The Blame Game

      Haven finally got a response from her father, and it was lacking to say the least. She's hurt and it is a hurt that I do not think she will ever get over. I watched her read his response as she sat under an oak tree in our backyard. I saw her shoulders slump. She folded up the letter, stood up, and walked towards me. Due to her age, I am not ever sure of what she's needing from a mother, but I was prepared to give her whatever I could. She walked passed me, slapped the letter in her hand and said, “This is crap.”

I figured it would be.

      She did not want me to read his response, and I respected that. However, an internal, maternal rage burned within me and had the man been in my physical presence, I believe he would have received the ass kicking of his life. The shoulder slump alone ignited my bodily response. But because he wasn't, I hid my anger and waited for an opportunity to speak with Haven about what she was feeling.

Some humans shouldn't be allowed to reproduce or have equipment that allows them to do so.

      It was days before she shared his response with me. It was every thing I expected from him. He blamed me...fine. He blamed my parents...fine. He blamed Haven...NOT FINE.

      I did not comment on the letter with out solicitation because I did not want to make the situation worse for her. But, as she read it aloud, I saw a very mature, young lady emerge. She told me all of the reasons why she did not agree with his version of events, and did so without any emotion. She did not exhibit the normal teenage reaction filled with tears and strife. I was proud and scared all at the same time.

      Usually, when I am able to speak without emotion after someone hurts me, that is an indication that someone is about to really wish they were never born. Maybe Haven hasn't been genetically disposed to this phenomenon-- and it is a phenomenon for anyone who has been witness to my absolute calmness when I am completely enraged. I've been waiting for Haven to have some sort of reaction, but hasn't as of yet. She's always been the best of me, anyway.

      This letter got me thinking about my response as a mother.  It's also made me think of fantastic scenarios of what I would like to do to him. Her father does not know this, but I have found that I can shape shift into the nastiest broad on the planet. There is an unwritten rule that every mother has: DO NOT HURT MY KID no matter their age. Any mother will agree with this, and a lot of fathers, too. Maybe he does not realize the lengths I will go to protect my children. 

Here are some other rules for absent parents to follow:

1. Be a grown up. If you are an adult and blame a child, you should be sent straight to an electric chair. There is no amount of rehabilitation that will make you see that you are the adult and children are innocent.
2. If you are going to be absent from your child's life, do not blame the parent that stayed to do both of your jobs. You will never win this argument. EVER.
3. If you are absent and your child reaches out to you, for the love of GOD, put your self last for once. All you need to do is say, “I'm sorry,” no matter what happened between the adults.
4. If you sign away all parental rights to your child, do not assume that you will be invited to life changing events. If your child invites you and wants you there, that is one thing, but if they do not, please do not convince yourself that you have any right to show up unannounced.
5. If you are absent for the majority of a child's life, saying, “I love you,” will fall short and on deaf ears. Don't get mad at the child when it does. Children take offense to absences of choice.
6. No matter the circumstance, take responsibility for your decisions. They were yours.
7. Blaming others when you have a perfectly good opportunity to correct wrongdoings only shows how weak you are.
8. When your child grants you time with them, do not pawn them off on others because you are uncomfortable with the fact that you do not really know your own child. That is your fault, not theirs.
9. Revisionist history will not make the situation better. Just own up to what you did.
   
   
   10.) Make sure you thank the other parent for raising your child. They changed the diapers, held hair while your child vomited, stayed up nights to work on school projects, worked countless jobs to provide for them, held their hand during doctor's appointments and when their favorite pet died. They were there for every success and failure your child has ever had, and did so because that's what parents do.

      And know this, if you ever send my child a letter again stating that she was in the wrong, you will elicit a response from me that will scare terrorists. 

The Drunkest Girl in Four States

     It has recently come to my attention that Haven is hanging out with Seniors.  When I was a Senior, I wouldn't have been caught dead with a Sophomore.  I am perplexed by the attraction this group of Seniors has with my daughter.  I've met some in the group, but I still err on the side of caution no matter how nice these girls seem to be.

     Last night we had a conversation about photographic proof that Haven has been in the same vicinity of alcohol. I liked beer at an early age. I mean, hello?  Have you ever met me?  I still like beer today, but it makes me fat and that is something I am working very hard not to be.  However, there is no photographic record of me enjoying it at the age of 15.  I simply asked Haven about it and she told me the truth.  If it were the other way around, and my Mother had asked me, I would have LIED.  Haven did not and I find I have a great respect for her.

     So, if she's going to be around it, and even drink it, I felt she needed some tangible advice.  I did not give her permission to go out and drink.  I put alcohol consumption into perspective for her and I hope she listens.

1.)  DO NOT be the drunkest girl in FOUR states.  Nobody likes a sloppy drunk.  Nobody wants to take care of a sloppy drunk.  People will write on your forehead with a permanent marker once you pass out.  You will wake up with no clothes on.  Your "virtue" will be stolen.  People will talk about you and not in a nice way.  You will come home pregnant and not know how you got that way.  Boys will like you better, but only because you are sloppy and agree to run around naked in front of them.

2.)  DO NOT be a HOOKER.  Alcohol impairs judgement.  Believe me.  It explains about 97% of the men I've dated.  Don't talk yourself into thinking that people are good, because most are not.  There is a difference between chemistry and alcohol induced attraction.  Wait until the next day to determine if chemistry is still there without the aid of Captain Morgan.  I promise you will ask yourself what you were thinking. 

3.)  If you're gonna drink, DO NOT throw up in your friend's CAR.  Seriously, friends don't like that.

4.)  DO NOT get into a car with anyone who has been DRINKING and DO NOT try to DRIVE A CAR if you have been.  I will kill you.  You will wish for death if you do this.  If you do, and you die, I will wither away to nothing because I am nothing without you.

5.)  IF YOU GET CAUGHT, I am NOT going to bail you out.  I never got a MIP and neither should you.  If you get busted at a party, you better call a bank for a loan because I am not going to spend money on you because you were a dumbass.  You want to go to a major university?  Good luck.  It most likely will not happen if you have a MIP on your record.

6.)  The HANGOVER isn't worth it.  I will clang pots together over your head if I even suspect that you are.  I will make you do hard labor out in the hot sun and laugh when you dry heave.  I won't tell you to replace the sugar you lost the night before to help you feel better.

7.)  DO NOT try to beat people up when you have been drinking.  You will look like a fool.  You will fall and injure yourself.  I've seen plenty of friends try to attempt this and they ended up looking like idiots.

8.)  DO NOT attempt doing things you normally do not already do, like fix an electrical problem, or attempt a round-off back handspring.  I'm sure you don't want to be a paraplegic, so just stop while you're ahead. 

9.)  IF you drink, DO NOT let that be the opportunity to tell someone off.  You will go too far and say things you regret.  Words hurt more than a punch to the face.  Words cannot be taken back.

10.)  DO NOT get crazy ideas into your head.  For example, it is a bad idea to run off and get married to someone you don't know.  It is also a bad idea to be drunk and get a tattoo.  That crap does not wash off.  Neither one.

Dramanation

     Well, well, well.  Haven doesn't like me.  I've been anticipating this, and I am ready.  I am prepared for all of the verbal assaults and wordless daggers she is going to throw at me.  She's 15, and is gearing up for the war that all mothers and daughters wage during the teenage years.  I was an excellent warrior by the age of 17, and I expect Haven to be much nastier than I ever was.  That's not to say that she will be, I am just going to expect the worst.

     Haven told me this morning that whether or not I was a good person "was debatable."  Awesome.  I do not think that a 15 year old can quantify as to what is good or not.  Clothes, maybe, but character, I think not.  Science shows that their frontal lobes, which determine judgement and impulsivity, are still developing.  Haven has absolutely no idea what she is talking about.

     She is angry with me because she believes I side with her younger siblings more than I do her.  This is completely false.  The other children are corrected, if not more so, because they are learning "sister" boundaries and want to cross them at every opportunity.  Haven is only corrected if she uses a smart mouth or if she is being unkind, and she's rarely unkind.  She does, however, have a smart mouth. 

     Recently, Haven told me that she hates me for the first time.  Talk about a knee-dropping, breath-taking revelation that I certainly could have gone my whole life without hearing.  When she said the words, it felt as if my insides were exposed to outside elements.  It hurt.  But, my reaction was completely different than the way I was feeling inside.  While this is still confusing to me, I think I participated in the very first skirmish of our war.  I got lippy. 

     Maybe it was wrong to react to her words, but I did.  I wasn't ugly in my response, but I did go down a list of all the things I do for her, which was completely unnecessary because she had already stopped listening to me.  I knew she wasn't listening, and I continued on with my rant anyway.  Of course she only heard the one semi-negative thing on the list, and exploded in a deafening shrieking that made the whole communication a waste and unresolvable.

 
    It is my sincere hope that I no longer participate in exchanges that will not be beneficial to either of us.  I am going to try like hell to not engage her in battles that cannot be won by either party.  It is a super sad feeling for a mother to hear words like "hate" and "annoying."  I know it is equally as sad for a teenager to hear words like "lazy" and "disrespectful."  I am going to try something new with her, like ignore the words and make every attempt to empathize with her development.

     If it does come down to hand-to-hand combat, I am confident she will completely kick my ass. 
 

Rappers and Auctioneers

     I never see Haven anymore.  She's always off to some social event, sports training, or she's over at a girlfriend's house.  When she is home, she's tucked away in her room, behind closed doors.

     I've become a teenage widow.  You know how most women say they are football widows or hunting widows?  Well, I am a teenage widow.  The term, widow, implies that I am married to my teenager, and I AM.  I am more committed to her than I am to most anything in my life.  It's kind of like she's married to me, too, because she's not  talking to me.  I've been married before, and I know how marriage works.  Sometimes, I have the urge to cry and say, "See you when you're 25, after teenage season is over."  Until then, it is all I can do not to blackout.

     Lately, I've been listening to the music she likes through her door.  GOOD LORD, some of her choices in music are awful.  Haven is not set on a specific type of music, but has a propensity to blow her speakers to anything rap.

     I think it's cool how rappers jumble all of their words together to create a story.  It's fun to listen, too, when it is semi R-rated.  Some of my most favorite artists are rappers.  However, some of the stuff my daughter listens to makes me blush, and I have a great respect for the F word.

     Let me just say, rational or not,  that I have always associated rappers to auctioneers.  I imagine each and every one is an auctioneer.  I don't know why, I just do.  I like to believe that rappers crafted their style from mono-toned cadences.   I sometimes imagine myself beat boxing at a livestock sale auction.   It could happen, too, depending on my Coors Light intake, and if the spirit moves me.  However, I can't imagine beat boxing to any livestock auctioneer talking about breaking vaginas.  That would just be plain weird.  I am sure the actual history of rap is not as interesting as my association.  I refuse to look it up on Google.

     This summer, Haven begged her Aunt to take her to a rap concert.  THANK GOD my sister is incredibly smart and let her down nicely.  Wiz Khalifa is not exactly the way I want my daughter introduced to marijuana.  Which brings me to the time I was introduced to marijuana:    MR. HANK WILLIAMS JR.

     I was 14 years old when I was invited to see him in concert.  I was really excited, as it was only the second concert I had ever been to.  My friend, Brian, took me, along with his chaperone father.  We watched  close to 35 seconds of a great performance, when some adults next to us lit up a big joint.  I had no idea what they were doing or what in the world they were smoking.

     Shortly thereafter, the concert was over because Mr. Williams Jr. was so drunk, he fell off the stage.  My friend and I laughed uncontrollably for over an hour, and then devoured some sort of drive thru concoction.  I got a two-for-one lesson on substance abuse that day.

     So I started thinking about all of the concerts I've gone to, and realized that in some form or another, I was witness to some sort of illegal or inappropriate activity.  I saw a rockin' girl fight at a concert in 1993, I saw some lady snort lines of what I assume was not baking soda at another concert, and at another, a tour bus filled with smoke, and no, it was not on fire.  And this was all before I was 17 years old.  Some adults are really bad role models.

    I guess Haven cannot be protected from this forever, and maybe I shouldn't try.  I might even say yes to the next concert, that is, if she ever starts talking to me again... 

     

Lessons

     Something really cool happened tonight; I watched my daughter grow as a human being.

     My mother called earlier this afternoon to see if I might like to meet Haven and her for dinner.  We planned on meeting at 6PM.  They did not show up until 6:35PM.  Anyone who knows me knows that I am early to everything.  It's a problem and I am working on it.  However, in the 45 minutes I waited for them to show up, I checked Facebook, texted friends, and even talked myself into thinking the waiter was cute.  I waited so long that I became annoyed.  I called my mother at 6:20PM and she assured me that she would make it to the restaurant in three to four minutes.  Time management has never been her thing.

     However, as I sat there drinking a Mexican Martini and nibbling on jalapeno stuffed olives, a woman was being seated at the table across from where I was sitting.  She was alone, and she was severely handicapped.  I watched her struggle to sit down, and I watched her take her neck brace off.  She was barely able to lift her head off of her chest with the neck brace on, but it was significantly worse when she took it off.

      I did not feel bad for her.  I was impressed with how independent she was.  This woman could not pick her head up off her chest, and she walked in the place BY HERSELF.  It was pretty inspiring.

     Shortly there after, my mother and daughter arrived.  They were seated and given drinks.  I asked them about their shopping excursion and we made small talk.  It was then my mother zeroed in on this woman.

     My mother has an affinity for the disabled.  Her mother was a severe arthritic and instilled tolerance and acceptance in me and my two sisters.  While most parents teach their children that you should open doors for women, my parents taught us to give up our seats to the elderly, open doors for everyone, and to never look at anyone as a victim.

     My mother wondered aloud if the woman was meeting someone.  I told her no, that I had seen her order, and assumed that she was dining by herself.  My Mom said, "Haven, you should ask her to join us."   Haven looked scared and said, "No, you do it."  My mother said, "No Haven, I think you should."  I watched this for awhile and decided to take matters into my own hands.

     I quietly backed out of my chair, stood up, walked to this woman's table, bent down and asked her if she might like to have dinner with me and my family.  The woman said, "Oh, I don't mind eating my myself." and I said, "And I don't mind if you eat by yourself, but my table is right behind you, and we would love for you to join us."  And you know what?  She did. 

     Here's why I didn't wait for Haven to get up and ask her:  How is she supposed to know what to do if I don't model  it for her first?  So many parents have these expectations of their children, but don't take the time to explain or show them what to do in the first place.  I haven't always been the best modeler, but how can I expect Haven to do it if I won't do it myself?  This was not the first time I have ever asked a stranger to eat dinner with me, but it is the first time I have done it in front of her. 
  
     Here's how I saw my daughter grow:  Even though she did not get up and ask this woman to have dinner with us, she engaged in conversation with her, was not afraid to look her in the eye, and really enjoyed speaking with her.  Haven told her about her aspirations for track and for college, and did so with out prodding from me.  I was very proud.

     It reminded me of a time when Haven was eight years old.  As she sat in our house surrounded by all of her things, (because lets face it, once you have kids, it ain't your house anymore) she told me that she didn't have anything.  We went back and forth with, "Sure you do," and, "Play with this," until I became so angry that I snapped.  I snapped in a good way, though.

     Instead of spanking her, and telling her what a spoiled brat I thought she was, I grabbed eight black trash bags, threw everything she owned into them, and threw them outside for some fortunate soul to have a free-for-all.  Then I told her to get her little ass in the car and I started driving.  I drove Haven deep into the East side of town, a place where children would be grateful for 1/32 of what she has.  I told her to take a good look around.  I told her, "That is what not having anything is."   Haven slept in a bare room for over a month because I wanted that lesson burned into her brain.  Do you know to this day, she has yet to complain about what she has or what she doesn't?  Was there probably a better way to teach her this lesson?  Yes.  But, I find value in teaching lessons without a plan.  It works out better that way, and so are lessons about lifelong, deep rooted values.

     I think it's such horse shit when people say how they want to be better people.  How hard is it to be better when you can just do it?  I think several children were happy to come across trash bags full  of toys, and I think this lady was happy to have some company.  I didn't do these things for notoriety or to make myself feel better.  I did them to help my daughter grow.  There is a lesson in every experience.  After all, it is my job to teach her to be the best she can be.

     And, Haven is well on her way.  My daughter, mother and I walked our new friend out to her car, and Haven opened the door for her.  Before our new friend got into her car, Haven hugged her.  It was a hug with intention behind it, and it was sincere. 

     Will Haven remember what happened this evening?  I believe she will.  I believe she will show her own daughter the same act of kindness, and I think she will do it in a way that will promote dignity.

    

   
    

You Should See a Rock

     Haven has begun calling me by my first name.  I remember doing this to my mother because I got pleasure from watching her internally combust.  It bothered her, it doesn't bother me.   I would prefer being called, "Mom,"  but I am not going to stop Haven from doing so, because she thinks she is getting away with something.  Shoot, I'm a twin.  I'm kind of excited she gets my name right to begin with. 

     That doesn't mean that Haven does not do things that make me want to throw her across the Gulf of Mexico.  She's rather mouthy, and whether or not she gets that from me, is besides the point.  She also makes me laugh so hysterically that no amount of Botox will ever be able to repair the damage done by a laugh so hard that nothing comes out.

     The following are things that send me into orbit:

1.)  When Haven doesn't answer the phone.  I know she has it on her.  What teenager doesn't have their phone connected to their ear or thumbs?  I love it when she tells me that she didn't have her phone with her.  What do I look like?  A wife in denial?  Nice try. 

2.)   I HATE it when she takes my things without asking.  I should not have to gain a hundred pounds so that she will use her own clothing, and I should not have to hoard lime chips and IPhone chargers just so I can function.  Guess what?  I buy the stuff, so ASK! 

3.)  When I tell Haven, "No," and she asks, "Why?"  THIS is what happens EVERY TIME:  I calmly tell her why not, and she follows with, "But why?"  OHMYGOSH.  Kill me now!

4.)  When Haven goes somewhere and needs me to pick her up and doesn't know where she is.  This is my favorite.  I absolutely love her simplistic descriptions of the landmarks I am supposed to look for.  "You should see a rock."  A rock?  Really?  This entire flipping area is made up of rocks!

     One time, she told me she was five minutes from home, and  I ended up finding her on the WEST side of town, a good 20 miles from where she should have been.  This is what I ended up looking like when I found her:

     That's Joan Allen in The Upside of Anger.  Haven't seen the movie?  You should.   She does a great impression of my own mother.  Unfortunately, she also does a great impression of me.  Joan Allen nails me, and I suppose that's because I've turned into my mother.

5.)    When I am telling Haven to do something, and she interrupts me by saying, "Okaaaay, Mother," before I can complete my sentence.  Lord, that makes me crazy!  And when you add that to some serious eye rolling, it's a wonder I am not locked up with the general population.

     None of these things are criminal, just minor annoyances that when compiled together could send me straight into a straight jacket.  Comparatively speaking, my Haven is an angel.  I've heard the way some of her friends speak about and to their parents.  Maybe Haven does not do this because she really values her mother; she's always been way smarter than those her same age.

    

  

Tear Drops and Powerpuff Girls

     I knew this day was coming.  I've known it from the moment my daughter's blue body came out of mine that I would have to watch my child cry over the absence of a male presence in her life.  Today was the second day this has happened, and  honestly, I've barely made it through.

     On the way to school, Haven told me that some 'things' have been bothering her.  She reached out to her father six months ago and has not heard back from him.  This has weighed heavier on her mind than what I originally thought.        

     It's pretty evident that I am not the only single mother on the planet.  I know I am not the only person that has had a baby at a young age.   I am sure that many mothers have had to watch their children suffer, and I am sure it is equally as painful.   But to wound my child, well, I do not take that lightly, and it just might be something I never forgive myself for.   I have wounded her by a decision my parents and I made when I was an 18 year old girl.

     We managed to skate by 'daddy issues' during her early childhood.  She was not heavily plagued with questions from school aged friends.  No-one really asked, "Why don't you have a Dad," or, "Where is your Dad?"  Her friends didn't seem to care, nor did she.   Mostly, this was because I had a father who relished being the 'stand in,' and welcomed Haven as his own.   He did things with her that most fathers do with their daughters.  He took her fishing, hunting, swimming and of course, golfing.  He even crawled around on his knees so that she could ride him like a pony.  He read her books, listened when she talked, and made her feel like the special little girl that she is.  He did every thing with her that he did with me.  My father was a blessing and Haven loved him immensely.

     When he died, I broke Haven's heart for the first time.  My mother offered to tell Haven of his passing, but I would not let information of that magnitude come from anyone other than me.  I will not tell you about the look on my daughter's face the moment my words registered for her.  I will not tell you about the scream that left her body.  It is a private hell that is meant for only me.   Her reaction, though expected, would be the first time I caused a horrific hole in her heart. I did not cause my father's death, but telling a seven year old that kind of news, makes me feel as if I did.

     As I listened to Haven this morning, our life together went into a hyper rewind.  Our lives didn't flash before my eyes, but came to me in old movies.  I remembered the things I smelled when I was pregnant with her, and the way she smelled coated with baby lotion.  I remembered how she never slept in a crib, but up next to me, and did this until she was 12 years old.  I remembered her as a three year old, and taking her to get her nails done.  I remembered the time my Dad walked in on us having 'Dance Party USA' in the living room, and him joining in.  I remembered what a fast runner she was at the age of six, and how she always beat the boys.  I remembered our favorite meal in our first brand new house.  I remembered her struggle with dyslexia.  I remembered letting her leave Hawaii when all I wanted her to do was stay. 

     I wont get into what her father is and what he isn't.  I could only tell you what he isn't, anyway, and that would not be helpful to my daughter.  But what I did tell her this morning is something that my father told me as a 20 year old when I was struggling with the absence of her father.

     I told her, "Why are you worried about the one person that does not love you when there are so many people that do?"  And she said back to me, "Because it sucks."  Those were the exact three words I said to my father all of those years ago.

     I went on to tell her, "Believe me, when you get older, you will face every decision you make.  The decisions you make now will ultimately be decisions that you will deal with the rest of your life.  The difference is in how you handle the outcomes."  She was listening, and I continued on.  I told her that it will show the type of person she is if she is able to apologize to those who are affected by her decisions. 

     If you think about it, growing up and owning up to your failings is much like a 12-step program.  Some people silently acknowledge their mistakes, while others make amends.  She asked me if I thought her father would ever apologize to her for his absence, and the truth is, I don't know.  My hope is that he does because Haven deserves it.

     But, I also owe Haven an apology.  I made a decision 16 years ago that has wounded her today, and for that, I am sorry.  There is nothing that I could ever say to her to take away what she is feeling, and for that, I am sorry.

     As she got out of the car, I told her that being her mother was the best thing I've ever done.  I didn't let her see me cry.  I waited until she had turned around and walked away.

Hey Coach, Watch who You're Calling Fat

     I originally posted this in October, but quickly took it down.  When I wrote this, I was quite angry, and the post was riddled with the F word.  I've calmed down since then, and have re-written it.  I feel this post has some value.  Consider it my PSA for the month of November.

     Saturday mornings are full of information; it's the hangover from the night before--not the alcohol kind either.  (Not yet, anyway.)

     Teenage girls are an interesting variation of woman-kind all on their own, but when you get multiple girls in the same room, and F5 tornado ain't gonna do much in comparison.  This morning's congregation of teens totaled three--a small wind storm that has the potential to scare the life right out of you.

     Octave levels of teenage girls can leave one deaf, I should know, I was once one of those high-pitched girls that thought I could not get my point across without shattering glass.  Apparently, this is a right of passage, because these girls are well on their way to becoming universally known for breaking the sound barrier. 

     What I gathered from this morning's version of the previous night is this:
1.) They go to school with a bi-sexual racist,
2.) So-and-so's homecoming dress is downright AWFUL, and
3.) A coach at the school has no problem calling the girls on her team FAT.

     I cannot begin to tell you the levels of confusion I am still suffering with the first topic, but what I can say for sure is that So-and-so's homecoming dress really IS awful.  I've seen a picture.

     The third topic, well, I find that a bit familiar and to tell you the truth, the incident still bothers me today.

     According to our house guests, the coach repeatedly tells "her" girls that she "will not" have fat girls on her team, and publicly chastises one girl in particular about the size of her thighs.

     If that is a form of teaching, I guess I missed that class in college.  This practice is concerning to me because being a former teenage girl, (yes, I am an expert) I know what something like this can do to a person, especially a girl.  I have seen how it has affected my own sister  throughout her life and believe that had one of our coaches used a little discretion, my sister might feel differently about herself TODAY.

     Am I going to become and activist to weigh whatever you want in high school?  NO!  But, I will tell you this:

If any person of authority ever tells my child that she should lose weight, that she's fat, OR remotely talks about the size of her thighs, I am going to turn into the LOUDEST, most DISRESPECTFUL 16 year old you've ever seen.  I gave disrespectful a nice try when I actually was 16.  Ask my coach.

     Aren't there rules about bullying?  Shouldn't ADULTS follow those same rules when it comes to children?  I understand that there are other points to this issue--winning, timing, scoring, etc.  But when you see a child has done whatever they can to maintain a 'proper' body weight, the coach might want to step back a second and recognize that this child actually showed up to practice, and that maybe there is an underlying issue that needs to be addressed.   Albeit a medical issue, metabolic issue, or perhaps  the child actually weighs what she is supposed to in comparison to her height.  There has to be another way to motivate.

     Motivation?  Is that what this is?  As I sat there listening to them, I became angry.  ANGRY, angry.

     During high school, my sister was singled out because she weighed more than I did, and she was singled out by a person of authority.  My sister really looked up to this person and was absolutely crushed.  We are twins, not carbon copies of each other.  We are individuals.  My sister and I are never going to weigh or have the same body type, and you know what, that's okay! 

     I am sure you are wondering if I might feel so strongly about this issue if not for my sister, and the answer is an unequivocal YES.  All girls have issues with their bodies; I myself would like to thank my boobs for finally showing up 20 years late.  It would have been nice for them to make an appearance when I was 14 when everyone else got them.  It hurts when people point out the obvious, but it hurts a heckofalot more when an adult or someone you look up to does and makes a public issue out of it. 

     I am sure there is a fine line when it comes to coaching.  All I am saying is to stay on the side that allows a girl to feel good about herself.

    

Get Off the Phone Justin Bieber

     Last night at 10:30 p.m., like usual, I had to tell Haven to get off of the phone. And like usual, she had some excuse as to why her telephone conversation was more important than listening to me. “Mom,” she said, “Soandso had a 3-way.”

...blink... blink... blink.

     See, I told you Haven tells me things I would have never told my own mother.

     I can tell you, as a 15 year old, I had no idea what a 3-way meant.  My daughter knows what this means, and believe me, I didn't tell her. Times sure have changed. They've changed so much that I am not entirely sure where I am anymore. I was telling a good friend about last night's verbal exchange, and he said, “Like a 3-way phone call?” No. Not a 3-way phone call; a full-out-face-humping 3-way.

     After making her get off the phone, and making sure she did not get back on, I lay in my bed and struggled to sleep. I swear to God if I make it out of high school again, it will be one of my proudest achievements. My Mom used to tell me, “There are some things a mother shouldn't know.” Um, YEAH! I get that. Now.

     I am certain Haven doesn't tell me these things for shock value. I think she thinks I am genuinely interested in what is going on with her and her friends. And I am. However, this one is a bit tough for me to deal with. Maybe it's because I've been up two nights in a row with sick babies. Maybe it's because NO 15 YEAR OLD SHOULD BE TALKING ABOUT THIS. EVER.

     I don't even want to begin thinking where these kids are doing such things, but, if Justin Bieber can get it on with someone in a bathroom stall, why shouldn't these kids? And let's not pretend any of this is fun for the girls; their bodies are too young to appreciate intercourse. Shoot, I faked it until I was 23 years old, and that was with one person. I don't have enough Hollywood in me to fake it with two people.

     I want to tell my dear Haven, “Let's focus on Chemistry, the subject, because the last time I checked, you were needing to spend a little time on it.” But, I know that she finds this development a little more interesting.

     So I lay there, waiting for this to leave my mind, with no such luck. While Haven slept soundly in the other room, I prayed for a seizure. I did.

     I know they are in high school and that this is a time for discovery. But a 3-way? Really? I'm 34 and that does not sound appealing to me at all. Call me what you want. Call me a prude because that would be a first. Do it. Call me a prude.

     She woke up the next morning looking as beautiful as always. I don't want any boy to think he is ever going to have a 3-way with Haven. I would prefer no boy have a 2-way, 1-way, ½ way with Haven, but I am taking baby steps here. She's growing up, and it appears her friends are doing it at a much faster pace than she.

     I have to remind myself constantly that I am HER mother and not the mother to all of her friends. I want to take all of these girls like Angelina Jolie would, and protect them, because I have a heart big enough to love them all. But for now, it looks like I have to have a conversation with my daughter about sex with multiple partners.

     If anyone is interested, I love Cabernet. If someone could provide me with a fully stocked wine cellar, that would be great.

Mum's the Word

     I attended my first ever Mum exchange on Wednesday.

#1 I am not excited about this.

#2 Who the crap thinks up such things?

#3 Why do I have to attend?

#4 Bed sounds good.

#5 Are you kidding me?

#6 Why am I invited to this?

#7 I am sure there are some unruly hairs I need to attend to on my bikini area.

     What? I'm single. It's a priority. Don't judge.

      Oh MY God, I am so glad I sucked it up and went. The mum exchange was so fun! Let me tell you WHY I was not excited about going to this:

     When I was in high school, the KIDS planned the events. They planned who they went with, where they ate, and what motel they were going to make out at. Not today. The PARENTS plan the events...down to menu choice and sleeping arrangements. And honestly, now that all is said and done, the parents did an amazing job, and I am glad I had no part of it!

      The exchange itself was really something special. After I was offered an alcoholic beverage, which was very much needed, I watched something that you see right out of the movies: This stuff does not happen in real life, and I'm almost positive there was background music playing, too. The mothers of the boys who had asked Haven, and her friends to the dance, MADE them stand up on a living room table, and tell everyone why they chose the girl to take to the dance. Haven and her date, Teran, were the second couple asked to speak.

      Teran said, “I asked Haven to the dance because she is nice, funny, and so, so pretty.” He was the only boy out of 15 to say that his date was pretty without being reminded. My daughter beamed. Haven said, “I said yes because Teran is such a nice person, is a good friend, and we always have fun together.” It was really a sweet moment. Then, Teran looked at me and thanked me for being there.

Oh my goodness.

      At that moment, I felt bad for wanting to tend to my unruly bikini area. I was so taken aback by what I've convinced myself about the male species, and the crap Walt Disney has shoved down my throat since birth.

      What?

      Disney totally tells girls that princes on white horses come to save the day, when they most certainly do not. I'm kind of put out that it took me 30 years to finally figure that one out. Then of course, the male species is penalized by romantics like myself when they don't behave like the heroes in the movies we watch. And then, society labels the hopeless romantic as crazy because they have a hard time accepting that boys/guys/men really are not built to be thoughtful. Can they be? YES! But, sometimes it feels as if it physically hurts them to do so. Why be mad at men when this is really Hollywood's fault to begin with!  Little Teran may have restored my faith in all things romantic.

       I was taken aback because he met every standard I've ever set for my daughters. Even the the big ones. I sat there and watched the other 13 couples get up and talk, but I just could not get over this sweet, sweet boy.

      He presented her with a gorgeous mum, and was not disrespectful for one minute. Believe me, I watched him with an eye of a hawk, and had he stepped out of line for just one second, he would have heard about it. Thankfully, this child has been raised the right way. Her mum was made up of beautiful green, black, and white ribbon, and embellished with track shoes in honor of her awesome talent. I know that his mother spent a great deal of time on it.

      I fell in love for the first time during my Sophomore year of high school. This boy reminds me of the first boy I ever loved. Teran seems to be able to accept Haven for who she is: bratty, amazing, beautiful, opinionated, outspoken, gorgeous, smart, childlike, set in her ways, giving, loving, a great friend, caring, manipulative, moody, the best sister ever, sweet, etc...the list could go on and on. If there is one thing I do know, it is how complex the teenage girl can be. God bless his little heart for even trying. The Lord knows my first boyfriend deserved a medal.

I left the mum event feeling warm, comfortable, and so happy that I attended. I really hope more boys do this for girls; it will be something they remember forever!

(Additional Information:  Teran worked many different jobs for his parents to earn the money to pay for Haven's ticket to the dance, for her dinner, and for the transportation for the evening.  While many couples went dutch, Teran would not allow it.) 

Boys Don't Wash Their Hands

     Homecoming season has made its final approach.  T-9 days.  Wonderful.  Don't get me wrong, I remember enjoying getting dressed-up, wearing mass amounts of make-up, and all the making out that went on.  But, clearly as a mother, I am not that thrilled about the idea of Haven participating in any fashion. 

Exhibit A:  My Daughter's Homecoming Shoes:

     These shoes are super-amazing, and Haven looks like a lovely gazelle wearing them.  I just hope her date doesn't find gazelles attractive...I think I still have time to teach her a few self-defense moves before he picks her up. 

Exhibit B:  The Dress:



     I love the color of this dress, and think the contrasting color of her tanned skin will make the dress 'pop.' 

     Here's the thing:  WHY don't dress makers include built-in shorts to help mothers like me stay sober?  I mean, designers of children's clothing have done this for years!  It's not like this is a huge trade secret.  Heck, my 3 year old wears built-in shorts under her dresses and skirts ALL OF THE TIME.

Exhibit C:  Have You Seen My Daughter?

     Please?  Can you see why I am worried?



Action!  Action!  We want action!  A-C-T (clap, clap, clap) I-O-N! (clap, clap, clap) (picture it with various hand moves and spirit fingers.)

     A couple of weeks ago, Haven had some friends sleep over, and as always, the topic of boys came up.  They were talking about how Soandso in their group was going to go to a certain ‘base’ with her boyfriend on Homecoming night.  I made some smart assed remark about stupid girls and boys that don't wash their hands, and I had an epiphany; A life altering epiphany.  This epiphany is so profound that I am going to make myself available to all of my friend's daughters when they are old enough to hear this.

     How do you facilitate your daughter's continued virginity?  You gross her out.  I'm not kidding.  Encourage your daughter's friends to listen, too. 

     When I made the remark, “Boys don't wash their hands,” an explosion went off in my head.  BOYS.DON'T.WASH.THEIR.HANDS.  I am onto something, I KNOW it.

     I have guy friends-- most of whom are reformed non-hand-washing boys.  This reformation is great, but I think we all can agree that high school boys don't care much about cleanliness, and they are most definitely not concerned if their cleanliness affects others. 

     So, the following weekend when the subject of Soandso going to unnamed base with her boyfriend came up again, I coolly said, “You know, boys don't wash their hands, right?”  This one statement was met with a “Motherrrrrr!” 

     I know it embarrassed Haven, but it got the girl's attention, and I truly believe that my daughter's embarrassment was worth it.  One of Haven's friends asked me what I meant, and I tactfully explained EXACTLY what I meant.  I mean, seriously, save yourself a yeast infection, for the love of God.

     I honestly struggle with what is appropriate, and what information I should share with Haven and her friends.  I have thought a lot about the information I received as a teenager, and think that had someone warned me about all of the nastiness out there, I might actually have been the prude my parents so wanted in a daughter. 

     The only thing I was ever told was that if I had sex, I would be grounded.  WHAT?!?  Nice try Mom and Dad.  I was always grounded anyway, so what difference would that make?  Now, had they told me the dangers of non-hand-washers, camping and Goldschlager, well, I might lead a very different life than I do today.

     I HOPE I got the attention of my daughter and her friends.  I HOPE these beautiful girls --that have the rest of their lives in front of them-- will remember what I said.  I HOPE my daughter remembers this when she starts dating. 

     Until then, I am fine if she stares intently at all the hands of the boys she hangs out with.   Because if she does, I know she will not be trying to determine the size of their penises.



Where are your Pants?!?

     Picture it:  15 year-old, microscopic shorts.

     Before you all say, "Do you remember the shorts YOU wore in high school," let me remind you that 16 years ago, shorts were not as quite as short as they are today.   Today's shorts are invisible.

     When I met my beautiful daughter at the door after a football game, I stopped breathing.  I mean it, I stopped breathing.  So many things went through my head-- so many, in fact, I take back ever saying that my own mother was a lunatic during my high school experience. 

     You know the moments where you 'get it?'  Well, they are as profound a learning experience that there ever was.  You know the moments you turn into your own mother?  Not fun.   But, I think I now have lunatic down.

     Poor Haven.  I am sure I confused her when I yelled loud enough for the neighbors to hear, "Where are your shorts?!!!!?"  Because she looked down and answered innocently, "Right here." 

     Did she look great in her invisible shorts?  Yes!  Do I want to blind every boy within a 30 mile radius?  No...a 300 mile radius is more like it.  I'd like to blind every boy from here to the moon.  I would do it, too, but I prefer to stay on the right side of the law for as long as possible.  I am sure there will come a day-- apparently in a not-so-distant future-- where I will cut to the front of the criminal line in defense and protection of my daughter (and her perfect rear end).

Let's Face It

     Let's face it, I am back in high school.  My daughter, Haven, is seeking her high school education in one of the most affluent schools in our city.  This alone leaves me with the desire to vomit but am praying that in the end, an education is what she will get. 
    
     Haven is a Sophomore, a track star and one beautiful young lady!  She is a great friend and is constantly concerned about others.  I've noticed a few things on our drive to school--stemming from conversation--that have allowed my mind to wonder a bit, reflect on my own high school experience and come to the conclusion that there are quite a few parents out there that need to be kicked in the throat.

     I've pondered the possibility of this blog for some time;  These are MY observations.  In 10 years, when most of my friends 'go back to high school', I am confident 'educational' circumstances will have changed, and look forward to hearing about their experiences.

     I became a parent at a young age, so these conversations with Haven feel fresh--like a scab that has been picked over only to bleed again.  I wish Haven could miss these years and jump into the amazing life I know she will have.  High school sucks; She just has to get through it, and apparently so do I.  Again.

     I am not a traditional parent by any means.  I tend to be very real with Haven: You screw up, You pay the consequences, and believe me this comes with 'strong' language and a lot of love.  I do this in a way that embarrasses my own mother at times.  Sorry Miss B, it's my turn to be the Mother.

     You've also been warned.  About the 'strong' language, that is. 

     This morning is no different from all of the other mornings I drive Haven to school; she's still waking up, grouchy and pretty much doesn't want to talk to me.  I push her--every morning--to spill what's going on in her life--and she does because she knows I will not let up until she dishes.  It is my belief that if you keep a kid talking they will never lie about what they are doing.  She tells me things that I would have NEVER told my own mother.  Good. Lord. NO.  But Haven continues to share with me and I am going to encourage this until she is adamant that I no longer need to know what is going on in her life--and then I will cyber-stalk her and bug her phone.     

     As we are pulling up to the back entrance of the school, we see vehicles valued at $40,000 dollars more than MY own car was valued at the time of it's purchase and CHILDREN are parking them in to tree lined spaces.  This is not my rant today--I am sure I will get to this another time, but today is not the day for this atrocity.

     No, today, I'd like to tell you about the entitled little snot we encountered while merging into the one lane that spirals its way through campus.  This piece of shit, a Senior, as Haven tells me, obviously never had proper motor vehicle training or parents that loved him enough to teach him how to be a gentleman. 

     I guess I should tell you that Haven is currently learning to drive, so every car ride is a learning experience for us to foster proper driving behavior for Haven.  I am afraid today's incident should be considered a 'wash' because this morning's encounter with Mr. Senior would be considered one of those enormous embarrassments for my mother.

     In hindsight, I was nicer than I would have been had Haven not been in the car.  That's me looking at things positively--rainbows and butterflies, rainbows and butterflies.  I've already vowed that I would never again do this while she's in the car, so consider my hand smacked and lesson learned. 

     So Mr. Senior THINKS he is going to out maneuver me as I am merging lanes.  NO KIDDO.  I don't care what his reasons were for doing this, but if he thought weaving around me was going to stop me from coming within millimeters of his $60,000 truck, he had another thing coming.  The whites of his eyes are not even relevant as I was able to see his optic nerve from his rear view mirror.  We continued on this way for about 1/4 mile until I had to turn off in another direction to drop her at the gym.  It kind of killed me a little to make that right turn.  The lady on Fried Green Tomatoes was on to something when she said that because of her age she had better insurance.  I felt the same way this morning. 

     Haven told me who Mr. Senior was, and I replied, "Who gives a crap!  15 years from now he probably wont amount to shit."   I mean, really.  15 years from now this will be the only thing this kid has to hang onto for the rest of his life.  One day, he will be thinking about high school and his $60,000 truck and be really pissed that high school wasn't quite the real world. 

     By then, his parent's gracious gifts and handouts will be gone and real life will have smacked him square in the goods.   I secretly hope he remembers the day he barely escaped getting choked out by a 34 year old because I am pretty sure I am the only real thing that has come across his path in a while.   

     Haven was smiling one of those smiles that always makes me so grateful to be her mother.  As she got out of the car, I told her as I always do to have a great day and to be a good citizen.