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.