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Posts Tagged ‘Parenting’

Dear Parents of Teenage Boys:

I’ve been on the struggle bus with Dominic, who is 14 and all eat up with hormones. You know this from posts like these.

We usually cannot speak without a fight.

But this week things have been different.

We are at the beach for spring break — just the boys and me because Eddie had to work.

He has been helpful when he does emerge from the cocoon of his room. But he has barely left that room.

On Monday, my phone rings. I see it is him. CALLING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE. I do not answer it. Because:

  1. I hate talking on the phone.
  2. He was 10 feet away.

I go to the room. I hear him yelling, “Pick up the phone!” I open the door.

Me: What do you want?
Him: Why didn’t you answer?
Me: Because you are 10 feet away, and it is insane for you to call me. What do you want?
Him: I think my molar is loose.
Me: (Rolls eyes. Walks out of the room.)

Then he sends me this text:

The next day, I go in the room to make sure he is alive. I open the door, see that he is and leave. Then I get this text:

(Note: If you don’t recognize the Matt Foley reference, I’m afraid we cannot continue to be friends.)

Then he starts communicating in memes, to which I finally respond with my own.


 

So I guess what I’m asking is, is this normal? Is this what puberty looks like among Gen Z? Do I need to seek help for him? For myself?

Please advise,
Beth

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Are you there, Readers? It’s me, Beth.*

It’s been more than two weeks since my last post. I’m sorry! To make up for it, I have a really long post today.

Yesterday, the family and I went to the Brookhaven Cherry Blossom Festival. Blackburn Park is about a mile from our place so we walked.

The draw (besides the fact that I had to work a booth for my job for a bit)?

Live music: The Romantics, Spin Doctors and Smash Mouth.

For free!

Side benefit?

People watching. There were plenty of people.

So let’s get this party started.

Festival rules said no chairs (or coolers, which was a literal and figurative buzz kill). So we spread out blankets. As you do. But here’s the thing: The rules of personal space still apply.

Not for some people, apparently. Like this guy who parked himself practically on my lap.

There’s plenty of room. It’s a huge park. So why is he four inches away from me?

And here’s his friend:

My leg. His feet. He actually put his feet under my leg at one point. NO!

The ladies with them were no better. No awareness.

Same group of people, now all up on Eddie.

And then there was this odd girl with those shorts I hate.

There she is with her boyfriend, Hodor (as Eddie called him).

Doesn’t look like a problem here BUT she kept bending over. Constantly. And when I’m sitting on the ground two feet away, well …

Girl, please.

So while she and her ass were harassing us, I was harassing the kids. Gideon liked the music. Dominic likes that thug crap, so he was not interested.

And he certainly didn’t like me trying to kiss him in public.

Look at his face!

Now for the music …

I’ve seen The Romantics in concert three times. I had the hots for the drummer, Jimmy Marinos, but he is no longer with the group apparently.

See? Totally my type.

The rest? Well. The years have not been kind.

I’m not sharing video because they really didn’t sound so great. (It pains me to say that.)

The Spin Doctors made up for it.

Smash Mouth also put on a great show.

Here’s something you’ll know for sure. Sing along if you are inclined.

It was during the Smash Mouth set that my two loves of live music and people watching came together. Check out this girl. I LOVE her!

It’s weekends like these that make me happy we moved back to my hometown.

Anyway, dear readers, I promise to get my act together and publish more.

Love and kisses,
Beth

 

*Apologies to Judy Blume.

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Dear Friends Worried About My Sanity and My Son’s Life:

Thank you for your concern. I’m speaking to him again. Why? He said some magic words:

Can I have a hug?

And that was it.

(Don’t tell anyone that I have a secret soft side.)

In return for putting up with his bad behavior, though, I secured the rights to publish a ridiculous picture of him.

Before I show it to you, let me set the scene:

Eddie is picking up Gideon from track practice. It’s only Dominic and me at home. I guess he doesn’t realize I’m home because he calls me on the phone. (And you all know how I feel about talking on the phone.)

(The call is coming from INSIDE the house!)

Mama! Can you come help me? I’m stuck!

Just then, Eddie calls.

Can you help your son? He is stuck in the bed.

Wait … what?

So I go in his room and I see this:

No child was harmed in the taking of this photo.

It’s an antique bed. This child slid off the end of it and trapped himself. I took the picture then helped him escape.

(For those of you wondering why I stopped to take a photo, it’s like you don’t even know me! In our family, if someone does something stupid, we laugh and/or document it first, then ask questions.)

Also notice his acid-washed jeans. Those are in style again, people (as are fanny packs).

Sigh.

Anyway, he’s fine. And we’re fine — until the next time the hormones take control.

I’ll be sure to update you.

Yours truly,
Beth

 

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“The Omen 6”: Now filming in my house, apparently

Dear Satan:

I’m sure you think it was very funny switching bodies with my 14-year-old son. Hee hee. Ha ha. You’ve had your fun. Now I’m ready to have Dominic back.

What’s this? It’s not you? He’s just a typical 14-year-old boy. There’s more where that came from, you say?

Oh no.

A Dominic selfie: “Feeling cute. Might delete later.”

I was certain he was inhabited by a demon Sunday (the Sabbath — oh the irony). He was so unusually awful that I told him I was done speaking to him for a while so I could preserve my sanity.

I didn’t say one word to him for five whole days. If he came into the room, I left. I’ve never done that before, but honestly, it gave me such peace.

At one point, Eddie and I had this conversation:

Him: When are you going to start talking to Dominic?

Me: I don’t know. It’s been kind of great.

Him: Maybe for you but you not talking to him means I have to, and he makes me want to kill him.

I felt like I had failed as a parent though. It was going to be my dirty little secret. But then I told another mom about it in confidence, and she said, “Yep. I’ve been there. You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do for your own sake. They suck at that age.”

Emboldened, I confessed to another friend.

She said, “I’ve totally done that. I’ve even packed a bag and left the house to stay in a hotel for the night.”

That’s some Big Mom Energy right there.

It’s nice to know I’m not alone.

Or is it?

Do you have a special treatment (i.e., tranquilizer or the like) for such creatures? Or do I need to take that up with another entity?

Let me know. Things are tough here, which you might love, but remember that the 14-year-old might even be too much for you to bear.

Yours truly from HOTlanta (tee hee*),
Beth

* No one in Atlanta uses this term for real. It’s cringey. And we all immediately know “you ain’t from ’round here.”

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Dear Santa:

Thank you so much for being so generous with our household yesterday. We’ve tried to stay off the Naughty list, but you know it’s been difficult.

Though we liked all of our gifts, I think I appreciated the coyote skull the most. Some girls might want a sable slipped under the tree, but you know this one prefers other dead animal parts.

There were a couple of things you skipped over, however, so I’d like to be proactive on my list for next year.

Beth’s Christmas List 2019:

1. Patience. I have a 14-year-old son who has worn mine out. Just bring me a little to spare for those super moody days (his, not mine).

2. Abs. I’ve lost a considerable amount of weight, but these are still nowhere to be found. Don’t tell me I can find them at the gym. You’re Santa, and you’re magical.

3. A winning lottery ticket. I’m a good person; I promise I would do plenty of good things with the money.

4. A publishing contract. I’ve got two books in the works. At least send me an agent, please.

5. One hour with Jason Momoa. A better iPhone battery life. Like I said, you’re magical. Make it so, won’t you?

Thanks in advance. I’ll do my part by remaining on the Nice side.

Believing in you,
Beth

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Dear Halloween:

You and Christmas Eve are my favorite holidays. For you, I get dressed up and give out candy. For the other, I wait for someone dressed up to give me candy.

Luckily, my family feels the same way about you. Sometimes, we get other people to join us in group costumes.

It’s the one time of year where I let my craft freak flag fly.

Here’s a retrospective of costumes we’ve had over the years.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Unfortunately, living in an apartment has its drawbacks: All my Halloween paraphernalia is in storage. Plus, I’ll be teaching tonight, so I won’t be able to go all out.

There’s always next year.

Love you!
Beth

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Dear Amazon Stork Prime Returns Department:

When I brought “First-born Son” home, I was so pleased with it. Yes, it did make plenty of noise at first — keeping me up many, many nights in a row (about 240 to be honest) — and it did make somewhat of a mess, but it was adorable. Everyone said so. And it was just what I wanted.

Very cute, right?

My husband and I then enjoyed years of fun with “First-born Son.” Lately, though, this product has started acting up. It started with an eyeroll here and there. Then it began muttering under its breath. The noises coming out of it over the past few weeks, however, are really too much to bear.

We usually only hear “whatever” or “I don’t want to (insert anything except eating Cheez-its and playing Fortnite).” But this weekend, it actually wished me dead.

This can’t be proper behavior of the “First-born Son” product line.

It’s stuck in this position.

I’m not sure what kind of warranty you have on “First-born Son” or refund policy, but I need to find some kind of resolution. Is there at least a master reset button or factory restore I can perform?

Please let me know. Time is of the essence.

Sincerely,
Beth

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EPISODE 3: Bad taste in beverages
Rated G for grandma, giant babies and “Good God, that Guy is … Gregarious!”

EXT. APARTMENT COMPLEX POOL – LATE AFTERNOON

ENTER FATHER and TWO KIDS, DOMINIC and GIDEON. MOTHER shows up 30 minutes later after finishing the Season 2 opener of “Jersey Shore Family Vacation.” (Ronnie had a meltdown on social media? Say it isn’t so!) FATHER and MOTHER practically double the average age of pool denizens.

MOTHER
Who are these people (referencing the dozen or so twentysomethings)?

FATHER
No idea.

GIDEON
Can we go home now?

MOTHER
Dude, I just got here!

FATHER (to MOTHER, who is wearing jeans)
Are you swimming?

MOTHER
No.

DOMINIC
Then let’s go.

MOTHER
Here’s the key. We’re going to hang out for a bit.

DOMINIC and GIDEON exit.

FATHER (referencing the cooler MOTHER has brought)
Anything in there for me?

MOTHER (handing him an adult sippy cup)
Yes.

MOTHER plays Words with Friends. FATHER watches a video of a man getting sucked into an escalator in Turkey. MOTHER overhears loud talking from one member of the youngster group.

MOTHER (to FATHER)
Why is there always one loud guy in the group? Which one is it?

FATHER (to MOTHER, whose back is to the group)
Look around. It’s the one you think it is. It’s always that guy.

MOTHER (glancing over her shoulder)
It’s the big guy in the hat, isn’t it?

FATHER
Yup.

LOUD GUY (repeats this phrase three times)
It was the best time of my life.

MOTHER
All right. I’m going to throw this out (references her empty can) and get out of here.

FATHER
Great idea.

MOTHER sees that these children don’t even have good taste in beer.

MOTHER
Bud Light? Ultra? GAH! (The Athena is hers.)

Look at this trash!

MOTHER
You coming?

FATHER
Yeah.

END SCENE

 

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EPISODE 2*: All’s quiet on the aquatic front
Rated G for pooly goodness

EXT. APARTMENT COMPLEX POOL – LATE AFTERNOON

For a Sunday afternoon, the pool area is virtually uninhabited. There are about four adults scattered around.

ENTER FATHER and TWO KIDS. MOTHER shows up 10 minutes later after getting yet more school supplies.

MOTHER
Did you put sunscreen on the kids?

FATHER
Um … Dominic, yes. Gideon just jumped in.

MOTHER
Harumph. No Father-of-the-Year award for you.
(To her wet youngest) Gideon, come here!

GIDEON
Why?

MOTHER
Because I said so.
(Note that MOTHER never thought she would ever let that sentence pass her lips. She is smarter now. She knows it can’t be helped.)

After MOTHER lathers GIDEON in 50 SPF (waterproof), MOTHER and FATHER hang out poolside, drink adult beverages, and make sure their kids don’t harass others. THE KIDS simply harass each other.

FATHER and MOTHER discuss last night, which was not so peaceful.

FLASHBACK

It’s a pool party for Miles. The only people in the pool are the billion 11-13 year olds invited to the party. A handful of parents cluster around a cooler. (Any time there are that many teens and pre-teens, there needs to be a cooler.)

Suddenly, RAMBO appears. (OK, not Rambo for real, but the new complex security guard who clearly takes himself WAY TOO seriously. He was wearing camouflage. And a gear belt with a taser. And those police boots. Oh yes, he was all kitted out.)

MOTHER was smart enough to bring beverages in cans. The others drew RAMBO’s ire:

RAMBO
No glass on the deck.

ALL ANSWER
OK.

RAMBO patrols the pool/gym area. ASSEMBLED ADULTS remain quiet, watching him incredulously.

RAMBO exits. ADULTS drag him mercilessly.

END FLASHBACK

MOTHER
I’ve got to go.

FATHER
You’ve only been here 15 minutes.

MOTHER
Yeah, but I’m burning. Look (points to shoulder).

FATHER
Of course you are.

END SCENE

*The summer has flown by. I haven’t gone to the pool much. #sad

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