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.

Parental support

We're all parents of teenagers here at MCMM. But some of us are parents of very special teenagers. By that I don't mean the academically perfect MIT bound volunteer for the summer in Kenya building schools special teenager. More like the "lazy, emotionally immature, neurologically impaired, psychologically tweaked" kind of special. My kids are certainly in that category and many of our writers also have kids who fit in that strange mix of labels as well.

Today I'm going to skip talking about the kids and talk about parenting. It's hard enough parenting a neurotypical teenager. What with the mood swings and the opinions and the foul mouths, it cam be challenging just getting through the day with a really cool and neurologically fine kid. But parenting these other kids, these 'special' kids can rob an adult of their ability to be congnatively awake at any given moment. When your brain is working overtime just trying to stay one step ahead of the kid that is manipulative, dishonest, and has little control over implusivity, you're gonna flatline if you don't seek a bit of help yourself. It's just too darn hard to do this stuff alone.

Many couples rely on each other and don't think they need outside support. Or get psychological help for their child but eschew family therapy. If you want to burn out quickly and affect the other NT members of your family, that's certainly a way to go. But I don't believe that it's necessarily the right way, nor the only way. What I want to talk about is the support services that are out there for families with these special kids.

If you have a child that is using drugs, stealing cars, lying and stealing, or doing a lot of illegal activites but has yet not been caught by the police, you can ask for court involvement without getting your child a record. Did you know this? It's a way of taking the onus off of you, the parents, and putting it onto the Judge that oversees your child's case. To do this, you have to go to your local courthouse where there is a Youth Probation Officer and file a CHINS. This means a "Child in Need of Services" petition. A CHINS essentially sets up a relationship between your child and the court, and will write up a contract with your child telling them exactly what they may NOT do. A lawyer is assigned to your child. It is NOT your attorney, it is your child's attorney, and their discussion is priviledged, just like a therapists. But, like a therapist, if there is any notion of harm to self or others, they will tell you and they will seek a hospitalization.  When a child has a CHINS, they have to appear in front of the Judge regularly. The Judge gets the child's report cards and reports from the school regarding attendance and behavior. They also confer with the child's therapist and psychiatrist, as well as the Attorney and, if needed, a guardian ad litem.  If the child has NOT followed the CHINS, the Judge can make decisions regarding the consequences. This might be further court involvement, Department of Social Services (CPS) or Department of Youth Services involvement, or might just involve tweaking the CHINS.

The CHINS is your first line of defense when illegal activity or behavior you cannot control, such as running away or setting fires, has you really needing outside help. When you have filed a CHINS, you are able to get VOLUNTARY DSS services. Scary? You betcha. There is no doubt in my mind that this is the scariest decision a parent has to make when dealing with a child whose impulsivity is dangerous to himself or others. But so many of us HAVE faced it, and made the decision to ask for this type of help. And after it's over, we're all pretty darn grateful considering how much help you can get this way.

If you ask for Voluntary DSS/CPS involvement, you'll be assigned a caseworker, and with this caseworker you'll determine what the family needs entail. They will pay for therapy, ensure that you have medical insurance for this child, they'll get you an in-home social worker for family therapy, they can assign the child a mentor, they can get your child hospitalized, into Acute Residential Treatment  programs, and even into residential schools. Your caseworker can help you with special parenting skills classes, respite care, and even some financial help. Once your child is involved in DSS Voluntary services, you are going to get help. Sometimes more help than you wanted or think you needed. It might be a couple of years of some very difficult work with your family, but it IS worth it in the long run.

Another road, if you have a child with a mental illness, is to contact your state's Department of Mental Health (DMH). Yeah, that one is a hard call to make. Nobody wants to admit that they are dealing with a mental illness that is making it too difficult for the family to function normally. It takes some families years to ask for this one, but again, once the call is made, if you are accepted into their program, it is going to make a huge difference. Most of what DMH can and will do for you is similar to what DSS does. Only DMH works with different agencies that specialize in mental health issues. You'll still get a caseworker, you'll still get the hospitalizations, insurance, ARTs and residential schools pair for, only by DMH. They offer MORE in the way of financial help, ensuring that you won't get evicted from your apartment because of mental health issues, and will assign you an in-home therapist as well.

Asking for this type of help is extremely difficult. But it is there for you. It's just waiting for you to make the first step and call. As a parent who has made these phone calls more than once, I know that the decision to admit you need outside help feels like you're failing as a parent. But it isn't that at all. In fact, I believe that to be a GOOD parent of kids like this, we do need to ask for help in order to offer our children the best of the best.

If you have questions about the process or about my own experience with these various agencies, please email me. I'm happy to answer any questions I can.

Just What The Doctor Ordered

Whoa! Suburban Correspondent here, which means that it must be Sunday again. How did that happen?  You know, I don't like this time-speeding-up-as-we-age thing.  I especially don't see how the time that is moving so slowly from my teens' viewpoint could be the same time that whizzes by me so fast that I can't even keep track of which month it is.  All I know is that I am reaching the halfway point of a year that, by my reckoning, shouldn't be anywhere past March yet. 

Of course, I can count on summer to slow things down a bit, albeit temporarily.  My least favorite date is the 1st of September.  The beginning of September is akin to being at the top of a greased chute which deposits me, approximately 3 seconds later, at the beginning of the next calendar year in a bewildered post-serial-holiday-state, a condition that renders me a sobbing shell of the woman I was a mere 4 months previous.  Thank the Lord for the therapeutic power of a festivities-free January.

Anyway, I had my annual pep talk today.  At a local homeschooling conference, I saw the doctor - Dr. Ray, that is - and listened to him remind me that

I am the grown-up.
I am allowed to set the rules.
There is no reason whatsoever to tolerate disrespect, verbal or otherwise, from my beloved progeny.

All things I already knew, of course; because I learned them from him last year. After last year's talk, I came home, kicked down the front door (figuratively speaking), and ordered my teenage daughter to her room.  "Why?" she asked, bewildered. 

"Because you've made my life a living hell for the past 10 months," I told her.  She was so stunned, she listened.  And then I slowly began to turn things around.  This book helped.

Still, it's good to be reminded of the basics from time to time.  So I went back today to imbibe more wisdom at the feet of the master.  You see, this man has 10 children.  That's right.  He's an expert.  He also has a comic delivery which has his audience practically rolling on the floor during his talks.  Go ahead, check him out.  You'll be glad you did.

And I'm not even getting a free book out of that little advertisement up there.  I am uncompromised.

Where school seems to go on forever

Unlike most of the rest of the country, my kids are still in school. I know... it seems to last forever and yet it's never long enough! We've got one more week before they're out for the summer. This is the week of final exams. They go in at weird times, and leave at weird times. I have no clue when they should be where. I figure that it's their responsibility to get to their final exams on their own.  Once the exams are over, they're both going to be home all summer long. Yup, all summer long. Gulp!

I'm of mixed emotions. I have to admit, I love tossing the alarm clock and knowing that I won't have to see 6:30 am again until September.  Sleep is very important to teenagers and for a couple of months they'll get enough to keep them on a fairly even keel. I hope.

I also love having them around much of the time. Despite what you might have heard, I like my kids and I enjoy their personalities and their wit. Most of the time. I like doing things together with them, I like when their friends come over and I can eavesdrop on conversations and find out what the heck is going on in their lives. I like when they come up with bizarre ways to entertain themselves.

However, they eat like starving grizzly bears, they are the messiest human beings on earth, and they tend to argue. A lot. It's never nice and peaceful for very long around here. My son tends to entertain his friends here more than he ever goes anywhere else. There will be 2 or 3 day marathons of video games, shouting, eating the shelves bare, and taking over my house. I think it's better that they are here than if they were unsupervised someplace else. But OMG, the noise, the mess!

My daughter leaves school and the second she is off the property, every single thing she has learned all year empties out of her head. I've never seen anything like it. It's as if she does this brain dump in the parking lot. As summer progresses she gets dumber and dumber. By the end of summer I'm ready to scream in frustration. I must say "THINK" about 3 million times a day. She totally loses the ability to think, read, or write come summer.

Additionally, the school still have no clue of what they are going to do with her next year. It's her junior year. They want her to transfer to the other high school so they can wash their hands of her and not spend a penny on her special education needs. She has refused the transfer. I have refused the transfer. The school has no alternative. She is not registered anywhere for next year. Legally, the school has to follow her last signed IEP, which says she's enrolled in their school. So far they're refusing to do that. Which is against the law. To make matters worse? The social worker who has been working with her, and who we both like, just lost her job due to budget cuts. Today was her last day. So my kid doesn't have anyone to represent her best interests. She gave me the name of some other person whom I've never met and is male, who will be taking over for the social worker. I'm so unhappy about this.

Thus this will be, for me, the summer of lawyers and lawsuits. So looking forward to this. Not. But it has to be done. She has to be in school. We've been homeschooling and it's not the best option for my ultra-social kid. If we have to, we'll continue to do so, but I'm going to make the school let her do math and science there. I can't teach either math or science at home.

Summer is also the time when I become a professional chauffer for my kids. "Mom, take me here." "Mom, I need it NOW". This will be the last summer, because they'll finally turn 16 at the end of August and then the fun really begins.

Driving lessons.

Oh lord, kill me  now.

So maybe I shouldn't be so anxious for school to be over after all. I can't even imagine what kind of hell it will be once they learn to drive.

I guess strangling him wouldn't improve his COMMUNICATION skills, would it?

Last fall, Daniel had a bit of a personal crisis. Though I got the bare bones of it, he didn't want to talk about it with His Mother. Could he please go see Dr. D, the psychologist his older sister had seen for a few months after the separation? (Who his sister still chats with once in a while.)

The sessions cost $155 an hour. This is not small change for me, parent of three, step-parent of five, living on one and one-fifth income. (Four-fifths of my husband's income is taken up by income tax, student loans, union dues and child support.) However, it's my child's well-being... And maybe the boy will learn some useful emotional and life skills. So, yes, of course you can see Dr. D, son.

After a couple of months, I asked how it was going. The crisis was comfortably over, and it is costing  $155 every week... My budget is feeling the pinch like a vice-grip applied to one's butt.

"Well," he said, "I like talking to her. It's nice."

("It's nice?" Um, no. NOT worth $155/week, son.)  Okay. Must probe a bit. "Can you give me some idea what you're talking about?"

"Well, mostly about communication."

My mind reels in delighted astonishment.

COMMUNICATION!!!!! My son was discussing COMMUNICATION! My son, my cheerful, easy-going, largely cooperative son, who can and will talk your ear off about a quirky cartoon or a computer game, becomes completely mute when conversation threatens to become personal. He will talk about personal stuff when it reaches the crisis point, and I take a great deal of satisfaction in that, but in the ordinary run of things? I get NOTHING, people, NOTHING. Shrugs, grunts, one-word non-answers.

My boy is getting an hour a week's tutorial in COMMUNICATING??

Worth every penny. Every single penny. I'm sure we can squeak the money out of the budget somehow. We don't really need to eat three times a day, after all. Do we? Surely twice would suffice.

It was worth it even more when, by dint of a doctor's prescription for psychotherapy, our insurance started paying the lion's share. (Thank you to smart doctor who thought of that. I didn't know therapy could be prescribed!! But why not?)

COMMUNICATION! My boy is getting lessons in COMMUNICATION! I envision that glorious day when "You feeling okay, sweetie? You look a little down," is answered with full, entire sentence! Yeah!

However, I'm still forking out a chunk of money every month. After six months, I decide it's time to  check in with the boy. And besides, I'm his mother. I love him. And I'm curious! I want to know what he thinks about it. I want to know how the experience is affecting him. I want to know what's going on inside his head, his thoughts, his responses.

I want COMMUNICATION.

Me: How are your sessions with Dr. D going?
Daniel: Fiiine. (Tones of mild suspicion.)
Me: Are you enjoying them?
Daniel: Yes. (Suspicion rising.)
Me: Do you feel you're getting anything out of them?
Daniel: Yeees. (Hint of defensive, self-protective edge to the voice.)

Longish pause. Will he divulge?
Pause continues.
And continues. And continues some more. My patience is rewarded by ... silence. He's not divulging. I will have to ask. Sigh.

Me: So, what do you think you’re getting out of them?
Pause.
Daniel: Well, that’s hard to say, really.

Six months working on "COMMUNICATION", and it's "HARD TO SAY" what he's getting out of these sessions.

Money well spent, wouldn't you say?

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.

Muzzling the Mama Bear

When your children were little, the world was a simpler place. (Too bad you didn't know it at the time, huh?) Conflicts were simpler (more physical, more primitive, but simpler), conversation was simpler ("Say please." "NO."), decisions were simpler (red shirt or blue? is that a bead or a bean up his nose?).

When another child shoved your child, you could deal with that. You take them both by the hand, you explain that "hands are not for hitting", and you help them work it through. Simple.

When life buffeted my wee tots, I could offer solace: ice to the bo-bo, a kiss to make it better, a hug, a story, a distraction. Or throw the whining wretch in bed. Simple.

Last week, my youngest came home, very upset. Their French teacher had asked them to bring in the lyrics to a French song, which they would then analyze as part of a presentation due the following week. Bekah had gone in prepared with not just one but four songs. Keener points, anyone?

One of her songs was deemed unsuitable for the project, but the other three judged fine. Bekah chose one, and the teacher asked if the other two could be distributed to students who had not brought in songs. In other words, to students who had not completed the first task of the assignment.  No problem, says my girl. No skin off her nose.

Twenty minutes later the teacher returns, but this time sees something in Bekah's song that she hadn't noticed before.

"I'm sorry, but you won't be able to use that song after all."

No problem. She'd brought in four, after all, and there are still two good ones. "All right, then, I'll just use one of the other two."

"Oh, no. We can't do that. The other students have already been working on their songs for twenty minutes, and they'd have to start over again."

Let us pause a moment at this juncture so as to register the OUTRAGEOUS INJUSTICE of this statement.

I know, though I'm not sure my daughter does, that the issue is this teacher has trouble maintaining control over the class, and she knows that Bekah will give her much less flack than the two others will. Is this right? Is this fair?

IT IS NOT.

My inner Mama Bear rises in fury, but knowing that hearing her snarl tends to muzzle my children, I am calm as I probe, as casually as I can, for details. In short, Bekah protested but was over-ruled.

I AM OUTRAGED.

"I'm going to phone the school. I'll talk to the principal and that teacher! I can't believe this! That is completely unacceptable!"

You know what happened next, don't you?

"Mmmmooommm, NO!"

"Well, someone has to say something."

"No, they don't!" Her voice rises in panic. "She already hates me! That'll only make it worse!"

I don't believe the teacher hates her. I rather suspect she likes my responsible, reasonably studious child. I think the teacher's cowardice is driving her to take advantage of a compliant student. It's weaselly, but it's not personal. But will my protests make it worse? Will my active protests turn this woman against my child and make it personal? Quite possibly. I think she's that emotionally immature, yes.

"She shouldn't get away with it!" my Mama Bear roars. I wrestle her down. Barely.

"Mmmmooommm, NO!" It's one of the great frustration of parenting teens. They're old enough to want autonomy. They're old enough to need it, developmentally. Some of them are even mature enough to deserve it. Autonomy to make their own mistakes (and bear the consequences themselves), autonomy to make a lot of their own decisions (and bear the consequences themselves).

And old enough to fight their own battles. Even when they deal with the battle by ducking it.

ARGH. Mama Bear HATES that. Hates it, hates it, hates it.

So I back down. I try to have a conversation with the girl about what she might do, what her options are, but she's having nothing to do with it. She's viewing my interest as pressure to respond in a certain way -- and maybe she's got some justification there, but it's not the whole truth. But it is her conflict to resolve, her injustice to deal with.

So I back off. And I don't email the teacher. And I don't call the principal. I do rant a bit to my husband. Bekah goes back to school the next day with a song the teacher hasn't had time to approve, presents her assignment, and gets a very good mark. So there's that.

And, when the final exams are written, the assignments in, the marks secure and staff still at the school, will I be making a phone call and writing a letter?

You bet your ass I will.

Grrrrr.

Crocs and Birks and Sneaks...Oh My!

By Nina Rubin
Today's topic is boys and footwear.  You know, those 7 pound missiles teenage boys fling off their feet and leave for you to trip over in the hallway, doorway, under the table, etc., and then cry out, "Mom, have you seen my shoes?" 

Shoe shopping, alas, isn't the retail thrill for guys that is it for girls.  We're not talking about stalking Manolos or cruising the Nordstroms sale rack here.  Both Jaws and Grumble, who are each over 6 feet tall,  have humongous slabs for feet. They wear 13.5 and 13 respectively and their slabs are still growing. I stay up nights worrying about this because style choices begin to fall off at size 13W, but my lads seem completely untroubled by this. Just keep them in Birks and Crocs and flip flops and Merrills and $85 sneakers and they are blissfully happy, the fools.

Have you noticed, by the way, that shoelaces are a thing of the past?  Even sneakers are elasticized. I know for a fact that Grumble doesn't know how to tie a shoelace and that Jaws only mastered it a few years ago.  He does it the two-loops way.  [If either boy reads this I'm dead meat.]

However, teenage feet are on my mind because we have a ritual on the last day of school, which is today.  When school gets out, we go get shoes. Shoeing my boys makes me indescribably happy. In the old days it was about taking them to the childrens' shoe store and getting lollipops and watching them take their practice walk in shiny new shoes.  These days I take them to Abbadabbas, Atlanta's funky shoe emporium which overflows with Keene, Merrill, Teva,  Dansco, and other high end comfort shoe brands sold by salespeople sporting tatoos and noserings.

Here's what happens. My sons walk into Abbadabbas,  ask for the two or three brands they like, try them on, and in like 5 minutes they are happy ready to roll.  Me? I am combing the sale rack, trying on orange climbing shoes and thinking that a pair of those cute Crocs "Mary Janes" in pink would make my life complete. Then, omigod, I see that Earth Shoes are back, and I wonder, "Gee, maybe I'll have less back pain if I start wearing negative heal shoes." This prompts a reverie about Fred Braun shoes.  Do you think they'll ever bring back Fred Braun shoes?  I still dream about them.

My name is Nina and, yes, I am a shoe-aholic, and the mother of sons who don't understand. I have an embarrassing, Imelda-esque quantity of shoes.  My personal theory about women and shoes is that we love 'em because while our dress and jeans size changes alarmingly, our shoe size (once we're done with birthing babies) stays about the same. I didn't need Carrie Bradshaw to teach me that there's nothing like a new pair of shoes to bring a whole new perspective to life.  And then there's the matter of toe cleavage ... which I must admit, I find incredibly sexy, but which is apparently unknown to my boys.  When I explained it they said, "Eeeuuuuwww."

Which is what I say when I see (or smell) their feet.

Where you really get burned with boys is on dress shoes.  Unless you're a stickler about appropriate footwear for church, synagogue, holidays and special occasions, or your kids go to a school that makes them wear closed-toe shoes, dress shoes are where you get soaked.  I recently broke down and bought Grumble a pair of black leather shoes for his brother's graduation and his own Confirmation and it set me back over $100.00.  If I'm lucky he'll wear them a total of five times and they probably won't even fit him in six months. 

Can I say one more thing about shoes?  And this is not a gender thing.  I don't approve of wearing flip flops to your college or high school graduation.  But at Jaws college graduation I saw literally hundreds of guys and girls wearing cap, gown and flip flops.  Where are their manners?  Where are their mothers?  Where is the nearest DSW? 

Two different stories, one hurting kid

I attend a support group for parents of 'difficult' adolescents. Which isn't really what it is at all, incidentally. All of the parents who attend this group have kids with some type of mental or emotional disorder. We have depressed kids, suicidal kids, bipolar kids, kids with rare genetic disorders, kids who just don't fit any mold. The thing all these kids have in common is that they've been hospitalized, many multiple times, because they were either a danger to themselves or a danger to others. Oh, and they all have parents who are tearing their hair out in frustration trying to figure out just what to do.

We're a fairly tight knit group of moms. We not only support each other in our quest to find the best care for each of our respective kids, we attend each other's school meetings, visits to special programs, and just to hang out and give each other hugs. In the short time I've been part of this group, I've made a good friend, and I've gotten a lot of great advice. It's really a fabulous support group.

So what's the but?

Today, for the first time, we had a dad come to our meeting. It wasn't a big deal that he was male, as we're all grown ups. He is a single dad and he introduced us to his daughter (figuratively) who is a hurting buckaroo for a variety of reasons. We all encouraged him to take certain types of actions, we listened to his story, we were more than supportive to him, we didn't scare him off, and he promised to return.

And the problem is?

Oy! Privacy. My favorite issue. His daughter and my son were in a program together. A program that encourages the kids to share their issues with the small group. What my son knows of this girl is not essentially what the father reported to our group. This makes me VERY uncomfortable. Because I know things about her that her father doesn't, from the things my son reported. But it gets even more uncomfortable. While my son was in this program, another friend of his who we'll call Dirty (because he is) was also at the program. Dirty and my son have known each other for years. Dirty and this man's daughter evidentially had it in for each other, and when Dirty came over during this time, he talked a lot about this particular girl. Now, I had no clue I'd EVER meet this girl's parent. They live hours away from us. Who would have thunk it? But damn... the girl who was a big topic of conversation in our house for weeks is this guy's daughter. Doesn't that suck?

I know I need to keep my mouth shut. I'm not completely idiotic. But I feel incredibly uncomfortable knowing some things that her father SHOULD know, but apparently doesn't. His daughter is in a lot of emotional pain for reasons totally unknown to him. But not to me. And if that doesn't bite, I don't know what does.

That's one of the problems with your kids being in programs. So much is shared, some of it the truth, some of it false, but a lot of it just plain painful. They're encouraged to get their pain out their, to acknowledge it and then move on. The groups help these kids to learn coping mechanisms, to recognize where their behavior comes from, and to be able to grow from their problems. Those are all good things. But the problem is that the kids gossip both amongst themselves, and they often come home and bitch about the other kids in the program. Which is exactly what happened here. My kid and Dirty weren't outing this girl. They were talking about how tough she was to deal with, and during those discussions, personal things were revealed.

So, here I am, brimming with information I wish I didn't have and not knowing what to do with it. Any advice?

Launching Pad

By Nina Rubin
In an effort to save some dough (and because hotels were going for more than $300 a night) I recently spent two nights in my college son's D.C. "launching pad" over his graduation weekend.  My darling and personable first born (a.k.a. Jaws to MCMM readers)  has sublet a 2 bedroom apartment in a groovy Arlington, VA building that boasts a health club, party roof deck, a pool, and a concierge -- before he has actually landed job.

That's not intended to be a snarky comment.  Honestly.  Jaws is not a slacker and he will get a job.  I mean, he has to.  He's not being subsidized by his parents, his school loans are coming due and his savings are not endless.  He's a great kid -- a mensch as we Jewish parents like to say.  But I had to laugh when I compared his first digs with my first apartment after college.

My apartment:  $185 a month, divided by 2 roomates.
His apartment:  $800 a month...just for his room!
My apartment:  In an Italian neighborhood where old men played bocci ball and widows wore black for their entire lives.
His apartment:  Nobody over the age of 50 in evidence.

His apartment came with a flat screen tv and a refrigerator that makes ice.  Jaws and his roomate each have their own tv in their own private bedrooms.  They don't have a car and they don't have silverware.  But they have cable and TIVO. They have granite countertops.  I have formica.  They have stainless steel appliances.  And here's the real rub...they have a Harris Teeter supermarket and a dry cleaner in their complex.  Jealous?  Moi?

We were all back together again in New York over Memorial Day weekend celebrating Grandma Isabelle's 85th birthday. Hanging out in my mom's kitchen yesterday, Jaws asked lots of sweet cooking and grilling questions, having recently discovered that if one cooks, one has copious leftovers, and one saves money.  He asked his grandmother for a few of her recipes and she sent Jaws flying back to Washington  loaded up with a flank steak, flatware for 12, a box of home baked brownies, grilling tools and a bottle of teriyaki marinade.  As I've said elsewhere, they don't make 'em like my mother anymore. Her care packages are, legendary and eclectic.

When I got back to Atlanta last night, I was dying of curiosity so I called the launching pad.  I heard the sound of happy young people in the background and beer cans popping. "How was the steak?" I asked.  "Fabulous," Jaws said.  "But we kind of incinerated the burgers...the flames got a little out of control out on the balcony." 

Yup, it's happening.  He's out on his own.  With two interviews coming up this week.  You  live, you learn, you launch.