Boy Gotta Kiss the Frogs Too.

I thought it may come at some point, I mean no child is perfect, although I always feel my children are.  I wasn’t sure what form it would come in. The greatest fear was that it would be drugs. I had a plan for that. I would re mortgage my house and get them in the best treatment program ever. I wondered what would happen if that didn’t take and funds ran out. I knew then I would have to let them go and hope they returned alive and not broken beyond repair. That would hurt, it would be devastating.

I thought it may come in the form of just simply moving away to college or a job and that may happen yet. He is young.  I would miss them, it would be difficult.

I thought it would come in the form of a girl. Actually, I was sure it would be a girl. When you are the most important female in their life for the first 18 years and along comes a girl, any girl, there is going to be trouble.

Now, if, she is the perfect girl, that I love and he does too and of course she loves me, then problem diverted. But just like us ladies we are going to kiss a lot of frogs before we find the prince.

The problem is boys are going to kiss the girls and put their moms on the back burner while doing so. And as a Mom you are going to see all the wrong frogs for your son and there is nothing you can do about it. But yet, what you do is get angry with your son.

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

You see things they can’t and you try to communicate it to them. You get angry because what feels like all of the sudden their priorities are all messed up. They say things to you that you are sure are the words of the “girlfriend”. It all comes to a head and you realize you have lost, you have lost. You have lost influence over their lives. Okay, maybe, let me try to call it what you are thinking, you have lost control. I can’t just tell him what to do and he will do it. He use to be so compliant. Now, he fights me, it feels like at every turn, every direction. AND NOW he is OLD ENOUGH TO ACTUALLY CALL ME OUT! WTF!

You invest every cell of your being into a child ( your children) and you love them so much. And now you are so angry with their choices and decisions and at the same time you are trying to protect them from making mistakes, emotional ones, educational ones, financial ones. And you are just left feeling hurt as they get in the car that you bought them to spend Father’s Day with another family.

You want to say “I gave up my life for you, I live for you. Every decision I ever made, I thought about your best interest” AND now I am the mean Mom, the not understanding Mom, the Mom who doesn’t get it, the Mom that rides your ass, the Mom who speaks with attitude. “ Do you hear yourself?”, he says to me “This is the reason I don’t want to be here”. <heart stab, stab, stab> My son doesn’t want to be with me. It hurts. It fucking hurts.

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16! and ready to drive..Yikes!

For some reason I thought when my kids turned 16 they would just instantly know how to drive a car. I mean I taught them to feed, clothe and wipe their asses I figured I get a break on teaching them how to drive. But no, they don’t know how to drive automatically and you have to teach them.

I don’t remember learning how to drive, I got in the car and drove. I am sure someone taught me something but driving becomes so automatic you just get in the vehicle and drive. For the record, I did take driving lessons, that I had to pay for because my parents wouldn’t and if I didn’t take the lessons my mother wasn’t going to let me drive. AND I WAS GOING TO DRIVE. Driving was the first taste of FREEDOM, FREEDOM.

But I digress. Sitting in the vehicle with your 16 year old and knowing he has the potential to kill you…death by car accident going less than 40km is darn right FRIGING scary.  All these years you though you would be the one to kill them in their teens year, with ya know, the many challenges of raising a teen and then I (we) give them a car to DRIVE! with US in it and WHAT DO YOU MEAN I HAVE TO DO THIS MORE THEN ONCE.

One of our first lessons is me teaching him reaction time. In order for me to feel an ounce of safety I need to know he can SLAM on that break quickly and not hit the gas accidentally. So picture this, Nick driving the Mom van…. and I call out break every so often… “break! …go…..break…..go…break…. go”.  Not bad… let’s take it on the road, well to the end of the cul da sac. He is driving…… GAS!! GAS!!! I shout. WTF MOM??? I mean BREAK! BREAK!. Enough for today.

I don’t know why you think that by gripping the arm rest of the passenger seat that it is going to save you in any way from his ridiculously fast right and left turns but somehow you are willing the car with all your brain power to make the turn, GOD PLEASE MAKE THIS TURN!! With OUT KILLING US OR THE CHILD ON THE BIKE! More importantly the child on the bike.

One day I decided I would give him the blizzard test.  What is this you ask?  No, I wasn’t assumulating a snow storm.   Before switching him to the drivers seat I purchased a blizzard from DQ. I was preparing for a nice relaxing enjoyable ride while enjoying my peanut something or other blizzard. I figured if he passed this test he was ready to graduate from the subdivisions and on to the roads with actual traffic and more then one car every 5-10 minutes.  I don’t even remember eating the darn thing. It was more like shovelling….. of peanuts and ice-cream into in my mouth to prevent me from screaming and crunching those poor little bastard peanuts to fine dust. I just had a thought! A stress ball!!!

He is getting better, especially when I am not in the car. Wonder why this is? Anyways, time to leave this job for the professionals. I could scar him for life and then he would never be able to leave home drive a car.

Younger Self

My oldest son turns 16 years old tomorrow. Milestones, like this one get you thinking about how much time has gone by and of course how quickly times goes by. When Nick was born I fell head over heels in love. Literally! Who knew what joy a little version of yourself, offspring could be. I don’t think my mother loved me like that but who knows. I am glad I loved like that.

Looking through some photos of him as a baby I came across this one.

(no make up, no filters, smiling 🙂 , in love)

Nick Baby

I was a bit sad to see a spark in my eye that I didn’t see in a recent selfie I had taken of myself.

15 years plus a few months later……

(Recent Selfie-no make up Monday, no filters, no smile )

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At first, I felt sad about that missing spark I perceived. Ultimately, I know I am really just being hard on myself. Then, I wondered, what would I tell this younger version of myself today and so I wrote..

You knew the moment you found out you were pregnant what a special love you had and the joy that followed was more than you imagined. While you already knew life wasn’t all rainbows and pink cotton candy. You knew the birth of a child, your child was a new beginning, a new start. An opportunity, to love and experience love, a complete unconditional love. In the moments, right after birth, you knew it wasn’t just about you anymore. Your child first and your were second and that was perfectly okay. Most things you worried about before the birth, were not nearly as important. What a relief that was. A fresh breeze. A state of happiness. Your child’s happiness, well being and upbringing was in the forefront. Your mission was to raise a child that knew he was loved and cared for, no matter what. Something, you didn’t feel you had. Your mission was to raise a child that would have no fear showing affection, crawling into bed with you, never would he be afraid or doubt your love. Your child would have know a loving, kind mother. A mother who’s  eyes brightened when you walked in the room and wouldn’t hesitate to scoop you up in open welcoming arms.

You never knew that a couple years later you would be in the fight of your life. That the shock of such news would shake you to your very core. You didn’t know that your children would be the ones that gave you purpose to rise every morning. You had a mission! Your children needed you.

Shaken to the core you were. You had no idea the long term effects socially, emotionally and physically. But you fought, fought, fought and continue to fight! Fall down seven times, get up eight.

While some of your carefree innocence and spark faded with your fight, your love for your children only grew, your life adventures multiplied, you pushed through fear after fear and you learned to be truly grateful, less self-fish and have compassion and kindness for others. The mission you set for motherhood never faulted, didn’t fail. The gratitude you have for each day with your children  makes your heart overflow. Your relationship with God and faith is solid.

Your spark maybe more cautious and more mature with riding the waves of life but I’m proud of you. Maturity, isn’t all the bad. Don’t ever let anyone take away from you your struggles, your victories, for they know not the shoes you wore. Be grateful for those who shared the road. Continue to be grateful and celebrate all occasions in style.  Continue with your Mom mission you are doing a great job!

 

When am I going to grow up?….Hell, who am I kidding I don’t want to.

IMG_0019_2My birthday is tomorrow (oops I was just informed it is not tomorrow, its the next day ) chronologically if we are counting I am turning 41, oops I mean 42. Yes, I will be 42 and I have no intentions of acting my age any time soon. Honestly, it feels like my oldest who is 15 is catching up in age to me. He graduates middle school and goes to Jr. prom this year. I still have my Jr. prom dress in a closet around here somewhere. I am still with the boy I went to Jr. prom with.

Here are a few mottos: keep up with technology, keep with the latest music ( i am stoked for the Billboard Awards and seeing Britney and Iggy- I am so rooting for Britney!!!), keep up with what the young people are doing

( okay, so that last one is to keep tabs on my own teens).

I have to confess I am losing ground with the celebrity starlets and youth shows, the interest is just not there for me. Yeah, I am more mature then I think. Cat fights, fighting over boys and jealous over-privileged teens on TV are not entertaining to me.

Okay,  I have a few clothing limits too: short skirts, short shorts, midriff tops, crack exposing jeans and a few stores I won’t shop Garage, Hollister, Aeropostale, Victoria’s Secret PINK. I do however, love American Eagle and ROXY brand. Not giving those up.

I will be a a responsible parent and act my age in my profession and in some public places and events. But on my own time I will sing and dance to DEMI, wear leggings and knee socks, pink streak my hair, wear crazy make-up, sing karaoke on my computer, body surf the waves at the beach, buy an AE dress, snapchat ( I don’t but I could if I wanted), have a girlfriend sleepover, wear sparkles, and whatever else I feel like doing. Don’t put me in a box and tell me I have to act and be a certain way because of how old I am chronically.

Birthdays are not about the number ( although I am grateful for each year I have here on earth) they are a celebration of your life from the past year and going forward.

“Happy Birthday dear MOM… Happy Birthday to you.”

“Blow out your candles and make a wish”

I take a breath in, lean over my cake and wish for health and happiness for my family and me.

‘NOW LETS GET THIS PARTY STARTED QUICKLY”