Posted by Catherine the redhead blogger on Jan 12, 2009 in
Gratefulness
It’s Sunday evening and the smell of teenagers have left the house. The dog is contentedly sleeping, dreaming of the day she spent with her pack of smelly teenage boys. The cat has come out of hiding, relieved that all that noise in her kingdom has subsided and those smelly big people left, except for the one she loves. He just showered and is fast asleep.
The once full refrigerator contains condiments and eggs, and possibly a drop of milk. The cupboards are bare of cookies and snacks. The quiet hum of the heater sings softly in the background. The dog gives out a sigh. The video games are off; the computer is dim. Another weekend has passed in a growing teenage boy’s life.
I wait for the sound of yet another “D UUUU D E!” followed by laughter filling the rooms of our tiny home, but my other sons, those teenage friends of Brian’s have all gone back to where they belong. No more “Thank you Brian’s mom”, or “Can I please have more?” as they try not to knock me down with their gangly teenage bodies. Once in a while they include me in their conversations – usually to win a point against another – then back into argument and laughter with each other.
Somehow they always seem to arrange their return home plans to enjoy one last dinner before leaving. The baked chicken looks as if wild vultures picked it dry to the point where even the dog isn’t interested. But then, she had the pleasure of playing vacuum cleaner around the boy’s feet all weekend. There are no more mashed potatoes and even the vegetables fell victim to teenage -always-empty stomachs.
There’s leaves on the couch and dirt on the carpet, soda rings on the coffee table and an empty toilet paper ring on the dispenser. The white soap next to the sink is brown and the hand towels next to the sink look like the soap should still be white. There’s a Nerf bullet in the refrigerator and a toothbrush in the shower. A line of play samurai swords line the hallway towards the front door. A basketball sits on the porch and a baseball glove rests contentedly on my microwave.
A mother’s slice of heaven.
Until next time-
C
http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com
Tags: erma bombeck, mom bloggers, mom blogs, parenting blogs, Parenting humor, the next erma bombeck
Posted by Catherine, the redhead mom blogger on Jan 9, 2009 in
Brian and Mom
It’s amazing when you put a video game in front of a teenage boy, they can jump, bend, lift and move all over the place for hours on end.
But ask that same kid to empty the dishwasher and *poof* they’re exhausted.
I think we should make a Wii inside the dishwasher so the dishes get done; a Wii inside the garbage can so the garbage gets taken out; a Wii out of the pet food bowls so that they don’t die of starvation and dehydration; a Wii for picking up underwear and socks; a Wii for wet towels and a Wii for making the bed…
You see where I am going with this.
But at least now I have something to hold over his head.
A mother should always have this.
Until next time-
C
http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com
Tags: Parenting humor
Posted by Catherine, the redhead mom blogger on Jan 4, 2009 in
Parenting Drama
When Livvy, the English Courtesan asks me for more posts about Brian, I definitely stop what I am doing and oblige. She refers so many readers from her blog to mine. She has been wonderful to me as a blogger. I will always post for her and for Bob. So Livvy, this post is for you -
Many things happened over the holiday season. It went by so fast I am still not sure if it really happened at all. Our tree is already down, the lights are packed away and all the gifts that didn’t work (or fit) have been returned.
The highlight of my holiday season was Brian’s very first dance. It was his Christmas dance.
To my own bewilderment I seemed to want to project my childhood on my son:
“Brian, are you sure you want to go?”
(sigh) “Y E S Mom.”
“OK, because if you think you don’t want to -”
“MOM! I want to go, ok?!”
I feel fortunate that the boys want to get ready for the dance in our home. Alex chose to come over and get ready with Brian. Terry (Brian’s dad) irons ties, shirts and reminds them to wear deodorant. It must be a guy thing.
No white socks. No tennis shoes. Was someone paying these boys money? Is there a free video game involved?
The fact that they brushed their teeth and placed breath mints in their pockets (on their own) made me want to pass out. Who are these young men and what have you done with my son and his best friend?
To my greater shock: both were excited.
I am still reveling in the fact that they let me take photos. They even stood still.
My ex husband was the chauffeur and I rode shotgun. The dance was being held at a hall about 5 blocks from our home. It was a short trip. The boys laugh and shove each other in the back seat the entire way. I am nervous for them.
I worry Brian is not going to have fun, so I slip him my cell, and tell him to call me if he isn’t having fun. It is at this point he looks at me like I am an alien. I realize at this moment he might like girls more than he’s been telling me.
DUH MOM.
I’m still impressed that the boys let my ex and I come into the dance and take a photo.
Yes – there were other neurotic adult moms parents there with cameras too … so bite me.
The girls look beautiful and the boys: handsome. Are you sure these are the same teenagers I see walking to school in sweats, baggy pants and get- out-of-my-face t-shits with Ipod ear buds hanging from their ears?
All the mothers of boys look lost. All the fathers of girls look ill.
Do our children really have to grow up now?
As Brian’s dad and I leave to go find something to do for the three hours before we return to pick up Brian, I manage to witness Brian’s transformation to adulthood, or the disappearance of his childhood. In the distance I notice him approach a pretty girl in a gown that happens to be his favorite color: green. Yeah, I am sure it was the color that attracted him [insert redhead mother's roll of eyes here]. He seems to ask her to dance, she seems to agree and they walk out on the dance floor. No, I did not start to cry. I think I was struck dumb.
I did sneak a photo.
No he didn’t see me.
Thank God.
He is dancing!
Does this mean he isn’t suffering?
Is he having fun?
My ex husband grabs my elbow in that you-may-be-my-ex-wife-but-I-can-still-save-our-son-from-his-mother-before-he-is-mortified pull and moves me out of the hall. Oddly, I don’t kill him. We go out for coffee, which feels strange on so many levels. I have the weirdest divorce of anyone I know. I’m sure Brian will blame us for any relationship quirks that show up when he is an adult. I can hear his excuses for not committing now.
It feels like three days instead of three hours before we are able to go back to pick up Brian from the dance. We never do get the “I am hating this, please come get me” phone call. I don’t know whether to be relieved or distressed. My ex and I walk to the corner of the hall where we said we’d meet Brian at the end of the dance. I strain my eyes and stand on my tip toes trying to find him in the blur of dancing bodies. Everyone is dancing. In the distance I catch a glimpse of what looks like Brian’s head. I birthed that bowling ball so I sure can spot it in a crowded room.
Just at that moment the crowd seems to thin and I get a clear view of my son. A girl is leaning on his shoulder and they are deep in conversation with other kids. It appears as if Brian is turning our way and my ex and I say in unison, “Turn away, don’t let him see you looking!” In a flash we are both staring at a blank wall.
A tap to my shoulder turns me around. It is Brian, “OK Mom I’m tired and the dance is over. I want to go home. Oh, and I’m hungry too. Can we get something to eat?” With that I have my old son back and we leave the dance.
Pulling good teeth out, with a feather, on a wild cat is easier than getting a teenage boy to talk about a night out. But finally, about three days later, he did say, “It was great. I had the best time of my life.”
I already guessed that. He kept humming his way around the house. He’s not usually a hummer.
Luckily no phone numbers were exchanged, so I got to dodge that bullet, for now.
This teenage stuff is stressful for us parents. I need a support group!
Happy New Year. I wish the very best for all of you in 2009.
Until next time-
C
http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com
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