The other day I entered my son’s bedroom on some errand or another, and realized something important. It had to do with the olfactory impact of enclosing an adolescent and his Axe body spray in a small space with a fish tank and an only halfway clean lizard terrarium.
I realized my gag reflex has returned.
I’m not sure why this surprises me, but it does and I’m kind of sad. I used to have an iron stomach when it came to unpleasantness. But my once desensitized sniffer must have been part of a latent superpower that surfaces when I need it most; like back in the day when I’d decide whether a toddler needed a change by putting his diapered butt right up to my face. When this superpower is fully engaged, I can scrape dried poo off my shirtsleeve with the aplomb of a Ludlum CIA operative pitching a Molotov cocktail at a Russian mafia stronghold and then taking a slow-motion saunter toward the camera with a wink and a hair flip.
I have to tell you, that thought made me do a Google search for something like this:
Photo by Film Frame – © DreamWorks II Distribution Co., LLC. All Rights Reserved.
But then I stumbled upon this … and it made my day.
(and, well, let’s be honest, it probably more accurately resembles me leaving the scene of an explosion). (more…)
Woke him by barging into his room first thing in the morning to make sure he wasn’t dead after his alarm had been blaring for ten solid minutes
Barged in again when there was no further sign of movement for another twenty minutes …
… while busting out a refrain from The Sound of Music
Reminded him that it was approaching 7am, and that (in a dramatic, movie trailer voice) the bus waits for no man
Suggested he change into clean clothes
Clarified that by “clean” I usually mean “clothes that don’t look like you’ve slept in them”
“….or like they’ve been balled up in pile in the corner”
Today Jack texted me from school:
Could you pick me up? I had a panic attack in history and I just can’t do this today.
Ugh. Crap. I was in the middle of a run, and then I needed to shower, go to a meeting, go to another meeting, and then, well, work. Jack’s school is 30 minutes away, in good traffic. I didn’t have that kind of time.
And … crap. What did he mean: panic attack? Sure, he had enough going on to overwhelm a person. It could be finals, or the speech he’s supposed to have ready this weekend – four minutes translated into Danish and memorized for a youth exchange retreat. It could be something a friend or a teacher said to him. It could be the weight of the world. Or it could be everyday teenage angst.
I know a few people with very serious anxiety problems. Some who can’t sleep through the night, or speak to a crowd, or – I don’t know – navigate a car through traffic, depending upon the day. What if this episode was the start of something chronic and debilitating? (more…)
When the kids were little, I was known for making threats that would be difficult, inconvenient or downright impossible to carry out.
Mostly, this consisted of vowing to deposit a passenger or two on the side of the road if they didn’t stop arguing, or to “turn this car around” when we all knew wherever it was we were headed was someplace I particularly wanted to be.
I loved the whole “natural consequences” idea the Love and Logic practitioners touted. I gave it a good, college try for a while.
I rarely got it right, though. Somehow “I’m sorry your inability to clean your room has resulted in your being late to the birthday party because you can’t find your shoes,” always morphed as it was coming out of my pie hole.
What my kids ended up with was usually more like: “I’m sorry you can’t find your shoes, jeez, what HAPPENED to your ROOM? Oh MOTHER OF ALL THINGS HOLY WHAT WOULD IT TAKE TO BE ON TIME FOR ONCE?”
Like that … but with more profanity. (more…)
“We are new to the area. What time does school start and end?”
This was the question hanging out there on our neighborhood social network last week.
I had to think. When does school actually start and end? These days, only thing I’m sure of is what time I have to shoo kids out the door to catch the bus, or to get on the road in time to beat traffic.
Last year was the end of our ushering anybody into the venerable halls of elementary school. It was also the end of my keeping track of exact school start times.
I used to know. I used to calibrate all our clocks in the house to the school bell right down to the second. We needed every minute of the morning. It wasn’t uncommon for me to deposit a kid at the crosswalk or at the edge of the drop-off late enough he had to sprint across the playground to hit the door before the tardy bell. The difference of one second could mean escaping the notice of the duty in her bright, yellow vest, or hearing “stop by the office for a tardy slip, sweetie.”
There I’d be, the lone mom in the drop off area, calling out to my kid and all his fellow latecomers from the car like we’d just hit ground on the beaches at Normandy.
“Run, you sons of bitches, RUUUN!” (more…)
What’s missing from those What to Expect books is a chapter (or maybe even a whole volume) on parenting in the age of the World Wide Web. Right about now, something like: What to Expect when your Child Gets Sucked into the Matrix and their Brains Turn to Jelly, would be helpful.
I’ve done my usual exhaustive research (i.e., read a couple related articles online before getting distracted by lists of celebrities who Botox their pets), and come to the conclusion that no one really has a handle on the convergence of kids and the Internet. (more…)
Last night, Mike and I stayed up to attend a late night dog round up where our kid was head dog rustler. Or maybe it was rodeo clown. I can’t always tell with these things, but whatever. Gainful employment for a twelve year-old boy isn’t always easy to come by.
Not long ago Colin would regularly set up a lemonade stand in front of our house and sit in the summer heat under our patio umbrella, waving at passing cars. I still have a collection of hand-lettered signs stowed behind our bedroom dresser. (more…)
Hiking up to Hidden Falls at Jenny Lake, Grand Teton National Forest
If you’ve been with me the past couple of posts, you know we just wrapped up our Epic Family Summer Road Trip. At one point we took a shuttle boat across a lake and a short, guided hike up a mountain to see a secluded waterfall. The scenery took my breath away, but something else also caught my attention.
Along for the hike was a family with three little girls. They were well behaved, but also talkative and precocious. There was little whining but lots of activity.
They reminded me of when our family was younger. Our boys would have charged up the trail, all arms and legs and loud voices. If we were lucky, they’d maintain their enthusiasm long enough to complete our hike without complaint. Their dad and I would have been on constantly our guard lest someone shove his brother into a stream, or a bug into his mouth, wander off the path, or collect handfuls of rocks to be found later, rattling in the dryer. We would have fielded endless questions, stepped off the trail repeatedly to root around in a backpack for snacks, reminded people to keep hats on, hands to themselves, voices down. (more…)
Go that way. Fast. Stay afloat.
There have been times when the worry that I have screwed up one of my kids keeps me up at night.
Then one of them will say or do something to make me realize (a) any mom guilt I carry around is probably unwarranted, because (b) everyone I’ve raised likely stopped paying attention to me by about kindergarten anyway.
Take the thing with sports. Since the kids were enough to walk, we’ve had them in one sport or another, season after season. It’s not that either of us is particularly athletic. And if we ever wondered whether anybody around here harbored some latent talent that would one day fund college, that ceased to be a question the minute somebody lobbed a ball into his own team’s net, or became so engrossed in conversation he forgot he was in the game. (more…)
One day, if all goes well, I WILL be on your butt.
“Hey mom, can I ask you a hypothetical question?”
This is Jack’s way of introducing a subject he thinks might provoke a strong response.
He’s also driving. I’m his passenger. The smart thing to do would be to say no. No questions.
But this isn’t the blog you come to for exceptional parenting advice from someone who thinks things through before speaking. If you’ve been here any length of time, you probably know where this is going.
“Hmmm?” I say.
“What would you say about my getting a tattoo?” (more…)