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Jun
6
I haven’t been able to write about this until now, even thought it has been on my mind constantly since I read about it. The death of blogger Katie Granju’s son Henry has just filled my heart with such sadness. I didn’t know her, I hadn’t read much of her blog until there was so much online about her writing about her son’s addiction. But as a mom, regardless of whether or not I personally know her or her family, this hits me hard.
Of all the issues and problems that we face as parents, this is the one that scares me to death. This grips my heart and keeps me up at night.
With so many things in life, for kids and adults, you make mistakes and learn from them. Learning from your mistakes is a good result, and we often get the chance to make the right choice another time. We get a do-over. But with some things, there are no do-overs, no chance to make it right.
Part of the reason drugs and drug addiction scares me so much is that I have zero experience with it. In the tiny town I grew up in, I didn’t have access to drugs. I didn’t know anyone my age or around my age that did drugs. I heard rumors of adults doing drugs, but even that was rare. I’m afraid I wouldn’t recognize the signs of drug use until it was too late. Thankfully, the years my husband spent working with juveniles in the probation system gave him a huge education in this area. But that’s not really reassuring to me. Recognizing the signs means my kid has already crossed a line, a choice that could kill him. I don’t want to have to be able to recognize the signs. I don’t want it to ever get to that point.
We know people and have heard of people in our community that have lost children to drugs. Sometimes it is because of an overdose after years of addiction. Sometimes it is a first time drug user. Either way, it is heartbreaking.
Recently we learned that local kids as young as 11 or 12 were buying over the counter medication and taking huge amounts to get high. Several kids ended up in the hospital. The 18 year old that was buying it for most of them was arrested. That is also not reassuring. How far will kids go to get high? Huffing, over the counter medication, what else is there? And how much younger will the kids get that are doing this?
I wrote back in August about random drug testing at my son’s 6th grade. My rant back then, and now, is that drug testing at schools isn’t the answer. If my child fails that drug test, we are already on a path we never want to be on. We are already in serious trouble. I don’t have any answers, but I know that a failed drug test is a wake call that came too late.
I have talked to my sons about drugs so many times that they might roll their eyes if I bring it up again. But I will. My oldest has told me stories of kids his age and younger doing drugs, bringing drugs to school, coming to school high. These stories started when he was in the 7th grade.
I told my son that we love him, we want to guide him as he grows up, and we want to be able to trust him. He continues to earn more and more trust as he makes good choices. I also told him that if we think he isn’t able to make good choices, if we think he isn’t strong enough to resist peer pressure when it comes to things like drugs, we will make some hard decisions of our own. I won’t hesitate to pull either of my children out of school if I think it’s warranted. If I think they’ve gotten in with a crowd that is leading them down a dark path, and if I think they aren’t able to get off that path themselves, I will do whatever I have to do to keep my children safe and alive.
My son was kind of shocked when I said that. His jaw dropped, and he asked if I would really ever take him out of school. Absolutely, in a heartbeat, I’ll do whatever is best. He didn’t like that; even though he insists that he would never do drugs, he didn’t like the idea that I would do something that drastic. Like every teenager, he doesn’t think that anything bad will ever happen to him. He sees kids doing drugs, huffing, marijuana, and alcohol, and he sees them functioning okay. Maybe not functioning well, maybe getting suspended and expelled, but not dying.
He’s right, lots of people do drugs and don’t die. Lots of people do drugs and live relatively normal lives. I guess that’s true, because while my kids know people that do drugs, I do not.
I don’t care how many people do drugs and are fine. Because not everyone is fine. Many end up like Katie’s boy. Many lives are destroyed, and not just the lives of the people using drugs. My husband has seen parents and grandparents sent to prison time and time again, because they cannot stop. How many lives does that destroy?
You just don’t know if you will be the one who can’t stop, who has to keep using stronger drugs, who ends up dead of an overdose or a beating at the hands of drug dealers. You don’t know, so using drugs even one time is a gamble with your life. That’s a gamble that I’m not willing to take; I am not willing for them to take it either.
My heart is hurting for the Granju family. I cannot imagine losing a child in any circumstance, but to lose a child like that, there are just no words. Her willingness to share their story with the hope of helping other families is heroic. And it may be the wake up call that some people need to start an ongoing dialogue with their children about drugs. Growing up, my parents never talked to me about drugs. They were lucky; I made many mistakes, but not that one. I can’t close my eyes and hope that I will be that lucky with my kids.
I used to think that I wanted to shield my kids from news stories about these kind of things. I didn’t want them to watch the news and hear about drug abuse, child abductions, or sexual predators. Now I want them to know the dangers. I want them to know that drug use, even one time, can kill you. If it doesn’t kill you, it can put you on a course that leads to hell, for you and your loved ones. It can destroy your life.
I don’t have any answers. I don’t know how to make them fully understand the danger. All we can do is watch them closely, monitor them closely, and talk to them constantly. We’re talking and they’re listening. I hope and pray that it’s enough.
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Jun
3
You know those blogs that give you great advice on parenting and how to improve your family life? Um, that would not be this one, lol. I’m one that needs great advice!
School has been out for a week now, and I survived. Slightly more frazzled, but I survived. My kids have had friends over, had sleepovers and went to sleepovers at friends’ houses. They’ve been busy little social butterflies. And I’m glad for that, except for the fact that these butterflies need a driver (that would be me).
I have to laugh because my kids have both complained before about how much work school is, how hard it is. But now that school is out and they are playing all day, they’re so much more exhausted at the end of the day. It’s being outside, walking a lot, riding bikes, playing baseball and swimming. These guys are beat. Apparently playing is actually more exhausting than “working” at school.
My oldest spent most of yesterday at a friend’s house, came home for dinner and to clean up, then spent the night at another friends house. I picked him up this afternoon; of course, he was so tired he fell asleep in the car on the way home. All that playtime again. But then tonight after dinner he asked to go back over to his friends house. This friend lives close enough that he can walk back and forth, and he just wanted to go hang out for awhile since we weren’t doing anything.
We said no. He really didn’t understand that, because we weren’t doing anything. I was working, which is pretty much a constant; my husband was being a superhero and vacuuming up the massive amounts of dog hair we are collecting, and Nolan was tired from his own busy day of playing. So why didn’t we let him go?
My husband and I both said no without discussing it with each other first; No was just the initial gut response. I said no because I knew my son was tired and needed to get to bed early. I also like having them home; he’d been at friends’ houses for almost two days straight.
My husband said no on the principle that sometimes you just gotta say no 
He just couldn’t think of a good reason for our son to be out again tonight, after being gone all day yesterday and today. And he wanted Tanner to be rested tomorrow to help with the yard work.
After we said no, I started second guessing myself. It’s summer, for crying out loud! Aren’t they supposed to get to do things they can’t do during the school year? It’s not like he needed to wake up early the next day. I mentioned my second thoughts to my husband – also known as the man who NEVER second guesses himself. He just doesn’t do that, he makes his decision then it’s done. So he didn’t agree with my second guessing, but no surprise there.
I sometimes feel like we say no just to say it, because it seems like what we should be doing as parents. I do think we made the right call tonight, because he is tired, and like most kids, he’ll choose to have fun even if he’s exhausted.
How do you set limits during the summer? If it’s during the day, I rarely say no when they get invited somewhere or want to invite someone over. The main reason: because I cannot be the entertainment committee (that is my summertime mantra). I can’t arrange their fun, I can’t be at their beck and call to drive them anywhere and everywhere at the drop of a hat. I can’t, and I wouldn’t even if I could. So I encourage them to find things to do or places to go.
I do say no more to sleepovers. I don’t think they need to sleep over at someone else’s house more than one night in a row. They don’t sleep well at sleepovers, they stay up too late and wake up too early, and we get the brunt of their tiredness the next day. Because of my chronic lack of sleep, I’m a little obsessed with making sure my kids get plenty of it. But that’s pretty much where I start to set limits. Other than that, I’m okay with them hanging out with their friends a lot.
I do have a few goals for my kids this summer, most of which involve reading lots of books that I have picked out for them. Other than that, I’m happy to see them playing, biking, walking, swimming and having fun.
Do you have set rules or limits on social activities, or do you decide on a case by case basis? Do you have a schedule that you keep in the summer with your kids, or is it kind of willy nilly, figure it out as the day progresses? (If you hadn’t guessed, I would fall into the willy nilly category.)
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May
26
I don’t know if I’ll publish this post. I’m not in the best frame of mind to even be writing. But isn’t that the point of writing?
Life is beating me down. Every time I think I’ve got to be as low as I can go, the beating continues. The story of my life right now is a nightmare of epic proportions, so horrible it borders on funny, in a sick kind of way of course.
You all know about my parenting drama this week, so I won’t go into that. Just be aware that the parenting stuff alone was enough to put me on the brink of losing my mind. So the rest of this stuff on top of it? Right over the edge.
My car has been in the shop for some repairs that were supposed to be covered by warranty. Once the mechanic got under the hood, more repairs were deemed necessary, which aren’t covered by warranty but of course must.be.done.
In the middle of school assemblies, concerts, performances and parties, my garage door broke. I couldn’t get my car out (the lovely loaner car from the mechanic). Since we live pretty close to both my kids’ schools, I was able to walk to their events. But that’s about all I’ve gotten done. Apparently it is the season for garage door problems, because I called every place in a 50 mile radius and they are all booked up for two days or more. Who knew the garage door business was so lucrative??
My son’s phone broke. I know this isn’t a big deal when you look at the big picture, but with my summer classes starting, I need him to have a phone. Just one.more.thing.
On a totally different level, my dad is having more health problems. He has a ton of them already, but this new one is of the “could be benign, or not” variety. They meet with the surgeon next week and we’ll plan from there. I know I don’t need to ask, but prayers, please.
I would give anything to be able to spend some time with them and be there during the surgery, but I don’t get any paid time off from work, so right now it looks impossible. That just adds frustration to an already stressful situation.
There’s more that has gone wrong in the past week, minor things that all piled together make a mountain that I’m struggling to climb.
As a final insult, my husband decided that since today was the last day of school, it would be a great time to let our youngest son invite several friends to sleep over. Sigh. I know he’s right to do that, because regardless of the muck I am trying to wade through, the kids don’t need to be affected by it. I just need to put my happy face on for them, and I’m having a hard time doing that right now.
Join with me in repeating this mantra: It HAS to get better. Oh please, doesn’t it?
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May
26
More and more, the things I write on this blog are focused on parenting. Not on how to parent, but on how not to parent. Clearly I am not one to give advice, but maybe if I share my shortcomings and failures, it might help someone else.
In my last post I admitted that my son has basically slacked off to the point that I’m very worried about his grades. This is such a tough situation, but it’s also very hard to admit that my child is a slacker. Especially on the internet. You all don’t know him, you can’t see the potential that he’s trying to hide, you don’t know that he’s a good guy. When I talk about my kids to other family members or “in real life” friends, they at least know that despite all the struggles, he’s a good boy. I never want it to seem like I am overly critical of my kids, or that they are deliquents, but I realize that by sharing things online, you may only get a narrow view. That’s not my intent.
Yesterday was hard. He is upset about his grades; final grades haven’t been posted but from the sheer difficulty of his finals, he knows that whatever “magic” he was hoping to pull out of a hat is not going to happen. He was angry and frustrated last night, and he lashed out at me. I expected this, because he really thought he could ace those finals without studying. Reality hurts.
He was so ugly, so unpleasant, that by the time I dropped him off for his spring band concert, I had decided that I wasn’t going to go to the concert. My husband was at our other son’s baseball game and couldn’t leave, so I was going to the concert by myself. But I was done. I was angry, hurt, and just disgusted with my child, and I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to see him or watch him perform.
I came home and started fixing my dinner. While my leftovers were warming, I decided to look through some of the papers that he had brought home from cleaning out his locker. I found something that he had just written that afternoon.
I can’t share what he wrote, but it showed me a side of him that he refuses to show. His written words reflected fear, doubt, insecurity, and anger at himself. The words he had spoken to me earlier were hiding all that, directing all those feelings at me instead of telling me how he was really feeling.
When I read what he wrote, I felt like the worst mother, the worst person in the world. I know that what you see with a teenager, what they show you, isn’t always the whole story, the true story. He probably didn’t want me to see what he had written. He probably didn’t want to be that honest with anyone. He doesn’t know I saw it, and I won’t tell him.
I had ten minutes before his concert started. I ran a comb through my hair, changed my shirt and ran. I got there one minute before it started. The band was already on stage. The boy sitting next to my son saw me, waved and poked my son. He smiled when he saw me.
I’m deeply ashamed that I was so angry that I was going to miss his final 8th grade concert. I didn’t think he’d notice that I wasn’t there, but I also didn’t care. If I look deep enough, I probably wanted to lash out at him the way he had lashed out at me. I am so very ashamed.
This doesn’t change things as far as the grade situation. There will be consequences for his slacking off. As far as he is concerned, nothing has changed. But something has changed inside of me.
What if God turned his back on me when I disappointed him? Which I have done and will continue to do. What if He left me wandering in the desert because I offended him? What if He was vengeful, and wanted to hurt me when I hurt him? What kind of Father would he be if he treated his children like I wanted to treat my son last night?
My son has questioned my faith before. He has asked me, how can I trust in a God that I can’t see, or in a God that allows bad things to happen. I have tried to explain it to him, but he will have to learn to trust and have faith on his own. I do have faith that my God loves me, in spite of my sins, in spite of my failures.
I want my children to have faith that as their mother, I will always love them. I will always be there for them. No matter what.
I was very close to blowing that last night. I wanted to fight pettiness with pettiness. I’m so glad that I was nudged to read my son’s papers. I normally don’t go through his things, I wait til he is home and ask him to show me. Clearly someone wanted me to know what my son was really feeling. Someone wanted me to get back on track and do the right thing.
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May
24
When I signed up for this parenting gig, a whole bunch of things were left out of the job description! Diapers, bottles, potty training, tantrums; I was prepared for all that.
No one told me that there would come a time when I would choose to let my child fall instead of carry him safely to his destination. When that would be the best choice I could make for him. And the hardest choice I ever made.
I have always been adamant that I would not be one of those parents who nags about homework, or does their children’s projects for them, or calls teachers to ask for second chances. Their school work is their job, not mine. After a certain age, I don’t think it’s even my job to remind them to do their homework.
Since I’m sharing a whole lot about myself these days, I need to honestly admit that while I have always believed those things, these days I have so much going on that even if I wanted to, I just don’t have the time to remember all the things my kids are responsible for. My life has been in a state of chaos for several months now, and I’m lucky to meet my own obligations. It’s a good thing I’ve never been the type of parent to monitor their homework assignments, because I’d be blowing it now.
So my boys have grown up doing their own work, which has meant turning in less than stellar art and science projects. At least compared to the art and science projects that had an abundance of adult “help”. They have grown up used to the fact that some days I might ask them if they’ve finished their homework, but most days I won’t ask. I still expect it to be done. They’ve never had a problem with this.
Ah, but you knew this was coming. They’ve never had a problem until now. You see, my teenage son is just way too smart, way too advanced, to be bothered with homework. Eighth grade work is just so far beneath him, especially since he is so much smarter than his teachers. Can you hear the sarcasm dripping down my computer screen? I just love this attitude.
I have many friends with 14 and 15 year old sons, and this attitude of superiority, this “I know better than anyone else” attitude seems to be pretty common. That doesn’t make it any easier for me.
My son’s problem is that he is smart. Certain things come so easily for him, so he’s spent the majority of his educational career not needing to study. But classes are harder now. And as he gets closer to high school, he needs to buckle down.
More honesty now. I have emailed teachers more in the past month than I have for the entire time my son has been in school. I want his teachers to know that I know, and that I am concerned. I have been checking the parent website for his grades daily, actually hourly.
In reality, his grades aren’t bad. He keeps reminding me of that. But several of his grades are borderline, so if he has decided that he doesn’t need to worry about final exams, those grades may very well plummet. I lie in bed at night and confess to my husband how worried I am that he will blow everything in the last few days of school.
And I have become the nagging mom. I have talked until I’m blue in the face about how important it is not to fall behind, because there is no time to make things up now. I have talked about the future and about how a few of his classes are for high school credit. I have talked about it so much that I am sick of hearing it myself. And it hasn’t done a bit of good.
There are a few things I haven’t done. I haven’t helped him with his final projects. Those projects were well within his capabilities. I haven’t asked his teachers to extend deadlines for work not turned in on time. And the hardest of all; I haven’t told him how very disappointed I am. Not in his grades, but because he is squandering his God given gifts.
I won’t lie and say that grades aren’t important to me. They are. But more than grades, what I value the most is effort. If either of my children gives it their best effort and still ends up with a bad grade, I am okay with that. I am not okay with giving absolutely no effort, then acting shocked when you get a bad grade.
I suppose there is more that I could have done to avoid this situation. I could have been more strict about checking their homework every night. But I still say that it’s not my job. I could carry my son to the finish line and make sure that his grades reflect his abilities. But it’s not my job, and what does he learn if I do that?
My mother in law is such a wise woman, and she told me that sometimes you just have to let them fail, let them get what they deserve, and let them deal with the repercussions. This little tidbit was not in my parenting manual, and it is so hard to do.
Part of me wants to march into my son’s room right this minute and yell, nag, threaten, bribe, or beg. Whatever it takes. Whatever it takes to get the outcome that I want. Part of me wants to force him to do this my way, whether he wants to or not. Because I said so.
But this time I have to let him fall. I can’t carry him, and I can’t pick him up when he falls. I have to stand back and let this play out.
That doesn’t mean that we won’t be doling out consequences. The consequences will be swift and probably harsh, at least in his eyes. But I cannot stand over him waving the potential consequences in an attempt to force him to act like I want him to act. To try as hard as I want him to try. He has to do this himself and for the right reasons.
This goes against everything I thought it meant to be a parent. My arms are strong, and my heart is willing. I can carry both of my boys. I can be their strength, their moral compass, their light in the darkness. I can, but I can’t. They have to find it in themselves.
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May
20
My youngest son has a chronic problem with ingrown toenails. I’ll spare you the details, but he gets them all the time, and several have gotten so infected that the doctor had to remove part of his nail.
This has been going on for years. When he was younger, he would tell me right away that he had one, and usually if he started antibiotics right away it would get better on its own. But in the past year he’s stopped telling me when he has one, and I only find out once it gets so infected that he can’t stand the pain. He doesn’t want to take the chance that he’ll have to have part of his nail removed, because that hurts worse than the infection. I found out by accident last night; I overheard him say something about his toe to his father, and I knew. I asked to see it and he tried to refuse, saying it was nothing. His toe is so swollen and infected that I’m surprised he can wear shoes. Needless to say, we’re heading to the doctor this morning.
I’m annoyed that he didn’t tell me, but I’m also worried because I googled infected toe nail; now I know how serious it can be to let the infection go without treatment. I understand wanting to avoid having the nail removed, but I don’t know how he’s been wearing shoes and walking, it’s that bad.
Lots of times when I’m dealing with my kids, it’s like looking in a mirror, and this is no exception. Aren’t we all like this? Maybe we have a small, seemingly minor irritation that we decide to just ignore and hope that it goes away. Instead of addressing the problem, we keep it to ourselves.
Many times for me, if I keep a problem to myself, it festers in my heart. It eats away at my good intentions and turns them to anger or resentment. If I keep it to myself, I’m probably not going to see a solution. I’m just going to feel stuck, with no way out.
When I think of all the times I had a problem that I kept to myself, and how much easier it would have been on me if I had opened up to someone, anyone. Even opened up in prayer and let it all out. It never hurts to let things out, to share your problems. But it can make things much worse if you keep it inside and let it fester into something bigger than you can handle.
I get so exasperated with my son. I told my husband last night, if he would only tell me right away, it would be so much easier to deal with. This is such a simple lesson, not too much to expect. Yet I don’t do it myself most of the time. I have shared feelings on this blog recently that I would never have shared before. I have opened my heart and poured out my fear, worry, and anxiety. And it has helped. Letting out the fear and worry makes room for hope and faith, and even a tiny bit of hope makes a huge difference in how we look at our problems.
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May
7
As a child, I knew my parents loved me. What I wasn’t sure about was whether or not they liked me, and that became a very important distinction.
In honor of Mother’s Day, I want to share some of the things I like about my sons. Someday I will share this with them, when they’re old enough to not be absolutely mortified by this display of motherly mushiness. I want it written down because it’s very important to me that they know why I like them so much.
Tanner ~ Firstborn. Child with my spirit. You are funny, witty, and bright. You are quick with a joke and finally the jokes make sense. You are insightful; you know when a sharp word is hiding a secret hurt. You are able to talk to adults on their level; respectfully and intelligently. This brings me great joy. You know how to be polite, and nothing makes me happier when you respond to my often asked “How are you” with a “How are you” of your own. You are creative, unlike your mama, which also brings me joy. You are tender hearted, and you have a special affinity for getting along with little children. They adore you, and so do I. I see your heart under the teenage bluster; I see the man you will become. He is a good man. Stay on this path and trust yourself. I am walking with you, but you already know the way.
Nolan ~ Second born. Child so much like your father. From the beginning, my serious boy. Everything you are that I am not, I envy. Such a quick learner; everything seems to come easily for you. Always the hard worker, I depend on you so much. After years of being quiet, staying in the shadow of the firstborn, you are starting to find yourself. I love that you are finally becoming comfortable with the fact that it is okay to be different from your brother. Your sense of humor is emerging, and you are hysterical. I absolutely love it when you zing your brother at the dinner table. Still completely unexpected; so he sits there with his mouth hanging open. You were born with the gift of self confidence; hold onto that always. Talented athlete, so unlike me. You are also very smart; don’t let anyone tell you differently. I love watching your personality bloom as you become less of a homebody. As different as we are, know that you are just as much me as your brother is. I catch glimpses of me in your words and actions and my heart beams. Keep following your own path child, and I will be on it with you.
I love you both because you are my sons. I like you both because of what is in your hearts.
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May
6
When my first son was born, I was both relieved and terrified. Relieved because I had such a tumultuous relationship with my own mother that I was afraid of having a daughter; and terrified, because as I kept saying to anyone who would listen, I had no idea how to raise a boy!
Since I have two boys, I can’t guess whether or not boys are easier than girls. So far, my boys have been easier than I was. But I hit my prime age of difficulty about 15, and my oldest turns 15 in June, so things could still get worse.
I think it’s different for mothers and daughters though. I know now that many of my disagreements with my mom stemmed from her steadfast desire that I “do better” than she did. In life and in marriage. She had a very hard time letting go; she wanted to be smack in the middle of every decision I made, even in my twenties. That certainly didn’t help our relationship; and while I readily admit that I was a difficult child, I deeply resented her questioning every move I wanted to make. This all came to a head when I had my first child. The last thing I wanted was to be criticized as a new mom. Support, love, encouragement, but not criticism.
There’s been a pretty deep chasm between us for years. The resentments I held came to the surface when I had my own children, and the easiest way to deal with it was to limit communication. That was even easier when we moved three hours away.
Eleven years later, there is still a lot of hurt and resentment. But it’s fading away as I am more acutely aware that despite all the hurtful words and actions, I don’t want to waste any time on being angry. My parents were in their late thirties when I was born. They are elderly and in poor health, and it’s easier to forget the past when the future is so uncertain and frightening.
I am trying to remember the hurts that caused my mom and I to drift apart. Some of them are so fresh it still stings, but most have lost their sharpness. I don’t want to forgive and forget. I want to forgive and remember. I have two children of my own. I need to remember my own hurts so I can avoid hurting my own boys. Daughters are not the only ones who can be deeply hurt by idle words. I have said things that I would have instantly taken back if I could; angry words that at the time were meant to hurt. Angry words that have left a mark on my children, and on my heart.
I would never claim to be able to give parenting advice; I’m still a student at that school. But I do know this: Just as I remember my own mother’s words like it was yesterday, our children will remember our words. Tread lightly with their hearts.
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Apr
29
Okay maybe you didn’t ask, but I’m sure that question keeps you up at night I should really save these gems of wisdom for some very important meme, but I will share with you now. Here are just a few of the reasons why this mama is Worn Out this week:
My son likes coffee. Fine. As long as it’s decaf, I don’t care what he drinks. So he makes coffee every morning for himself, and sometimes his dad will also drink it. I do not drink coffee. I do not make it – I don’t know how to make coffee. There, I admitted it. Since I don’t make the coffee, I have been a little baffled the past few days because when I am cleaning the kitchen after they’ve all gone off to school or work or wherever it is they go, there has been a muddy puddle of mud by the coffee pot. The first day I assumed “someone” had a spill. The second day I got a little annoyed. The third day, today, I asked both my son and my husband why they kept making a mess with the coffee. My son nonchalantly said, “Oh, I told you, I broke the coffee pot”. First, no he did not tell me. Second, so it’s broke, but he is still using it to make coffee??? Apparently he figured that a cracked coffee pot is still usable, and he could not be bothered with the mess he was making. I am still rolling my eyes over this one.
This group of guys that I live with is on a health kick. They make a lot of smoothies. I do not eat smoothies. I do not know how to make a smoothie. Well okay, I could probably figure that one out, but they don’t need to know that. So they all make their own. Earlier this week I was cleaning up the morning mess in the kitchen. Someone had left the big canister of protein powder out after making his smoothie. I grabbed the canister – did I mention it is huge – to put it away. I grabbed the huge canister by the top. The person who failed to put it away also failed to tighten the lid, so when I grabbed it by the lid, the huge canister thing crashed to the ground, leaving me holding just the lid. Sigh. At least I got most of it swept up before my dog could overdose on protein powder. And yes, my husband already pointed out that this is the second time this has happened, and I should know better than to grab it by the lid. I KNOW!
At my youngest son’s baseball game the other day, I begged whined pleaded asked my oldest son to go with me. I like it when he comes with me; we text each other during the game. While we are sitting beside each other. Mother/son bonding. Anyway, he didn’t want to go, but I guilted him into it convinced him that it would be fun. You know how when someone whacks a ball and it goes over the fence, but behind the batter? Everyone yells “heads up” so that no one gets hit with the stray ball. And in my eight years of going to my boys’ baseball games, no one has ever gotten hit with one of those stray balls. Until last weekend. Guess who got hit in the head with one? My son. The one sitting right beside me. I knew that darn ball was coming right at us, but I also assumed that he was paying attention and looking up. It happened so fast, and luckily it was more of a lob than a hard hit, but it still whacked him on the head pretty good. He didn’t even see it coming. I beat myself up for awhile, thinking I should have reached out and at least tried to catch it (yeah right) or deflect it away from him. He is okay, and because I have seen many injuries over the years from kids hit with a baseball, even some pretty serious injuries, I am very grateful that it wasn’t worse. He keeps saying that he never wanted to go in the first place, so of course he would be the one to get hit.
In an act of supreme klutziness, I managed to slam my finger in the front door today. Don’t ask me how because I couldn’t tell ya. All I know is that my poor ring finger turned purple and swelled up. When I reached into my jeans pocket by habit and lightly brushed that finger against my pocket, it hurt so badly that I may have screamed. This goes on my list of “things that do not happen to most adults, but somehow happen to me”. It’s a long list.
We are almost at the end of the school year, with just a few weeks left. So it is very fitting that now, so close to the finish, I get a phone call from my 12 year old’s school. I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize, and when I answered, it was my son. I instantly knew that something had happened, because otherwise he would be calling me on his phone. I refrained from saying WHAT DID YOU DO? but I was thinking it. Seriously though, this boy has never been in trouble a day in his life; he is the child that at every parent/teacher conference, his teacher says “He’s a good student, he’s just so quiet“. Well, my boy has come out of his shell. Apparently he and his best buddy were walking down the hall on their way out of school, because the last bell had rang. They may have been a little rambunctious. My son’s friend may have swung his backpack at my son. At which point my son returned the gesture. All the teacher saw was my son swinging his backpack towards the other boy. The backpack hit that boy’s leg, but because of where the teacher was standing, she thought he got hit in the, ahem, area where boys do not want to be hit. I guess she called them both over and asked the other boy if he was okay. That boy said yeah, it didn’t hurt, and that he thought it was funny. The teacher was not amused, and had my son call me. He is lucky that he didn’t get detention. Instead she just wanted me to know what my fine young man was doing. Needless to say, my son knows that I do not want to get another phone call like that ever again.
Well there you have it. That is just a small sample of the excitement that I experience on a pretty much daily basis. Try to contain your jealousy. But seriously, I think this kind of week is a perfect example of why all mothers are saints!
I read some article recently about being a successful blogger, and one point was that you should try to pass along some tip or bit of wisdom in your posts. Ha! Um, I mean here are my helpful tips:
- Do not let your teenager make coffee or smoothies.
- If you by chance happen to dump an entire container of protein powder on the floor, Do Not tell your husband. The sympathy you are looking for will not be forthcoming.
- Do not go to any baseball games. If you do, wear a helmet.
- Wear thick gloves at all times to avoid the possibility of slamming your finger in a door.
- If you get a call from a number you don’t recognize, just don’t answer it. It might be a telemarketer, or it might be your child’s school. Either way, it can’t be good.
There, I feel a bit wiser already.
Do these kinds of things happen at your house? No? Anything even close? Pretend, for my sake. Tell me what kind of week you are having.
I’ve linked this at Friday Fails even though it’s more like a week full of Fails. Hey, does that make me an overachiever?
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Apr
19
Ahh the joy of your first love. Young love. How sweet it is. Right?
Not if you’re the mother of a teenager! I finally can appreciate the stress I put my mother through when I was growing up. I remember her telling me that if the boy I liked ever hurt me, she would hurt him. I laughed, but I also felt comforted by that. Someone cared about me that much. Of course, most of the time I wished she didn’t care so much and would just let me do whatever I wanted.
The details of the current stressful situation are not mine to share, but I can use myself as an example. Am I the only person who pined for their first “love”, long after that first love had moved on? Or maybe my first love liked to see me pining away, so they kept me hanging on, throwing tidbits of attention my way every once in awhile. That would make me a doormat, yes? Or a puppy dog, allowing myself to be yanked along on a short leash.
It’s painful to see someone you love being treated badly. It brings out the mommy claws. But I can’t do the hard parts for my kids. I know the right thing to do, and I can tell them the right thing to do. I can even force them to do the right thing. But I can’t make them understand why it is the right thing, the best thing to do.
I have talked to my kids until I am blue in the face about self respect and self esteem. About not letting people walk all over you. They both seem to get it, unless girls are involved. Then it suddenly becomes okay to be a doormat.
I completely remember my first boyfriends, my first love, my first break up. I remember feeling like my heart would literally break in two. I remember hanging on way too long. I also can look back and clearly see the times in my life when I was someone’s doormat, and I cringe at that.
How do you parent during these tough times? I have friends that refuse to allow their kids to date, and actually that is our stance right now. But not dating doesn’t mean that they are not forming relationships at school and getting their heart broken in the process. I have friends that strongly feel that this is a normal, natural part of growing up, so let them be. I agree this is a normal part of growing up, but I am going to set the parameters when they are this young.
I can keep them from “dating”, but as I’m learning, that really only keeps them from going on dates. The feelings, the drama, the hurt, it still happens, even without dates, and I can’t control that. How do I help them find enough self confidence to walk away when they’re being treated badly?
Now that is the million dollar question. HELP!?
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Where did those little guys go?Cuteness overload
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