEARS OLD!!!!!

So, you may be wondering what I did after these statements, how I responded. Well, in both instances I stayed calm. I told her that there was nothing wrong with her, that it was just the way the bathing suit bottoms were cut. I suggested two things: a one-piece (although I love love love that she still has the confidence for a bikini) and/or a pair of board shorts from the junior section to go with a bikini top from the suit she liked and had at home but didn't fit into bottom-wise. Success!! She came home, tried everything on and modelled it so I think, for now, we dodged the bad body image bullet. For now. And I'm still trying to stay calm.

My mother said to me when M was really little "Don't make your issues hers." Good advice. Sound advice. But she didn't tell me how. I wish she was here to help me with that. But the really screwed up thing is that, if my mom were still alive, she'd probably be on a diet.

Now here's one trend that should be brought back! Right?!

Warning: today's post won't be funny. Unless reading about the punishment of a sweet, kind, and usually upstanding child is your cup of tea. So right there you know it's not about M because punishing her is a bimonthly event at least. This time it's about my 12 year old son. Ugh. He's easy to be frustrated with because he's almost totally incapable of finding things which are RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIS FACE and and because he can be,at best, obtuse. But he's incredibly hard to stay angry with because he is possibly the sweetest and most well-meaning boy in the world.

Here's what happened: he took his MP3 player, which is virtually attached to him, to baseball practice and put it in his jacket pocket. When practice was over it wasn't there. Did I mention that it was a $150 MP3 player? Well, it was gone. He looked around with his coach for awhile and then skulked home. I was so mad. I HATE when the kids lose shit. ESPECIALLY expensive stuff. It's really really important to HH and I that they understand that if special things are given to them, they now have the privilege and responsibity to care for them. I'd hate if our kids would be the kind who take things for granted. They can take me and my love for granted at times, they can take for granted that they will have hot meals, clean clothes, and a place to live, but to a certain extent, we expect them to earn the extras.

So he's grounded from tv, computer, and seeing friends for 2 weeks. The Wii is gone for an indeterminate amount of time. And he owes us $50 to pay for his part in the MP3 player being lost/stolen. And he needs to pay it back by the end of the summer.

Oy, my heart hurts. Because this kid is not the kind who sloughs off his parents' anger easily. He cries easily and he hates to disappoint. I suggested he take a shower after we talked because I know how much I like to cry in the shower. And HH said he could hear him talking to himself in there, so I guess I was right.

Parenting is so hard.

Diary of a Bad Mother

Oy. Today was one of those mornings when I have to try very hard to remember that a lot of the things that really really annoy me about my wonderful 9 year old daughter are the things that I also love about her. Like her strong opinions. Like her sense of self. Like her...well, I was going to say "drama" but that just annoys me.

Mondays are always hard at Chez T. I hate them too so I can understand where she's coming from. A lot of Mondays are all about me trying to haul her ass out of bed and get her moving. Today wasn't like that. Everything went well. Hell, I even made pancakes despite my "rule" about not making a real breakfast on any day I have to feed 51 girls at work. Anyhoo, all was fine until she started working on The Bangs. She has beautiful naturally curly hair--not too curly to be unmanageable but just curly enough to make bangs that are growing out become a problem. Much hairspray is involved, along with much misty eyed-ness. I did my customary ignoring of the meaningful looks thrown my way (how am I supposed to respond? Do I suggest we cut her bangs to the scalp? Do I help to lacquer them down? All my attempts in the past were WRONG so ignoring is my new attempt to "help").

Then it was time to leave for school. Lunch was packed, study chart signed, shoes on feet. It's all good. Hah! First comes the request to drive her. We live 2 blocks from school. So comes the first "no." Then the injury to the leg from scootering is remembered! "What do I do about the PAIN????" she askes. My "it'll get better" is met with much scorn. "Can you please drive me?!" Second "No." The invalid starts off on the walk with only a minor amount of muttering and I can see from the safety of my bedroom window that she's going to make it thanks to the walking stick found in the wood pile.

I'm out of the woods, I think foolishly.

Starting to think about showering, I hear a door slam and a decidedly unlimping person who resembles my daughter storms up the steps and makes one more plea because of her "pain." Third "No" followed by the following interchange:

"You don't care about my pain!" ("daughter")
"Right." (sarcastic mother)
"It's true!" (righteously indignant offspring)
"Right." (evil noncaring don't care-giver)
"Because you're a bad mother!" (mutant fire-breathing devil spawn)
"Right." (beaten down, but still trying not to laugh despite herself Arch Enemy of Adolescence)
"Thank you for finally admitting it." (victorious martyr)

Have I mentioned that she is NINE??

Watching from my bedroom window again, as my daughter who I would gladly throw myself in front of a bus for (albeit, today, a slow-moving one) mutters loudly (how does she do that??) and throws dagger glances back at the house, I am struck by the battling forces of motherhood I face weekly with her. I still cannot help but want to laugh at her drama. She is FUNNY when she's mad. It's almost like she's channeling all the great Teenagers of sitcoms/dramas past. But I'm also hurt that she would feel this way about me and sad that she feels this...let down by her Mother. And the awful, sinking, horrific thought that, in the movies, this would end with her being abducted by someone and me remembering Our Last Conversation.

I realize I'm insane. Did I mention my taking antianxiety medication ("Mommy's Crazy Pill)?

These are the days when I really wish I could call my mother to have her tell me all the times I was a crazy annoying self-centered hormonal loon. To hear about those stories and to realize that I have turned into a truly fabulous mother would be so reassuring.