Man, what a crap week! Starting Saturday night, we drove 6 hours in thunderstorms trying to get home from Florida, when the hotel messed up our reservations. I now had one king size bed for 5 people. I called the front desk and pitched a fit. We were all tired and acting accordingly. She asked if I knew the couch was a pull out. I said something about how many rodeo's I've attended and asked which 2 kids she thought I should put on the floor. I might've said something about her coming to room 254 and she could pick who were the lucky ones to sleep on the floor. The floor of a busy hotel room.
Sunday, Father's day, I blew it. I had nothing but a card hiding in my underwear drawer in South Carolina. I should've had the kids write something "homemade" style on hotel note pad paper. Something. Anything. But I didn't. I knew it was coming, but it was kind of like when your movie skips, suddenly it was Father's Day and I was unprepared. What I did do was get into a fight with him, the dad, on Father's Day. In front of the kids. Don't worry, we are fine, it's a marriage, we will figure it out. Except Monday. Monday I wanted to divorce.
I have good friends. Supportive and everything. I have good marriage, too. Complete with the highs and lows. I don't really want to divorce.
Tuesday this happened:
I can't even talk about it yet.
Jesse also had his best buddy over for a sleepover.
Jesse: Mom!!! Can we build a fort?
Me: (From the bathroom) Yep. (Mom doesn't care about anything anymore -except better quality toilet paper.)
Jesse: Do we have any duct tape?
Me: (suddenly caring) Let me help. Gimme a minute.
Which they did, right outside the bathroom door -timing me for one minute. They were "impressed" when I opened the bathroom door. Really, though, they had it coming -timing me, counting out loud for 60 seconds, really?! We built a fort, I started a movie for them, threw food and a couple of flashlights in through the peep hole and was all, peace out.
Wednesday Jesse had return sleepover at the best buddy's house. It's a thing we do, his mom and I trade kids, giving each other an occasional night off. After I dropped them off as early as possible, I retreated to my room to lick my wounds. When I say 'lick my wounds' I mean, Janice and I discussed a new eating thing that doesn't start with a cleanse. Then I watched a movie and read books. All the rest of the day. Almost completely ignoring the other people in my house, as I watched my blog deadline day pass by without a backward glance.
This is the thing, we all have those times; when we are not awesome moms, wives or people even. This was a tough week. Sometimes we just have to wipe the sweat off our brows, have a shot and a beer and take a minute. Real life gets tough. I'm not doing it right, I'm not. I'm just doing my best.
Here we are in Florida, the gulf side, near Tampa. Jesse (8), Anna, Chris (my nephew who is also 15) and us, the stalwart keepers. We arrived Saturday afternoon and only left the beach to eat or sleep. My biggest fear as we settled in to the mini vacation was sharks. It is now day 4, our unbitten bodies varying in color from coconut to pink. We were watching TV on a couch that I was sure was dirty but forgot to care. Because Orlando. I'm stunned. I almost hate to comment as words, any words fail me in the face of this tragedy.
For Jesse I'm going with Mr. Rogers and long walks on the beach.
The older kids, I am encouraging them to watch how this all unfolds. I mean we are in Florida, maybe we should pay our respects somehow in person. I'm working this through when I see the shooter's dad come on. It was just a snippet, but apparently this parent of the year is in complete denial or a fantastic liar.
He said he was just as surprised as we were. He said if he had any idea his kid would do this he would've called the FBI himself. He says he was raised in a loving home. He said all of this with dry eyes. I'm calling bullshit on this. What did he think his kid was up to when he cheered during 9/11 while his classmates cried? What did he think his kid was doing to get investigated by the FBI? Be on a watchlist?! I'm saying 100% bull crap because, as a parent, you know. He knew.
My kid once got accused of tearing letters off a door and breaking perfume bottles in a bathroom at a party we attended as a family. Not only did we leave before the Jaeger came out, my son had a new girl friend with whom he texted 500 times that evening. 500 times. When I say you know your kid, I mean had they said, "Hey, someone left a blunt..." I would have looked at my kid immediately. Breaking bottles of perfume and baby letter's was not his thing. Luckily, because of the 500 texts and the investigative skills of his dad, our kid was absolved of this crime. Although, had he done it, we would not have closed our eyes.
My point here is you know your kid. I do not believe this dad. I do not believe he had no idea what his son's political views were. Nor do I believe he was raised in a loving home. I believe he was taught this kind of hate. This dad claims he was blind sided by the behavior of his kid is only lying to himself, I'm not buying it. He knew his son's derision towards gays, women, blacks, and hispanics -that is a lot of hate. This father failed his child.
Get your kids people.
“Sharks have everything a scientist dreams of. They're beautiful―God, how beautiful they are! They're like an impossibly perfect piece of machinery. They're as graceful as any bird. They're as mysterious as any animal on earth. No one knows for sure how long they live or what impulses―except for hunger―they respond to. There are more than two hundred and fifty species of shark, and everyone is different from every other one.” ― Peter Benchley, Jaws
At a baby shower a while back, I sat in wide eyed wonder at all the new baby crap, feeling old. I mean sexy, but older. I really had a hard time getting into the joy of the diaper cake and the adorable tiny clothes. I love babies and kids but I realized this part was truly over for me. That baby boat has sailed and I sent it off with luck as I cracked that bottle of champagne on the bow. Vaya con Dios.
Hostess (Asking with beautiful, blue, innocent eyes): Tonya, your kids are older...what age do think was the hardest?
Me: Hmmm.... (taking a minute, my kids at the time were 21, 14, and 7, I had a few years to think through) I have to say 16.
Hostess and party: (Laughing)
They thought I was joking. I wasn't. Their kids are still young and adorable. These chubby little cherubs can have their day made because you gave them the blue cup and put on Paw Patrol.
Look how sweet other people's kids are!
The hostess asked us to write our best advice in a book for the new mommy, I was tempted to write, Don't teach them to talk but settled for Even if daddy does it different, it doesn't make it wrong. They can't even imagine their adorable little babies going all anarchy them.
This adorable sleeping Superman...
became this handsome teenager...
that yelled,"Fuck you, Mom!" and punched a hole in my bathroom wall. All because I refused to let him wear colors. He was aspiring to be a gangster. I saw a text that said, "I'm about to be a disciple with the Folks!" Um, no. No, you are not. Go ahead, punch the wall, work it through; I'm going to Home Depot.
It is normal for teens to rebel and because of the whole growing brain thing they suck at decision making. They buck authority and get off on law breaking and shenanigans. Everything we say is ridiculous, as my daughter so often reminds me, or completely unreasonable, as in not letting Jon join a gang.
I happened to have a friend over during the "Fuck you, mom!" bathroom destruction/gang incident. Of course, my kid has to lose his mind and get all unruly while I'm trying to have a nice coffee with a nice lady. She asks me if I allowed this language and behavior. I'm not sure what she wanted me to do. Jonathan was 6' tall and stronger then me. I was pretty sure a potch on the butt wasn't going to be effective. So, now, the discipline varies with the crime and not always the same. Sometimes I just scream and yell like a lunatic.
I find their phones to be a very powerful motivator, sort of like a teen version of 'time out'. I often give them more chores, like pulling weeds or cleaning baseboards. And writing, I am particularly fond of making them think about the incident and write me a synopsis. Sometimes it's just plain ol' fashioned repetitive rule writing, I will not tell my mom to fuck off. She loves me and wants me to grow up to have a better vocabulary.
I think it's only fair to add that these teen kids are also allowed to have bad days. They have a lot of stress and tons of shit coming at them every day. Kids are mean, especially to each other, it seems. When I recognize the bad behavior being related to stress or just them having a shitty day, I give them space. I've even forced it on occasion. I actually took the screen off my daughter's window, told her to sit on the roof look at the night sky and just think. She thought I was nuts as I took her phone and told her she was to sit there for at least 30 minutes. Baby Girl took some time, got herself right and now often sits on the roof to think. I had the fleeting thought of "Oh shit, I just showed her the best exit for sneaking out". I had to clarify that this was a spot just for her, not her friend's or my friends' kids. You just sit there alone with the universe and God.
Teens are hard. They will tell you unsolicited that you look like hell. They will point out every little thing that you miss say or miss step. There are the few exceptions. You may find yourself in a conversation with that mom whose teen is perfect. School is great, they love their friends, they will probably graduate from college at 20, and even respects curfews and parents. I smile and nod, saving my teen stories for someone else. I can't help but think this mom is either a liar or delusional because this is not normal teen behavior. It could be that I am just jealous.
Let's not judge though, because honestly, my kids didn't learn cuss words just from TV and school; they got 'em from me. (I once got a note from Anna's teacher that said she called some kid a 'hell damn'. I straightened her out over time, with examples on proper usage of both hell and damn.) Erma Bombeck once wrote something about not judging other moms' because that is the moment the principal will call to say your kid just rode a motorcycle through the gymnasium. I have found this to be true.
I am not going to tell you how to handle your teenager. I'm going to wish you luck and offer this: 1. Check their phones, regularly and randomly. I know, I know, the whole invasion of privacy thing, whatever, it's bs. My son was going to be a disciple and my daughter loves selfies -it's about that whole frontal lobe thing, not privacy. 2. The less words the better, state the facts and get out -or stick 'em on the roof, whatever. 3. Try to be consistent which, I think, is the hardest thing. I just try to keep basic rules, basic consequences. No lectures, lecturing is for long car rides.
I have no doubts this brave little fisherman will pull the same kind of crap.
I'll be ready.
“For from this day forward his world can only widen. An existence that began in a crib, grew to a house, and extends over a two-block bicycle ride will now go even beyond that. I will share him with another woman, other adults, other children, other opinions, other points of view. I am no longer leading. I am standing behind him ready to guide from a new position.” ― Erma Bombeck, At Wit's End
Actually it's almost Thursday. Blog post is late because end of school year. I can't attend one more function, presentation, ceremony or party. I'm sorry, I really don't mean to sound like a jerk parent, but enough already.
Ms. Our Gym Teacher: Mrs. Lucas, can you DJ for me?
Me: I would, really, but it so close to the end of the year...I am afraid of what would come out of my mouth.
Ms. Our Gym Teacher: You don't have to talk. Just play music.
Me: No problem!
The teacher that assigned a presentation that isn't graded but mandatory; I could throw her out the window. I agree with Anna, it is stupid. I didn't tell Anna that but, really?! She forced me to stick to the Lucas rule of: We do things even if we don't want to, because it is the right thing to do (mandatory). What a bitch.
My kids have upped their degree of whining. I can't. I actually said, "Shut up." My brother once said if you say,"Shutty uppy." It's okay 'cause sweetly. I didn't. I might have even yelled it.
Jesse: Why do I have to go to school? None of the other kids are!
Me: Because you have 3 half days left. There will be kids there. You are going.
Jesse: You are mean.
Me: Probably, but that has nothing to do with why you are going to school tomorrow.
Jesse (Trying to cry): Mom, the other kids-
Anna: Well, at least you don't have to do a presentation that won't mean anything. Mom, I mean. it doesn't even-
Me: Shut up, both of you. Go to your rooms until you think it through or are over it! You guys are going to school tomorrow and Thursday. They are half days for crying out loud! I love you.
Lucas lesson of: We finish what we start.
To top it all off, every school and grade seems to be doing a luau theme. So, the kids, mine and the little guy I pick up, had beach balls and plastic, pineapple cups with random amounts of Hawaiian Punch. Hawaiian Punch. My first thought was, "Cool, your whole class signed 'em? Beach balls! We can take 'em to the pool. That's cool." (I had the random thought of the Sharpie marker washing off into the pool and if it causes cancer. I decided probably it does.)
4 seconds later...
Me: Stop bouncing that ball off the back of my seat!! Try to keep them in the back. (As I throw a block) I'm trying to drive. Did it spill? Oh 'cause it didn't really fit in the cup holder? (Not because of beach balls) How much spi...nevermind." This is the point where I quit.
The thing that sent me over
We learned lessons, we laughed, we cried and we danced. One more day. Half day. My no alcohol week starts tomorrow.
