child wrangler

The universe knew what it was doing when it turned our oldest son into a teenager the month before we welcomed a newborn into our family. It knew that there would be days when wrestling with a greased pig would be exhausting for harried parents. And, in would swoop the tireless strength and energy of youth to brace the wild beast so that we could make dinner or do a load of laundry.

Okay, well maybe the energy is not tireless. But, we have been able to borrow it for a brief respite from time to time. Looking ahead to the start of the school year, I am filled with the brand of dread you might feel before an impending major surgery. The older children have been such a great asset and have more than proven their worth this summer. It's been so nice to have an extra set of hands or two to wrangle The Baby. I wonder if I will ever be able to go to the bathroom alone again before three o'clock.

Have a great weekend everyone!

When Your Teenager "Friends" You

Do Not Press Play! First Born Son lip syncing to the Ding Dong Song

When your teenage son asks you for permission to open a Facebook account and you agree with the stipulation that he "friend" you and his father (so you can keep tabs on his activity), you had better have a sense of humor and the ability to let little transgressions roll like water off a duck's back. Becoming a Facebook friend to your child opens up a window which makes you wonder how your child ever graduated from third grade. First Born Son's posts are rife with grammatical errors which we are often tempted to correct. For example, take this post from February 8th at 7:15 PM

IMA FINNA EAT MY DINNA

Or, there is this exchange  which occurred after First Born Son posted a photograph of himself that he had altered through his cell phone with a stamp filter.

Above the photo, he wrote: Yepp because I can.

Me:  Just because you can, it doesn't mean that you should.

First Born Son: mmmmmm tuche

Tuche? What the hell is tuche? It took me a moment to realize that he wasn't attempting to call me a douche and that he meant to say touche (with the accent over the e, which I have no idea how to execute in a post). His friend corrected his spelling error before I had a chance to.

We have also been subjected to countless status updates with screen shots from Call of Duty. And, we have sat patiently through an endless stream of You Tube videos (99% are benign- though quite annoying like the one where a girl sits in front of her computer monitor asking "Where's the Chapstick?" And, then begins to pseudo beat box the question over and over again). Others are links to the portal of his 14 year old brain which cannot yet discern what is acceptable footage to share with both his friends and his 60 year old grandmother (not to mention the countless aunts and uncles he has friended). An example of a questionable video is one that he posted of himself lip syncing to the Ding Dong Song by Gunther (do not click on link if there are small children around you). While the music is all tongue-in-cheek, there are elements of the real video that are literally tongue-in- cheek. There is a moment in the clip when First Born Son tugs on the collar of his T-shirt in a slightly seductive manner. While The Mr.'s response to the video was disgust that our son was ruining another T-shirt,  I had to remind him that many eyes from our family are watching him. And, I recalled the story of how his Uncle C, my brother, was un-friended by one of our more self-righteous relatives after he posted a video of himself "exercising" in a suggestive manner in a leopard print thong to Bon Jovi's Runaway (again, all tongue-in-cheek, but waaaaay too much cheek). I am just attempting to avoid becoming the target of a mass email campaign preaching the need to restore innocence to our children.

Being your teenager's Facebook friend allows you to also see images and comments from his peers that he is tagged in. But, the photos- such as the one where he is standing in the aisle of the metro bus wildly  throwing his arms in the air in some primitive dance, only make me more concerned for his safety (as well as the safety of his fellow passengers) while riding on public transportation. Or, there are pictures posted by his classmates from lunch that once again drive home the fact that your kid just does not care for lunch.

Really?! Now he's just farting in the face of our hard earned money.

But, then he endears himself to us-even more than we thought was possible (because truly, we are madly in love with this wacky kid) when he posts videos of his time spent with The Baby. There are clips of the first time Violet crawled; of Violet's first steps; of her dancing; of her singing; of her carrying on a conversation with the faucet in the bathtub; of him just adoring her. And, it is because of this sweetness (below), I can look past the grammatical errors, the annoying videos, the dangerous bus dancing:

And, I should mention, as my mother was concerned that I too often slam First Born Son in my writing and do not provide enough praise, that I am very proud of his accomplishments in school. Freshman year started off rocky; but, he has greatly improved his work ethic. The evidence of his effort and hard work is in the 5 1/2 point increase in his overall average for the 2nd quarter- which lands him a spot on "The Board" at school for honor and merit roll holders.

Can't Love 'em Smart



Not So Sharp Permanent Marker Dull Point



I recently heard somewhere the following line which sums up my current realizations about parenting, “Well, you can’t love ‘em smart.” Teenagers have a way of proving that sentiment to be true every day. On Halloween, First Born Son came downstairs to greet my family who was over for dinner and a photo opportunity with the costumed little ones. He had borrowed a "costume" idea from a Halloween episode of The Office where John Krasinski's character, Jim, had written the word “BOOK” across his face to represent Facebook. My family was unfamiliar with the show; so, they swooned over how clever he was. But, my killjoy mom senses were tingling when I examined his face.

“What did you use to write with?”

“Uh, a Sharpie,” he answered without hesitation.

“Was it permanent?”

“Yeah, why?” Duh!

It was still fresh. He still had a window to wipe it off.  For a split second, I entertained the idea of letting him keep it on. The purple Sharpie scrawl would probably remain there for a week, considering his hygiene habits, before it started to fade away. He’d have to face his classmates, his principal and instructors, and his fellow passengers on the subway every day with that mark of stupidity on his face.

As a parent, you think about your children’s future, about the years when they will be further out of your grasp, about the possibility of them getting drunk and falling asleep at a frat party and waking up with a Hitler mustache Sharpied to their upper lips. You don’t worry about them doing this to themselves, sober.  I wasn’t trying to be sadistic when I decided to make him march up to the bathroom to scrub it off. But, the poor kid came back downstairs-face raw, red and broken out- begging for some salve. He looked abused which is worse than looking like a moron. My mother chastised me for my suggestion that he was (a moron). “He is a teenager,” she corrected. Right now, in this house, those two words are synonymous.

It could have been much worse, I know. He could have written “Shit” across his face. With each teenager-ish prank or fumble, I have to just keep saying, If this is his worst offense, I’ll gladly take it.  And, he really is a good kid. But, no, you can’t love ‘em smart.

This post is an entry for Fickle Cattle's Very First Fabulously Fantastic Giveaway!