Mid-CenturyModernMoms

Invisible extraordinary

I work in a school which only takes students in the last 2 years of high school, so the students are aged 16 - 18 years. In this, my last post on MCMM, I would like to pay tribute to the determined students who make it through these last 2 years of school without parental support. They are gutsy, self-motivated teenagers, who are doin' it for themselves.

Often these students don't achieve the highest results, often their situation is trivialised by teachers who have never truly been alone and without family support, often these students act as though they're really tough - and they are, just not in the way most people think. Show these students just a little care, and it's surprising how close to the surface their soft side is.

I know the stress my daughter feels at the demands placed on her as a final year student, yet she has me to do her shopping, her cooking, her transporting, her provision of electricity and heating/cooling. I wake her each morning, I remind her to go to bed if the hour is getting late.

These students have none of that support. Often their absentee rate is higher than it should be, but gee, when you live in a town with a virtually non-existent public transport system like we do, missing the school bus makes it very difficult, if not impossible, to make your way to school. And it can be really hard to drag yourself out of bed when the alarm rings if you've worked late in the sweltering heat of a pizza shop, or stacking supermarket shelves, the night before.  

I know other students live between separated parents, one week at each house.  When you're working on major art projects, this can be a problem.  The camera their mother owns, which they use at her house, isn't able to be used the next week at their father's house.  The computer they save information on changes from week to week.  It's easy to leave a text book at a house you won't be in for another week, and by then the assessment task deadline may have passed.

One student I know has 2 blind, autistic brothers, one of them a large and violent 15 year old, and another brother on the ADHD spectrum.  The 4 children swap parent's houses each week.  Their parents are not on friendly terms and don't make this change easy - even after 8 years.  A teacher of this student spotted me chatting to her recently and asked if I knew anything about her as she hadn't been able to quite work out what made the student tick and why she was a little erratic.  When I outlined her circumstances the teacher was shocked, as the student had never even hinted at any kind of difficulty in her life.  I pointed out that this life was all the student had ever known.  It was her normal.  The student has no idea of how extraordinary she is.  This teacher, one of the many who are helpful and caring, is now supporting the student in subtle ways; keeping back up data on her computer, providing loan equipment, and a little extra unspoken understanding.

There are many students who cope with unseen extraordinary circumstances who never receive understanding or help, let alone the accolades they deserve.  Many of them don't want their circumstances known, for they don't want to draw attention to themselves, their only wish is to blend in, to be normal.

If these teenagers can finish their schooling and get to university, they will have achieved what many, many students with no difficulties to overcome at all, lack the will to do.  These teenagers are far from ordinary and have every chance of becoming extraordinary adults with much to offer our world.  Maybe they will merely succeed in becoming ordinary.  That in itself will be extraordinary.

Another brick in the wall

I've written about how inconvenient it can be that my teenagers talk to me.
Tonight Em wanted to talk and sat down and rattled on. I was a little distracted, as I was sending emails at the time, and Em chided me, saying she wanted me to listen properly. So listen I did as Em told me about quirks in her fellow students that Em finds annoying. After listening for 10 minutes or so, I commented that people like those Em was describing are always annoying to be around, and sometimes they remain annoying forever.

Em stopped me, saying she didn't want me to take this the wrong way, but she didn't always want me to comment.
"Oh, I'm just supposed to listen?"
"No, I'm not saying you can't comment!"
"But you'd prefer it if I didn't?"
"Well, yeah."
"So I'm just supposed to listen."
"Eeeergh!  You're not hearing what I'm saying!"   The sound of retreating footsteps as Em huffily went to bed accompanied this statement.

I don't think I can comply with Em's request. I am not going to be a brick wall. Really. I'm not. I reeeeeeaaaaaally try not to say very much when Em talks about her friends and people she finds difficult, but if it's going to be a conversation rather than Em talking at a brick wall, I eventually have to offer a little something.

I'm going to go and find a brick wall now.  I want to have a good long look at it to see what Em finds so appealing. 

Maybe I will be able to direct Em to it next time she wants a 'conversation'. 

Maybe I'll hit my head against it to see if it makes me feel less aggravated and more able to survive the teenage years.

Goodbye boy child, hello Davey of the jungle.

My Davey's voice has broken over the last few weeks.  It seems to have settled into new, deep tones now, with unexpected squeaks just a funny memory.  Davey's had to shave his top lip for the last 6 months or so - if he was fair haired, this wouldn't be necessary, but a black top lip on an otherwise soft and hair free face was just asking for ridicule!  His clothes have taken to being difficult to clean, because teenage sweat is so much more potent and so much more resistant to leaving shirts once it's embedded, and while I'd hoped I wouldn't be on the receiving end of attitude from Davey until he was 16, I'm on the first edges of it now he's 14.5 and his body clock is moving from childhood to puberty.

When my children were babies, toddlers, then children, I loved every stage and felt I'd like to freeze them at each new and delightful phase.  I do not feel the same way about the teenage attitude years - funny that, huh?  There's simply nothing to recommend it.  My sensitive boy who loves his Mum and is aware of others and their needs is evolving into a young man, and the process isn't easy on anyone - least of all him.

Em's attitude started just before 12, when um, physical development dictated she progress from childhood to the fun of puberty.  Now Em's moving close to 17, she's through the worst of it thank goodness.  I can't say I've enjoyed every moment of the 5 years it's taken to come through the attitude jungle.  There's been highlights, sure, but would I want her frozen in the tangle of angst she's waded through?  NO WAY!  Now, just as there's light through the canopy and sweeter smells in my laundry (girls are no easier than boys in this department!), my little boy is entering the other side.

I'm grateful to have only one teenager in the angst jungle at a time, and I'm grateful my husband insisted we stop at 2 children (especially since he up and died before they reached their teenage years), I'm grateful both Davey & Em have personalities I really like and am proud of, I am grateful I can watch movies with M rating with both teenagers now, but I am NOT grateful the jungle of angst exists and I sure as heck don't want to freeze my teenagers at this age!

I really liked receiving answers that were given in formed words and sentences rather than nuanced grunts, I really liked having my opinion valued and sought, I really liked having my morning hug in the kitchen greeted with a happy grin and a soft child's body which welcomed the embrace and softly leaned into me....ah well.  I best be off now.  I need to gather my inner resources so I have an even chance of surviving another few years of the angst jungle.

Hair freedom

My Em is conservative in many ways, very quirky in others.

Here's her latest hair style:

Davey doesn't like it much, but is polite enough not to say that to Em.  I pointed out to him that it's only half a mohawk.



See?  On the other side Em has hair covering her ear - though it is also undercut.

Em has been growing her hair for 6 months to be able to have this cut.  The debut of her new 'do was her friends' school formal (they have finished high school, Year 12 final exams and all), which they invited Em and her buddy J, who is also their buddy, to share in.

I love how my girl looks and that she has the self confidence to have styles that are a little different. 

Last year, when Em was dating Prince Charming, she wouldn't have had this style because Prince Charming pleaded with her not to be too radical.  Being a normal, conservative boy, he wanted Em to grow her hair long.  I was thrilled that Em stood her ground and had her hair cut anyway, though she made the concession of not being too radical.  Now the restrictions of Prince Charming are gone, Em enjoys her freedom of choice a little more.  I get the feeling that Em will compromise her preferences a whole lot less with any future boyfriend - and she remains quite steadfast in her enjoyment of being single.  (And with gorgeous buddy's like J who are willing to just hang out, I'm not really surprised!)

Finger clicking

Nothing does a better job of making me feeling inadequate than my teenagers. And I'm talking more than just inadequate here, I'm talking TOTALLY inadequate. It's not a feeling that's comfortable or enjoyable.

I've been feeling as though we're cruising along pretty well in family life. Em's working hard at school, Davey's doing enough to keep everybody happy and there's no tension in our house.

Then someone clicks fingers somewhere and everything's turned on its head.

Davey's showing signs of OCDness, grumbling at me for googling the wrong news item for his (late) assignment. (I provide a googling service, nothing else. The assignment's his issue not mine. Oh, and I hadn't googled the wrong news item, the details were just different to what he had been expecting.) Em's stressing over every half mark at school, has thrown a little tantrum at one of her teachers, having issues with programs she's involved with outside of school and telling me I have no business asking questions about them. To this last comment I pointed out that if I'm going to provide transport at such inconvenient times to such inconvenient places and I'm funding her involvement, then there's a certain amount of information and courtesy that should be extended my way!

I have the skills to captain the good ship Happiness.  But this leaky vessel that's being tossed on enormous waves of emotion with rocky reefs below?  Nah-ah. Beyond my ability. Not what I want to do. Bring back the calm seas and pleasant breezes, please.

Could whoever clicked their fingers to turn my life upside down, please click them again to return it to manageable chaos?  I'd be ever so grateful.

Blokey Sensibilities

My Davey's a lovely kid. He's aware of other people's needs, he's caring and considerate. He's funny, observant and switched on - even when he doesn't appear to be.

He's also as lazy as I'll allow him to be with household chores. Sometimes that's pretty lazy because time constraints and being too lazy to nag remind him, or think of consequences, I just do the chore and get on with life. (I'm sure you're all familiar with the equation: 20 minutes of nagging timely reminders versus 2 minutes, or less, to do the job yourself.) I also know that's not a good pattern, long term. One of Em's 17 year old school friends is a much loved and longed for only child to older parents. His Mum still packs his school bag for him every morning. Books, pencil case, lunch, extra money. Everything. If something's not in his bag that he needs, it's not his fault. That's not healthy at 17. It's made me realise that some of the things I do for Davey are not healthy at 14. (For the record, I haven't packed his school bag since, well, ever!)

I asked Davey to help vacuum the lounge room a few weeks ago and he kept avoiding it. Eventually he told me he'd rather do an outside job, not something so.... He didn't finish the sentence, but I heard what he was saying. He wanted a blokey job. He's beginning to feel that he wants to be treated as a young man. Now in this household that won't preclude vacuuming altogether (his Dad always vacuumed more than I did!), but if he wants to do some blokier jobs, that could be arranged. He was immediately given the job of washing the car (we have a station wagon and live on the side of a hill with an awkward driveway, so it's not an easy task), and he was satisfied. It also took him a lot longer to wash the car than it did for me to vacuum, so it was a good deal in my book.

The next thing I did was to ask my friend who was sort of regularly mowing our lawn to stop doing so. I felt this was a job Davey needed to have responsibility for. I know he'll hate it at times, and I'll hate having to nag remind him, but it will give him a sense of ownership of our yard and blokey feelings of satisfaction. Mind you, he'll feel a lot more satisfaction when he doesn't have to have Mum start the mower for him!

Often when I tell Davey I did a job for him because it needed to be done immediately and he wasn't around for one reason or another, he's cheekily responded with "I win!". This time I think it's me that's winning. I no longer have to wonder if I need to allow for lawn mowing in my weekend, as my friend may or may not turn up to mow the lawn during the week, because my friend won't be turning up. Davey will be doing it and building up his blokey sensibilities.

I win.  And Davey wins too - it probably just won't feel like it to him.

What to say?

When you're short and rounded and marry a man who's tall and skinny, you kinda hope your children will take after their father, not you. At least, that's how it's been for me.

For most of my life I've hovered just over the ideal weight range and only with hard work do I get below this. Sadly my Em is almost identical in size. She's not fat, but she isn't slim either. She's 'rounded'.

I was talking to a friend last night who had just been shopping with her 13 year old daughter, who is similarly neither fat nor slim, for this season's swimming costume. While our daughters can wear outfits that flatter their fit and healthy bodies, swimming costumes, well, they don't cover much do they? We got to talking about how difficult it is to tactfully tell our daughters that something that looks great on skinny girls, looks a little less fantastic on them.

How do you tell your daughter (who doesn't want to hear it) that the little denim short shorts that look great on skinny legs, only serve to highlight thighs that rub together? How do you tell your daughter that these oh, so popular shorts, also cause muffin top? Then there's the problem of buying appropriate tops. There's unflattering cuts, gaping necklines, lack of length...and on the problems go. All with attendant problem description difficulties for mothers who want their daughters to wear clothes that fit in with current trends and look better than disastrous.

AND we don't want to sap our girls of what little self esteem they may be hanging on to during these hormonal teenage years of angst. Nor do we want them to dive into the dark world of anorexia and bulimia in an attempt to gain fashionably acceptable bodies.

I haven't always succeeded in walking this tightrope tactfully. I haven't always succeeded in having Em wear clothes that don't look disastrous on her - thankfully, at 16, she has developed an awareness of what works for her figure and what doesn't. I have no solutions to offer for this parenting dilemma, I just wanted to acknowledge the problem exists for many of us.

I'm holding on to these. I hope they do too.

Some days parenting teens is hard work. Really. hard. work.

Some days I think I just can't do it. I feel sorry for myself that I have no-one to hand over the reins to. No-one to back me up. Not even grand parents. I just want to go to bed, pull the covers over my head and hibernate for 5 years or so.  I don't want to see another eye-roll or hear a bored, 'you're so last century' tone again for even longer than that.


Then I came across these photos on my camera and realized we have a lot of fun too.

I want to hang on to these moments, these memories.  I hope they're the memories my teens will have of their teen years when they're adults.  Not the grumpy mother moments.

And gentler moments like this.  (Em took this of Davey and me on our recent camping trip.  I'm still convinced I'm taller than Davey.  I am.  Really.  I am.)

We like our slow time - we're odd like that

This is Davey's distorted shadow as he unzips the entrance to the tent.

We're just back from a few days camping.

Camping for us usually means driving to one of the many National Parks in NSW and enjoy a few days of very basic living. Often the campsites we choose to go to have only very basic facilities. The site we camped at last week, in Yuraygir National Park, was no exception. Chopped wood was provided and pit toilets. And, ah, that was about it. Taking water no longer phases me though, as I've been able to work out how much we require and that's about 10 litres a day for the 3 of us.Way down this walking track in the heathland, you can just see Em.

I call myself a 2 night camping specialist. 2 nights is worth the effort of pitching the tent and setting up, and I can keep food cold right up until the end of the 3rd day. We aim to be set up before lunch on the first day and pack down after lunch on the 3rd day, and it always feels as though we've had much longer than 3 days away. Perhaps it's the total lack of technology that slows time down, perhaps it's paying attention to really simple tasks like boiling the billy for a cup of tea. Whatever it is, 3 days of camping refreshes us like nothing else.

It was just warm enough for us to enjoy the waves on our body boards, though Davey was pretty keen on sitting around the campfire to warm up afterwards. There's not much insulation on his streamlined body!
We sat around the campfire at night and marvelled at the incredible night sky that isn't visible in urban areas, and listened to the creatures of the night rustling in the inky black shadows that surrounded us.

Em had told me she hadn't learned much in Biology this year, however when we walked around a rocky headland, we found a totally different shoreline to the one we camped next to. This bay was just a big rock platform, filled with rockpools and marine creatures. Em sprouted all sorts of information and showed us how to find creatures I'd never noticed before. Even she chuckled when I commented that Biology hadn't been a total waste of time.


Oh, and just because we're 'roughing it' doesn't mean that Em's quirky fashion sense is left at home.  This was her nail treatment during camping.  The middle nail is painted entirely, while the other nails are french tipped in red.  Yup.  She's special!
On the drive home, Em commented that these signs are put in place to taunt Learner Drivers.  "They're telling me to go 85 when they know I'll lose my licence if I go over 80!"

I guess if I wanted it to be easier I should have bought a farm

Back in January Em passed a written test and gained her Learner Driver permit. Since then we've clocked up the requisite 120 hours of driving time with me as her supervisor, though we have to wait until she's 17, in January 2010, until she can sit the driving test. When Em attained her Learner's Permit I was worried we wouldn't be able to clock the hours up within the 12 month time frame. Every family we knew who had teenagers who had gone through this before us told us how difficult they had found logging the hours. The 120 hour requirement has only been in force for the last 2 years, prior to that the requirement had been 50 hours and many families told me they struggled to meet that requirement.

I decided that Em would drive at every opportunity - if she was to be in the car she would be the driver, and that strategy has worked for us. With 3 months to go before Em sits her test she's driving well. In our automatic station wagon. If Em is ever to learn to drive a manual car, now is the time. So, I've taken the plunge and bought a cheap 21 year old car for her to learn in. This same little car I'm hoping will grant me some freedom from family driving duties next year.  Em will be able to drive herself and Davey places.  If I stick to just 1 car I'll still have to do all the driving in order to have us all in the right place at the right time.  A second car to go with the second driver will give me a reprieve which I'm more than ready for.

This isn't the car I bought for Em, but it's the same model.  Em's car is faded lime green and doesn't have roof racks. 

It's all style, no?  Well, it's Em's style.  Em would really prefer  something a bit quirkier, but she's happy to not have a bubble car.  A lime green box is much more to her liking.

Anyway, a whole new aspect of driver instruction has begun.  Oh. My.

I grew up on a farm and drove tractors before I went to school.  I don't remember not knowing how to drive a manual transmission.  That's the easy way to learn.  Em's learning the normal way.  I think the gear box on the little Lime Splice (it's a type of ice cream sold in Australia and what Em's named the car), will survive this new learning process, but it's sure getting a work out!   We're on school holidays here at the moment, so I figure a week or so of driving in the industrial areas after businesses have closed for the day will do it.  Then I'll be able to stop gripping the edge of my seat so tightly while I endeavour to keep a calm tone in my voice and relaxed body posture.

There's always another challenge to face in parenting isn't there?