Mid-CenturyModernMoms

We won't be buying him socks for a while...

The step-daughters sleep in the attic. At one point there were three of them up there. Now there are two. (They're growing up, they're growing up!)

I do not go up in the attic.

Step-mothering is a chancy business, far, far harder than bio-mothering. You're a parental figure, but you're NOT the mother. I understand that. I have bio-children who have had more than a few mother-figures in their life with their dad. I want them to like the other woman, I want them all to get along; it would be lovely if they loved her, but, and perhaps this makes me petty and not having my children's best interests at heart, I dunno, I would not want them loving her like a mother. Because they have one of those. So, though I would like to get along with my husband's children, maybe like a respected and fondly-regarded aunt (?), I have never aspired to be a mother to them.

And if your husband learned a few things from one marriage to the next, and you are a hugely different person than their mother, then not only are you not the mother, but you're alien. The things you do are weird, your outlook on the world peculiar, your values suspect, the way you run your house, your social life is odd. (Their mother's outlook, values, etc., are right and yours are wrong. That goes without saying. I can deal.)

So I tread carefully. And I stay out of their room, because I know that if I saw it, I would be nigh unto fainting and SOMETHING WOULD HAVE TO BE DONE! BEFORE WE GETS BUGS IN THE HOUSE! Something like that. I really, really try to avoid situation where I have to lay down the parental law with my stepkids. I can and will do it if essential. But when it comes to adolescent bedrooms? What I don't see ain't essential.

So last week, their father came down from the attic. He goes up there from time to time when they're not around to watch television.

"I think the girls need to clean up next time they're here."

Oh, lordy. It had to be bad. My sweetie, for all his many, many virtues, is not a visual person. He is, bless his soul, a personally tidy person; he does not leave messes for me to pick up. But he does not see messes, either. For the state of the room to have registered on him, it must have been BAD.

I did not go up in the attic. I just don't want to know.

When the girls arrive, they are sent upstairs with a few guidelines. The next morning, I do go up in the support role of helping them sort the clothes that have been discarded.

There are a LOT of clothes.

It takes about an hour, but at the end we have four containers: two garbage bags of clothes that will be sent to the Goodwill; one of items that are good only for garbage, and one bag of things they will hand down to their brother. A few unisex t-shirts, but mostly?

Socks. White sport socks. DOZENS of white sport socks.

Dozens of them, going off into infinity ...

I washed first, then sorted. Which seems backward only to anyone who hasn't tried to sort filthy, balled-up, sweat-crusted socks worn by teens, the monarchs of body odour. Sorted dozens of them. (We must have bugs up there! Why do I see no bugs?) I tossed several pair with pink and purple heels and toes: too girly for a brother. I had tossed another 8 or 11 or 14 that had no match.

And at the end of the day? Youngest brother got 37 pairs of socks. THIRTY-SEVEN pairs.

And it's probably safe for me to go into the attic.

For about a week.

Wiiiiiii!!!!!!

Our household just got a Wii. 

But hold on, it's mama's toy.  I'm the one that wanted it.  Okay, yes, both Abe and Rose wanted it too, but grumbly hubbie wouldn't have gone out of his way to get one. (If he can order it via the web, it might be purchased.)

Now listen carefully.  If you want one, here's the trick.  Blockbuster, in some stores only, is selling the game console system for list price.  BUT, they only get one or two in at a time, and they only get them in once a week.  So the trick is a) finding which stores will be getting them, b) finding out the day that the delivery gets made and c) calling the store to see if they have them yet (if at all) and d) (depending on the store) going there immediately or putting it on hold til the end of the workday.

I lucked out big time. I called right before lunchtime.  The store near work was unpacking the shipment but had already promised the first system to someone else.  Maybe.... just maybe.... there were 2 systems.  So I walk over there at lunchtime and YES!!!!!  It's mine.

The question here is--- so who's the kid?  (Me)

So said box is sitting on the kitchen counter when I get home.  Rosie strolls into the kitchen, sees it and immediately starts jumping up and down and up and down.  Then she's asking if it's real.  My child seems to think that I would play a trick on her and show her an empty box. (Now a trick is another matter, but it wasn't in this case.)

So now we actually see some maturity here.  Rosie says to me "I guess I'll have to clean up my room before I'm allowed to use it" (Yup) "And I'll have to make sure that my homework is done" (Yup) "and do...(several other things that I've been after her to do) (Yup).  And guess what?  We've already made headway on her room!  And grumbly hubbie actually set it up already so we get to use it.

Gifts are a breeze now.  Please send games and maybe a Wii Fit.  For the teens or the mom?  Both!!!

A post-script to this conversation is that my SIL called me up the next morning.  They bought a Wii system at Costco.  $100 more than list price but with some extras.  It pays to shop mid-week!!!

The Pros And Cons Of Raising Teenagers

Yes. Believe it or not, there are several advantages to parenting teens. Let's see if I can pull my brain together enough to get a few down here.

The positive list is first. The negative/educational list is later.

1. Teens are addicted to computers. If you own several computers the teens will leave you alone until the cows come home. That means they forget about food and phone calls and television. You can watch what you like, eat whatever you want and even talk on the phone without being bothered.

2. Teens sleep in, every day. This means you can sleep in as well, assuming you don't have a job to go to or a class... The house is very quiet when the teens are sleeping, nice and silent.

3. Teens will always eat pizza. If you forget to make dinner, pizza is only a phone call away.

4. Teens leave their dirty clothes on the floor. If you have a dirty carpet~NO ONE will ever know. They cannot see the carpet through the clothes.

5. Teens like to stay up late. You will never feel lonely again at 2am. Your teen will be awake with you.

6. Teens love to eat late at night. Here's your excuse for a midnight snack. "Oh hi honey, I was just making the kids some food." (He/she'll never know you planned on eating as well.)

7. Teens are messy everywhere~this means you can blame them even if you made the mess. This is very handy if you have a spouse who's anal-retentive.

8. Teens NEVER fill the gas tank. Something else you can blame on them. "Sweetie, I just filled it. Fido must have used the car and all the fuel I put in it."

9. Teens forget to turn off lights. You'll never come home to a dark house while you have teens.

10. Teens eat lots. When they are old enough to drive, they are old enough to do the grocery shopping for you. This is very advantageous for those of us who detest grocery shopping.

For all of you who have younger children or no children, let's talk about teens. Don't be scared...well, really smart parents are scared. Teenagers are frickin' scary!

Janice's not-so-well-known facts about teenagers.

1. Teens are full of drama and angst and over-reaction. Full of it. When BBB was 13/14 all I had to do is glance his way to elicit this angry response: "What? WHAT? Why are looking at me thatway?" Dang boy I was flipping my hair off my face. I did not even mean to look his way. YIKES. The really fun days were when he got home from junior high, slammed the front door shut and stomped right on past me. The best way to react: IGNORE their presence until they seem calmer.

2. Just when you you get a grip on how to handle new and exciting behaviors, they change. Get to used to it. At 19 BPB still does this. Life with a teen is rarely if ever predictable.

3. Be prepared to have your teen ignore you and if anyone they know is close by they will pretend that have never seen you before. DO NOT embarrass your child by saying Hello to anyone. Pretend to be invisible!(I, personally, love messing with my teens' minds, so I would always introduce myself to anyone that was even close by.)

4. (AHEM)If male teens spend extra time in the bathroom do not knock on the door and scream, "What is taking you so long in there??". Trust me on this one.

5. Teens love to think they are independent. They will want you to drive them to and fro, here and there, up and downtown and everywhere but they will want you to let them go out of the car without a kiss goodbye, without you sticking your head out the window and screaming: "Hey my honeybabysugar! I love you!!!" This will cause your teen to turn beet red and flee from sight rapidly, maybe never to return. ( No suck luck. They always come home~they know where the money and food are.)

6. Teens sleep ALOT! Particularly boys between the ages 13-17. My BBB took naps last summer because he was so tired from growing. They will grow! One day you need to look down to meet their eyes. The next day they are looking down at you. It's disconcerting.

7. Teens eat 24 hours, 7 days a week. Not kidding! Get ready to serve up seconds and thirds and fourths. Also try to have snacks on hand at all times. Teens are hungry at 12 noon and 12 midnight. Just stock up! My food bill is 4 times what it was when the boys were younger.

8. Teens lie. If they get caught red-handed they will deny, deny, deny. Dr. Phil says, "How do you know if your teens are lying to you? Their lips are moving."I find this to be true in older teens the most.

9. BIG WARNING HERE: Expect your teen to go from acting like a 14yo to a 2yo in 30 seconds or less. No warnings. Temper tantrums, inability to make decisions, crying for no reason, slamming doors and stomping their feet.I think that is enough for now. You are most likely thinking it might be a good idea to sell your 10yos on the black market.....don't even dream about it. Teens always get returned to owner.

Curfews?

My twins are not yet 16, but they both have very active social lives. More active than I can ever remember having at their age, but that was when dinosaurs roamed the earth and really, who wants to hang out with dinosaurs?

Tonight both kids were out with their respective sets of friends. They were both 'hanging' at someone else's house, both told to be home at midnight, as it isn't a school night, and both got home at a reasonable time. One was 15 minutes early, one was 15 minutes late. I'm not thrilled with the late kid, but he's relying on someone else's driving so it is a bit harder for him to get home than my daughter, who got a ride home from a mom. Moms are more reliable than kids, for the most part.

We haven't had a lot of trouble with curfews in the past. They're pretty solid, 12 on weekends, 11 on weeknights IF their schoolwork and chores are done. Since it's very rare that anything is done, they don't go out much on school nights. Another brilliant ploy from Mom!

But we're reaching a new situation. Summer vacation. Ugh.

My kids absolutely positively refuse to do anything over the summer. My daughter will be in summer school due to some incredible screw ups at her school, but that's during the morning. She'll be home most of the day. My son will be doing nothing. Absolutely nothing. He will not do any type of program. Nor will he consider camp, something he's failed at spectacularly in the past. This will be his 3rd summer home with nothing to do.

Now summer schedules are very lax around here. I work from  home, mostly at night. The kids sleep in till fairly late, and their friends sleep even later. Most social activity doesn't even start until 3 or 4 in the afternoons, sometimes even later.

So planning curfews becomes more difficult. Our town has a curfew that I plan to follow, not that it's enforced or anything, but it makes my kids much more limited than the other kids. Since my kids don't drive yet (or ever if I have my wish!) they have to rely on either me, friends, or other parents. So I'm now sure what a reasonable curfew is for almost 16 yr-old kids who are just 'hanging out'. If they have someplace to go, then they have a half-hour after the movie or concert or whatever is done to be home. That's easy. It's the 'hanging out' that I'm not sure of.

Anyone have any great suggestions? What curfew have you set for your kids?

Who’s the Rebel Now?

by Laura Benedict

Just now—no lie—Pomegranate came in to say that she knows that just because she doesn’t do drugs or have sex doesn’t mean she’s a good person. Also that it scares her a little because God gives her pretty much everything she asks for now, and does it mean her life is going to suck later, or will she suddenly die in a tsunami or something.

Our discussion veered well into the religious and philosophical, so I won’t delve into it here. But I will say that she is a good person. She’s nice without being sappy or condescending; she’s one of those kids who doesn’t just hang with one group of friends, but floats. She works very hard for her grades and the solos she gets in choir performances. She’s almost always kind to her unpredictable, emotion-driven little brother. And she’s occasionally grateful for what she has.

How in the hell did this happen? Where did this angel-child come from?

Oh, I have my exasperated moments: When she says, “Why do you hate me?” after realizing that I’m not going to change the whole family’s travel plans so that she can go to a party. Or when her father replaces the five gajillion gigabyte video Ipod he bought her “just because” with a refurbished one because she carelessly lost the one he gave her. Or when she asks me if she can pretty-please drive on her own to meet her boyfriend a mere three days after we revoked her driving privileges for an undetermined amount of time—and you would’ve done the same if you had seen her pull out in front of a school bus, nearly killing herself and her little brother because she hadn’t bothered to wipe off the passenger window. Or when she hurt my feelings last week, making me want to cry.  But, I digress….

Sometimes I get a little suspicious of the goodness of her in much the same way she is suspicious of the bountiful circumstances of her life. Does that sound ridiculous? I don’t understand how she is the way she is, and I certainly don’t deserve to have such a well-behaved child. It freaks me out.

I’ve probably mentioned this before, but I was a nightmare of a teenager—that girl who was always getting other kids into trouble, that girl that no mother of a son wanted to see show up on her doorstep. Ah, those were the days. I’m so tame now. For a long time I looked back on those years with intense mortification. But I confess that I’m just a smidge proud of that rebel girl who got a job taking clothes at the dry cleaner’s counter at the age of fifteen so she could support her clothes, gasoline, concert ticket, boyfriend, and—not long after—beer and Jack Daniel’s habits. My parents were generous with their car and made sure I had all the necessities and lovely vacations. Plus, they loved me. I was never grateful, though, and I treated them badly.

My father keeps warning me that Pom’s going to go off the rails someday and rebel in some catastrophic way. Presumably it’s in the genes. Maybe she will eventually rebel. But I don’t think it will be in any way that I’ll immediately recognize.

Or maybe Pom missed the gene. Maybe it’s her brother who has inherited the nightmare-teenager gene. I hadn’t thought of that. Damn.

Thank You Note Season

By Nina Rubin

Thank you note season starts a little early down here in the south.  In Georgia, school is over by late May or the first days of June, so all the end-of-year honorifics get cranking the minute the buds appear on the trees, which in Atlanta is actually late April.  Spring unleashes not only pollen, but an avalanche of graduation parties, weddings, engagement and baby showers.

This year in our little family we have Jaws graduating from college and Grumble's Confirmation.  Graduation ... well, you know what that is.  Confirmation?  In the Reform Jewish tradition, which started in 19th century Germany, Confirmation is the culmination of one's formal Jewish studies...and it's big deal.  It's usually done at the end of 10th or 11th grade, coinciding with the Jewish holiday Shavuot which commemorates the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai and the so-called "first fruits" of the harvest.  The ritual has a deeply Lutheran high-church pomp and circumstance aesthetic -- the kids wear robes, sometimes the girls carry flowers, there is much speechifying and the kids write a "creative" service. In old historically German-Jewish congregations like The Temple, you'll hear the organ pumping out sturdy old Reform hymns.  All in all, it's the kind of "show" that prompts people to give gifts. 

But wait, this isn't about Confirmation, it's about thank you notes. See, I have a thing about hand written thank you notes.  Call me old fashioned, call me quaint, I like real thank you notes on real stationery. People have actually complimented me on my thank you notes. So I'm a major nag on the topic.  Silly me, I just don't think an e-mail thank you always cuts it.

With teenagers one has to be flexible. Teenagers and thank you notes...yeah, it's a horror movie.  Especially when you were married to a rabbi for 22 years and congregants not only sent you stuff and expected to be thanked, but were secretly rating you (and your kids) on the promptness and quality of your thank you notes. 

Imagine your child's bar mitzvah where the whole congregation had been invited...and fed. Think 400 thank you notes.  You gotta feel for clergy kids.  It's a crushing number of thank yous.  So here's what we did for our kids:  Printed up 400 generic thank you notes in the own child's handwriting that said something like: 

"I am so pleased that you could be with me when I was called to the Torah.  Thank you for honoring me with your presence and your gift." 

Friends and family got real handwritten notes, but the rest of the pack got the pre-printed generic ones.  I'm reasonable and compassionate, but in the end, there will be thank you notes.

So now let's up the ante:  we're in the South where people are Southern, make eye contact, and talk slowly. Thank you notes?  Not optional, mandatory.  Roll the soundtrack:

Me:  Sweetie, you have another package.

Grumble:  Huh?

Me:  I think it's from one of the Temple ladies in Dad's torah class, Mrs. Hutzenplutzenreuther.

Grumble:  Who?

Me:  You know, Mrs. Hutzenplutzenreuther who invited us for dinner when we first moved here?  The one who brought me roses from her garden (thank you note written).

Grumble:  Whatever.  [OPENS PACKAGE]  Oh, cool!  A travel alarm clock.  [DROPS WRAPPING PAPER ON FLOOR AND RESUMES PLAYING GRAND THEFT AUTO].

Me:  Did you send a note to the Blumenthals?  They made a donation to the youth fund in honor of your Confirmation. [Teenager has no concept that even there is a youth fund.]

Grumble:  You didn't give me their address.

Mom:  Yeah, I did.  It's listed in the synagogue directory which is on the dining room table . . . with your stationery. 

Teenager:  [THROUGH CLENCHED TEETH] I said I'd do it.  Back off, Barbie!

At times like these, it's the shrill voice of you own mother you hear.  You have morphed a shrill Harpie, a relentless nag clinging to the opinion of others, as measured through the currency of thank you notes.  You are an enforcer, a bad cop, an evil cyborg grownup who sees the rolling of eyes behind closed doors.

But here's the thing: You also know you're doing the right thing.  By insisting on something as old fashioned and Luddite as a hand-written thank you note, you are making your stand for manners and the power of the pen.  I don't know about you, but most of the time I actually think it's worth it.

 

I'm a Natural Woman

by Judy Merrill Larsen

Don't worry, this isn't a post about not shaving my legs or letting my hair turn gray. Uh uh.  It's about the power of natural consequences.

As adults, we get this.  If I eat less and move more I'll lose weight.  Doesn't always make me do so, but that's a natural consequence I understand.  Same with, oh, say, paying bills so the electricity stays on.  In my fifteen years of teaching, I often found myself preaching this to my students.  Especially when they'd ask about extra-credit.  I'd launch into my song and dance about "Well, if you'd done the assigned work you wouldn't need extra-credit. now, would you, so why should I give you a chance to make more work for me?"  That always brought them around, yes indeedy.

But as a mom, it was often much harder for me to hold to this.  For a few years, when my sons were in elementary school, I was on a first-name basis with the night janitor at their school because we seemed to need to ask him to unlock a classroom door at least once a week to fetch something we needed to complete a homework assignment.  Part of me knew I should let them deal with the consequences of not remembering.  But it seemed so cold.  Harsh. 

No more.  One thing teenagers teach you (and the sooner, the better) is that they often only respond to natural consequences.  For example:

(and I need to make a disclaimer here.  Not all of these examples come from the children living under my roof.  Some come from their friends.  I swear.  But they're all instructive.)

~If, when you are "assigned" community service by a judge because of some hi-jinks you were caught participating in, "forgetting" to perform said hours will cause those hours to be doubled.  Plus you'll be fined.  So maybe next time you shouldn't ignore your mom's nagging.

~If you keep calling in sick to a job you no longer like, you'll get fired.  And the company who sends you your cell phone bill doesn't care the reason, they'll stop your service.  And, no, they don't have to warn you in advance.

~If you blow through all your lunch money/allowance by noon on Tuesday, you're going to be hungry (or brown-bagging it) for the rest of the week.  Not to mention that you can forget about any extra-curricular fun.

~If you buy clothes that scream "Skanky crack ho" to your parents, but "sneak-wear" them under your t-shirt, the school will likely call your parents to explain they don't mesh with the dress code and you'll be assigned a detention.  Also, said clothes will likely disappear the next time your mom does the laundry.

~Speaking of which, if your mom tells you to put all your dirty clothes in the laundry basket outside your door so she can get the laundry done and you don't, there will be no clean clothes for you.  Deal with it. Ha.

~And, if you decide your mom isn't all that bright and why can't you just put all your dirty clothes in the wash together (because she is no longer willing to do your laundry (see above)), don't expect that same stupid mom to replace your now pink underwear.  But you can expect her to laugh at you when you make your request.  And, if you've blown through your lunch money/allowance this week, you'll be wearing the pink underwear to school.

~If your economics professor has told you that your homework is all to be done on-line, and you sign up for the wrong on-line program, and then notice that your classmates have homework, but miraculously you don't, that doesn't mean you're off the hook; it means you'll be retaking the class in summer school.  At 8 a.m. if your mom has anything to say about it.

~If the bank explains that if you bounce a check there will be fees assessed--which will deplete your checking account even more, they really mean it.  It's not like when your mom used to tell you she'd fine you for having to go up to the elementary school at night to pick up your geography book.  She remembers how cute you were at age 4.  The bank doesn't, and even if they did, they wouldn't care.

Natural consequences.  They rock.  In part because your kids can't be mad at you or blame you.  Not that they won't try, but even they have to realize that they brought it on themselves.  And that's where the real power comes in--they have to take responsibility. 

That's a pretty powerful lesson.  And it leads to independence.  Possibly even adult behaviors.  And all you've had to do is sit back, watch it unfold and bite your tongue.

What happened to my little helpers?

A major Jewish holiday, Passover, is starting on Saturday night. With the onset of Passover comes an amazing amount of household work. Not only does every single corner of the house have to be cleaned to rid every room of possible leavened products, but the dishes, silverware, pots and pans, and utensils all have to be changed. This means emptying out your kitchen and replacing everything with special Passover dishes, etc. Wow, what fun this is. Next comes covering your counters with tin foil or plastic so your Passover dishes don't touch a counter that has touched leavened products. Your kitchen ends up looking like a space ship gone insane with all the tin foil.

Once all that is done, and you're suitably exhausted, it's time to cook two HUGE dinners for large crowds of family and friends. Special foods. Foods that contain no leavening, and are made of odd things like matzah meal and potato starch. Everything cooked from scratch because the prepared products are disgusting. Salty, tasteless, and scary.

Now, when my teens were little, they were great helpers. They would get all excited about turning over the kitchen, especially when they got to the tape. Taping the tin foil down is evidentally a way cool thing for a kid to do. Both of my kids liked to help with the cooking. They weren't all that excited about the cleaning, but they understood that no cleaning meant no cooking and no eating...for a week. Um, yeah. I could always count on them to peel potatoes, carrots and apples. They liked to chop up spices and vegetables. They are both decent cooks, as I have always had them help me with dinners as well as special meals.

But this year? Help? They think not. Both of them have been completely resistant to helping out. When I call them down for a quick job, it's always "five more minutes" or "I"ll do it later". And then they never come down. So of course, the nagging starts, and with the nagging comes the kids yelling back at me and calling me all sorts of delightful names. I get mad, they get madder, I get madder still, and things just don't get done.

I've make everything myself so far, and the rule has always been that nobody eats ANYTHING unless they make sure that it's OK to eat now and not for the Seders. This isn't a new rule, it's the same rule we've always had. But my son... he doesn't follow rules anymore. Rules are made for other people, not for him. He's special, you see. Specially obnoxious. He went through the Passover food bags and helped himself liberally to things that were not for him. Like an entire Passover rainbow layer cake. Oh, and an entire jar of chocolate spread (It's an Israeli thing). But this was the real kicker. He ate a huge bowl of chopped liver. Not only doesn't he like chopped liver, but it wasn't even finished. I hadn't put it thru the blender yet and it was big chunks of liver, onions, and hard-boiled eggs. YUM! He pronounced it disgusting but at the whole bowl anyways, because he was 'hungry.' 

I'm ready to strangle him. I miss my little helpers. Yes, they made huge messes in my kitchen, but sharing the holiday preparations with my kids was delightfully special. I loved watching their kitchen skills progress, their interest in combining ingredients grown, and their ability to change a recipe to suit our tastes take hold. I don't like these snarling teenagers that just want to take, take, take and do little to nothing in return. I know it's a phase, but do I have to like this phase? Because right now, I do not like it at all.

How to Drive the Family Therapist Nuts

Let's just start off with the premise that our family is a little bit 'different.'  We're funny, we're nice, we love each other, but we're quirky. Especially the kids. When you add in a family therapist that works with us, it's often a recipe for disaster. And hilarity. Or both.

We have a family therapist that comes to our home twice weekly. One visit is just for me, the other one for the family. She's a really nice woman and we like her a lot. But she's young and easily manipulated by my son, who works very hard at learning people's weaknesses and then exploiting them. He caught onto hers right away. She's sweet and shy and quite and very polite. All qualities that are lovely in people, but this kid can figure out how to get her to do what he wants without really trying. Annoying her is what he wants to do. He's masterful at it.

Take today. My boy has the annoying habit of interrupting everyone. Everyone. He's very gifted and his mind goes a lot faster than most, so he's constantly blurting out things that often aren't even relevant to the conversation. OK, he's annoying. I admit it. The interrupting drives me nuts, too.

Our therapist came armed with yet another way to get him to stop interrupting. She brought this cool light-up ball-like thing, and the idea was that you only got to speak if you were holding the ball. You had to pass it when you were done talking. Seems like a great idea, right? OH, I know it was based on those mens group where they passed the talking stick, but my kids don't know that.

So we start out with the ball. I start talking about my gripe of the day/week/year/decade: the dishes. Don't even get me started on why the dishes are the biggest trigger in our family. They just are. Take it from me.  I'm droning on about how the rules have once again been ignored and how the fighting between the two siblings over who used what dish is driving me nuts.

The boy asked for the ball to be passed. Once he got the ball he started telling a story about some stupid thing that happened in school. So I took the ball back. I was saying "I can't understand WHY the dishes can't be done before 11 pm and I don't get why he (my son) uses a different glass every time he gets something to drink.

He asks for the ball again and says, "Because" and passes the ball back. The therapist is getting ticked. He refuses to use the ball the way that she planned. He does everything in his power to "seem" like he's cooperating, but actually he's not.

The poor therapist also brings candy. She wants to do an incentive program where if nobody interrupts, they get candy dropped into the jar she's also brought. Of course my daughter immediately complains because it's chocolate and she doesn't LIKE chocolate (I know, and she's really related to me!) so she starts sulking and gets up and leaves.

At this point I'm feeling like I could strangle both kids and I start apologizing...again. It seems that all I do is apologize for their refusal to cooperate.  But somewhere, way deep down inside, they totally crack me up. It is so funny the way they manipulate people. Horrible, rude, and annoying...but funny.

Obviously I am a bad bad mommy. But I find them funny. Sue me!

Curfews

Grumble, a 10th grader, doesn't have a robust social life and doesn't drive yet so curfews have not been an issue.  But then last weekend, on closing night of the play, came the cast party.  The curtain falls, the kids wipe off their makeup, strike the set, then everyone goes to The Majestic (a 24 hour diner) to eat, and after that there's a cast party.

G was actually pre-worrying about the cast party when I dropped him off for his 5:30 cast call.  In his mind it was going to be heavy with seniors, and there might be drinking and he wasn't sure he wanted to go.

Fortunately, while serving refreshments during intermission I met the parents who were hosting the post-Majestic party -- really nice, responsible, grounded folks. They assured me there would be no alcohol and lots of supervision, and they even promised to snag him a ride home with one of the seniors. I gave Grumble the green light to go. 

Then I crawled home to bed and fell asleep anxiously, with the light on, while watching Trading Spaces.  Such is my robust social life.

Grumble walked in at 1:00 am happy and singing.  Now 1:00 am seems awfully late for a 10th grader, but the happy and singing part, well that made my heart swell.  We talked a bit before he went to bed, though I have no idea what either of us said.

Question to all you wise and worldly Mid-Century Moms:  How and when does one establish a curfew for a non-driving 10th grader who will not have a car in 11th grade.  Can you set a curfew without having to be the actual person who will have to don a bathrobe at midnight and fetch the child from some remote zip code?  I don't remember this being a problem with older son Jaws, because when he was in 10th grade we lived in a nice little compact town of 18,000 where nothing was terribly far away.  Advice please!