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There Is No Such Thing As The Perfect Child

When the universe bestowed upon me a super-kind boy, I worried other kids might be inclined to take advantage of his gentle nature – with any future daughter-in-law making me so crazy in her treatment of his kindnesses with negative diatribes, I would have to spend my golden years living in Europe so I wouldn’t be forced to kill her.

These felt like real concerns – after all, redhead is in my gene pool of crazy.

That is until Testosterone came to live with me and my son Brian . . . in our very tiny home.

Before Testosterone showed up on the doorstep, carrying bags of angst, soda, arguments and chips, Brian and me had this sweet mother-son relationship, where I would ask him to do something, and by God and miracles, he would get right up and do it.  It was such a lovely life of me ordering Brian around like a parent, and Brian responding like the coolest, best kid ever,  by actually listening and doing what I ordered.

It was a great life.

Almost blissful.

Other parents envied me, as they half-mockingly said things like, “Wow, Brian is such a sweet boy.  You are so lucky.”


You call it luck?

I’d half-smile and think, why that is just great parenting on my part thank you very much.  I mean, I might have slept with men no better than a termite, but I sure do know how to raise a perfectly, great kid – thank you – thank you – please leave all gifts of admiration at my doorstep.  I’ll be here 18 years.  If you have any questions, just ask.  Thank you. Thank you.

It’s amazing how pride over your perfect children can regurgitate like projectile vomit when kids reach their teenage years, college years or their divorcing years.  Because you see, there are no perfect kids, and if you are foolish enough to think that you have raised some, then you just haven’t seen the photographic evidence of the time they tried marijuana,  had unprotected sex, vomited in strange night club toilets and lied to get what they wanted.

Yes – they did.

In my case the shift from perfect boy to teenager happened when Testosterone inquired about moving in and hanging with my son.  He promised to help my son grow taller, deepen his voice, get more than 3 hairs under his armpits, and have him showering twice a day so that he always looks good.

It sounded great to me.

I mean, why not?

Other (lesser) parents have lived with Testosterone and survived.

This is me here.  Catherine the great.  I am, after all Irish, and we come from a long lineage of women who successfully used guilt and God to get what we wanted.

Testosterone – bring it on!

However, Testosterone didn’t bother to mention the war movies he’d bring, the football gear on the floor, the war and football video games he’d buy or the sudden shift in Brian’s attitude to resemble San Diego linebacker Shawne Merriman – when Merriman is on the field.

Nor did he mention the fact that the television in our house would permanently bounce from Comedy Central to ESPN, and if I dare mention Lifetime for women, my son and his new best friend Testosterone will look at me like I have just asked them to dawn hot pink shirts with matching pink tennis shoes, and attend a three hour church service with grandma, followed by tea served on fine china and small talk of embroidery.

Excuse me but the last time I looked I am still writing all the checks here.


If you don’t hear anything here –  this would be the sound of  a teenager tuning you out.  Testosterone teaches this too.  I hear Estrogen can do the same with girls – combined with a lot of door slamming – but since I was blessed by the Gods and Irish good fortune not to be raising terrorists teenage girls, I can’t answer for Estrogen.

Well maybe the menopause version, but I hear it’s waaaaaaay milder than the teenage-girl version.

Where was I?

Oh yeah – Testosterone has also taught my former perfectly sweet son to say things like –



“NO – WHY?”


“I almost hit him.”

“I shoved him.”


“Holy hell!”

“What the hell?”

“I creamed him when I tackled him.  It was great.”



“Not now.”


If I put on 6 inch heels I can stand taller than his 15 year old self and yell down at him, but I have to do this near a wall for support, because the last time I wore a decent high heel was when I actually thought dating was important and the idea of cleaning up after another man was worth the sex.

I have recovered from those delusional thoughts thank you.

Testosterone has also taught Brian how to interrupt me mid-sentence, because he is convinced what I am telling him has no merit in this decade due to the fact that it is coming from someone born before 1995, and God-forbid we ancient folk might know what we are talking about, since they think anyone over the age of 30 was friends with Abraham Lincoln.

These are the times I am quite sure smoke blows out my ears and nose while one foot scrapes the ground.

It doesn’t seem to deter him.

Wise parents who have experience with Testosterone tell me they settle down in about a year.

A Y E A R?

Well . . . one solace is that every time they make me mad enough to blow smoke, Testosterone and my son are forced to to the  dishes – or vacuum – or fold the laundry.

Or I make them walk to the store and back for milk and butter

At this rate I could end up with the cleanest home in the history of California.

Or 32 gallons of milk.

And 40 pounds of butter.

Well, I suppose it could be worse. I could be raising a teenage girl too.

Did you hear that?

It was me – screaming at the thought of it.

Until next time –



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About Catherine, the redhead mom blogger

Catherine’s hopes to make this blog a safe place for thyroid sufferers to come laugh and share the funnier side of thyroid disease while raising awareness around the world. She is a published author, known for her humorous speeches on finding your dream life and blogging for fun and profit. Catherine writes about her dream life at, 8 Women Dream and several online marketing publications. She would also like to be invited to speak at TED about her observations. Catherine posts on M/W/F. Join me on Google+ rapieress@aol.com

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11 Responses to There Is No Such Thing As The Perfect Child

  1. BobG June 29, 2010 at 1:25 pm #

    “Stress is when you wake up screaming and you realize you haven’t fallen asleep yet”.

  2. Catherine, the redhead mom blogger June 29, 2010 at 1:42 pm #

    LOL Bob!

  3. Remy G June 29, 2010 at 3:42 pm #

    You are hysterical! Testosterone came for a visit last year and is just now deciding to take over. Long showers, whispering phone calls at midnight, rugby gear and mud, having dinner just to clean up in time to make the back up snack…4 inch heels wouldn’t make it…he’s already 6 feet tall. I ask him to sit in a chair if I have to have a talk!

    If he gets smart alecy – if that is a word…I simply say I’m sorry, did you wanna say that differently? Usually gets a better result.

    But I see gallons of milk in my future.

    Thank you for being a calming voice in this crazy sea of teenagerworld.


  4. Catherine June 29, 2010 at 4:13 pm #

    Oh yes, I forgot that Testosterone likes to stay at your house too. There is no Rugby in my house – that fight I won. It was an either Rugby or football argument and football won, but who knows how the future will be once Rugby makes the summer Olympics.

    I told him he couldn’t play Rugby until his brain was fully developed at 25. He gave me that, yeah right look, but I win as long as it’s my house he’s living under.

    This is that sleeping-with-and-marrying-then-having-children-with-and-divorcing-an-ex-rugby-playing football-jock-coming-back-to-bite-my-ass mom thing.

    I hope he grows up to marry a redhead.

  5. Kim Aikawa June 29, 2010 at 6:21 pm #


    I had the most perfect daughter before puberty:)

    It’s always a shock when your child realizes that you aren’t God and they don’t have to listen to you. Even more of a shock when they start lying to your face.

    Hopefully they’ll mellow out soon!!

    I’m just scared when Bridget gets there…

  6. Catherine, the redhead mom blogger June 29, 2010 at 7:06 pm #

    lol hi Kim. You still do have a cute daughter – she’s just trapped somewhere else right now in the land of hormones and being the oldest. She has great parents and a wonderful mother – and I think she will acknowledge this before her 2nd year of college – maybe even by the end of her senior year … we both know how quickly that time can pass. Thanks for your comment – hugs, Cath

  7. John July 4, 2010 at 11:50 am #

    Hey everyone, wish the redhead Happy Birthday today!

  8. Heather July 6, 2010 at 8:05 am #

    Ahhh…. the smell of testosterone in the morning. Jake is really good at cleaning… and now I know how to help him work off some of that pissy energy! Thanks!

  9. Catherine, the redhead mom blogger July 6, 2010 at 1:39 pm #

    Hi John – I thought you forgot. Every year I wait to see where my birthday wishes from you will arrive. My July 4th post was late due to enjoying myself. Gosh, just think – I was practically a baby when we were dating 😉 Thanks for always remembering – Cath

  10. Catherine, the redhead mom blogger July 6, 2010 at 1:40 pm #

    LOL yeah the smell. I think Brian and Jake should wash the outside of your house this summer . . .


  1. Tweets that mention There Is No Such Thing As The Perfect Child | A Week In the Life of A Redhead -- Topsy.com - June 29, 2010

    […] This post was mentioned on Twitter by ForwardMotionStudios, 8womendream, Terry Cox, SquirrelTV, Catherine H. and others. Catherine H. said: There Is No Such Thing As The Perfect Child http://aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com/there-is-no-such-thing-as-the-perfect-child by humor mom […]

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