Danger Will Robinson!!!

Dude, today was a day.

Like the kind of day where you truly want to jump in the car and drive away. Like want to cry and scream and laugh while running away. That kind of day.

I should have known when I missed my alarm, after getting the ice delay call, that it was gonna be that kind of day. What I should have done was crawled back into bed and hid under the covers. It’s what I would have done had I known what was coming next.

Our teenager, bless her heart, started the day in tears. I’m talking can’t get intelligible words out, face contorted, loud sobbing tears. My sweet girl had all the emotions and then some this morning. Why? She misses her best friend. Sigh. She misses the person she’s seen almost everyday for the last three years. Her other half to the crazy show. Her person. I get that. I do.

After an hour of calming, coaxing, reasoning, rationalizing, reassuring, and all the other things I do as mom, I gave up. I quit. I’m not proud because I don’t give up or give in. But, today I did. I didn’t have it in me to badger her into clothes and drive her sobbing into school. Day two was a no go.

My frustration peaked. I called reinforcements. And wanted to strangle him and his calm voice through the phone. lol. Tears of frustration burned my eyes. Feelings of failure clogged my throat. I’m mom. I fix the things. I help. I heal the hurts. But, today I couldn’t do any of those things.

Before we made this transition, I knew things were going to be challenging. I’d have been an idiot to think otherwise. And the planning me, created plots and scenarios in preparation for it. And I still couldn’t get my daughter off to school on her second day.

Life has an uncanny way of testing us. Of pulling at us in ways we never imagined. Did I imagine a cross-country move during the freshman year of our last kid at home? Nope. Definitely did not. It’s how we deal with those tests that defines us. Frustration, tears, sadness don’t make us less. But wallowing in them makes us miserable.

So, after I swiped my own frustrated tears away, I told my daughter I’d back off, emailed the school, and moved on with my day. This is just one day. One piece in this wild new puzzle we are putting together. Hopefully, with more hugs, snuggles, and sleep, tomorrow will be a better day.

Day four was rough

I am so blessed…

I didn’t do the whole thirty days of thankful thing this year. Life’s been a little nutty. I’ve barely seen my adult kids. My teenager goes through all of the moods and emotions daily. Sometimes twice in the same day.

Our house has been on the market for a couple of weeks now. Had a handful of showings followed by a handful of insultingly ridiculous offers. I mean who seriously thinks someone is going to kick $60,000 off a home that’s been on the market four days??? Ludicrous I tell you. But, the longer it stays on the market, the longer I must live in a show ready house. It’s a touch difficult to do with a teenager who refuses to understand the function of a hamper or the mechanics of making a bed.

Managed to get smacked in the face with a head cold after Thanksgiving. That’s fun. You never know how much mucus the human body can produce until you find yourself constantly expelling heaps of it from your own nose. I sound like a cross between Joanie Mitchell and Minnie Mouse trying to rehearse the songs for Sundays worship set. That oughta be interesting.

My book project, my story, the one I’ve been anxious and excited to finally own, has been tabled indefinitely. Between the constraints on my time, random house showings, and the other things circling my life, I haven’t had the time or mental fortitude to tackle it. I’m trying to give myself grace but some days I snatch it back and berate myself for not being able to manipulate time to my will and want.

Still haven’t spoken to my wayward child. It’s been almost six months since I’ve physically laid eyes on him, wrapped my arms around him, heard his voice. Seeing a picture of him having Thanksgiving dinner forty minutes from me, so close, without so much as a text, was a knife to the heart.

Yet, even with the insanity of selling the house, packing our things, wrangling teenage emotions, worrying over wayward children, being sick, and still trying to hold the world together, I can’t help but feel blessed. No, I don’t need a sanity check. It’s long gone. LOL.

I’m blessed to have a beautiful house that will host family this weekend for our combined Thanksgiving Christmas (Thanks Christmas) celebration. This house has seen such joy and I can’t help but be happy. I have children who don’t avoid me like a dead carcass in the sidewalk. Each one anxious for a mom’s hug and fresh baked cookies. And nothing like grand baby snuggles to make me giddy with anticipation. I do work with amazing people, and making their lives easier makes me happy.

Yep. My life is chaos. Organized chaos but definitely chaos. I’m tucked into a holding pattern as we wait to shift into something new. I’m juggling the whirring chain saws life is tossing my way with a smile. Because when I really look at it all, I’m truly blessed beyond measure.

He takes care of things…

He loves her.

Have you ever heard that Kelly Clarkson song, Piece By Piece? If not, take four minutes to find and listen to it. Song hits me right in the feels every time.

I didn’t really know my dad growing up. He wasn’t around until I was 17 and it took many, many, many years before we managed to cultivate the relationship that we have now. I was blessed enough to get a stand in when I was 16. My mom met a pretty great guy who has looked at me like I was his own for the last 24 years. But, he had his own kids and drama to deal with and I’d lived through hell already through my formative years. So, I didn’t get all of those sweet memories that a girl needs with her dad.

If you had your dad and he was awesome, you know those moments I’m talking about. Daddy daughter dances. Cuddles and movies. Sweet conversations and giggles. Bedtime stories. A cheerleader. Time together. Things I didn’t get to experience for myself. And something I want desperately for my daughters.

Well, the oldest got it and with one daughter left at home, the love continues. Tonight my awesome hubby took our sweet teen out to dinner. A little one-on-one daddy and daughter time. My heart melts a little more every time I see these two together. He loves on her the way I wished I had been loved on.

My childhood was….hard. I didn’t have that sweet and unconditional love from a dad. I didn’t have someone show we what to expect from men in my life, so I accepted whatever I got. I tolerated a lot. Made myself smaller. Changed to fit. Took the treatment handed to me because I didn’t understand that I deserved more.

Please make no mistake; I do not expect royal treatment. I don’t demand to be treated like a Queen. It took years before I understood what I deserved was respect, time, communication, commitment and attention. My husband is phenomenal at giving me those things. And now, he’s making it a point to show our youngest what to expect from men in her life.

You see, I want my daughters to expect the young men in their lives to treat them well. To come to the door to get them. Bring them flowers. Listen and pay attention to them. To spent time with them. To treat them well. And my husband wants the same thing.

Recently, after some conversation and more than a few deep sighs, we realized that boys will eventually begin vying for the attention of our beautiful little girl. With that, we wanted to make sure that she gets a first hand experience of how she deserves to be treated. She sees the way her dad loves me. Even when she rolls her eyes at us kissing, she understands there is a deep love and respect between us.

So, we decided to incorporate one-on-one dinners for them at least once a month into our lives. It gives her the opportunity to feel special and really see how she should be treated as she matures. Her dad opens doors for her and focuses his attention on her. He made plans and kept his word. And they both came home happy. It doesn’t hurt that I got dinner brought home either.

All I’ve ever wanted was for my kids to have better than I did. Childhoods free from the struggles I had as a kid. Lives filled with love and happiness. And unwavering knowledge that they are loved without question.

Two of my favorite humans

It ain’t easy…

Being mom….

Well, the current teenager in residence hates me. I’m honestly too mad to feel it but I know later it’ll hit me. Why, you might ask, do I say she hates me? Because I took her phone away.

Shock! Awe! Dismay! GASP!!! I know, right. Now, she’s in rebellious teenager mode blasting music from her TV and probably thinking of ways to get away from me. I’m numb to it. At least for now.

For now, I have a headache and my blood pressure is probably teetering dangerously close to the danger zone. And not the one Tom Cruise soars through with ease. I’m toying with the idea of not cooking dinner – Hamburger Helper -her favorite by the way. And the wine in my fridge is looking very tempting. Sweet Cheese-its it’s only Monday. I’m in trouble.

Later though, after I’ve cooked dinner – because I even feed people who are ticked off at me- and I’ve cleaned up the water from her shower, it will hit me. It always does. My momma friends out there know what I’m talking about. Those feelings.

Those feelings that scream how you’re the worst mom ever. The ones that say how dare you upset your sweet child. The ones that make you question why God would give you such beautiful little humans to care for and all you want to do is knock them upside the head with a Bible. You know, those feelings. Sometimes they come with tears. Other times depression that leads to copious amounts of refined sugar. The ones that linger no matter how many times your husband assures you that you really are a great mom.

We teach our kids all about consequences of their actions. Break the rules and there’s gonna be trouble. Toss attitude and more trouble follows. Pretty standard stuff. Yet, she’s mad and bewildered when I take her phone because her teacher emailed me about her having it out in class. Color me confused because my rule is it belongs in your locker during the school day. Riddle me this Batman- if it’s supposed to be in your locker, how’d you get busted by the teacher in class? Inquiring minds wanna know….

Yup. Bad mom of the year right here folks. And, why not toss the wayward brother in moms face while we are at it. It’s my fault, after all, that he had an influence on her because I encouraged them to get along. Please pardon me for wanting good sibling relationships. Whatever was I thinking. Let’s not forget my hovering about assignments and grades are the reason he couldn’t stand being here. Yes, let’s rub that into the paper cuts as well.

If people ever wonder why parents of teens threaten to run away, it’s this right here. Because right now I want to be like a Lenny Kravitz song and run away. Y’all, she tested every ounce of patience and restraint this afternoon. I didn’t yell, but I let her know I wasn’t one of her little friends. I did let loose the look that makes grown men cower backing her up a step or two.

Somewhere along the road of this parenting journey, something got lost or I went left instead of right. Disdain and attitude are not things I expect to see from my children. But I did today. Disrespect and indifference are not replies I expect to receive. But I did today. I don’t know where I made a wrong turn. And I’m paying for it.

So, even though my head hurts and my chest aches, I’m going to go make dinner because that’s what I do. To all my other moms of teenagers, may the odds be ever in your favor.

Can I be done…

Here we go….

Again!!!

Well, the time has arrived. The last child of the Chaos Crew is preparing for that journey into high school. Y’all I don’t know if I’m ready for it.

We’ve been down this road before. Kids hitting that second semester of eighth grade and suddenly the talks of high school schedules begin. Before we know it, we have informational flyer about classes and clubs all over the dining room table. Conversations center around what’s the best foreign language class and should they take honors anything. We start weighing the different history classes and trying to shuffle in a little bit of fun as well.

And this last one, she’s not like the others. She’s social. She enjoys people and doing things and being a part of things. Everything to be really honest. She’s a theater kid and sings in choir. She loves art but enjoys reading. History isn’t her favorite and she likes writing. So, the decisions are scattered and ever-changing.

As we sit and discuss the pros and cons of AP Human Geography and which math class she’ll be in, my momma heart aches a little bit. She’s the final one. The baby of this ridiculously crazy bunch. She’ll be the one that does all the things. I can already see the giggling gaggle of girls trying on dress after dress for dances. The color coded schedule I’ll need to keep up with her classes and clubs and sports. The text messages letting me know she’ll be done with this rehearsal or that group meeting at some random time.

Being a mom is awesome. And terrifying. And rewarding. I love the title mom. If I do nothing else, I can say I was mom to five truly cool kids. But, it doesn’t stop the ache that comes as I watch them grow into the world. The 18 years a parent gets to help guide them doesn’t seem long enough. I consider myself one of those truly lucky mommas whose older kids still come home for help, hugs, and hot meals.

Mentally, I’m working on toughening up and being ready for that final kiddos walk across the stage. I know it’ll be here before I know it. But, my momma heart may take a little longer to fully be ready for the baby of the bunch to fly off into the sunset.

Here we go again….

How can you mend….

A broken heart 💔

Y’all, my momma heart is aching. Tiny pin-pricks of hurt ribboning through my oversized heart all weekend. When people tell you there’s no heartbreak like the ones your children create, believe it.

My high school senior had homecoming this weekend. After being denied the excitement of high school events for the past three school years, I was giddy with excitement at the prospect of senior events. My momma heart bloomed at the thought of homecoming, senior pictures, graduation meetings and prom! Oh prom!!

Now, while my high schooler has not adopted my keen ability to plan ahead, despite my best efforts, he knows he’s gotta have a plan if he wants to do something. Don’t come to me without a complete plan including how you are getting there and back, who you are going with, and if you need money. The answer will be no. Failure to plan is a plan to fail; and not my fault.

In sidles my high schooler, Thursday night, grinning and calling me his favorite person. He’s as transparent as glass. I know he’s up to something. Laying on the sugar in inch thick layers, he eventually asks for funds to attend the homecoming football festivities. My momma heart skipped happily because he actually wanted to go! Of course I said yes!

Then he hits me in the mom feels and asks if he can go to the homecoming dance. A dance!!!! I had to put on my cool-mom face and tell him he’s gotta talk to dad about that one. Meanwhile, I’m dancing on the inside. I couldn’t wait to tell the hubby we were finally going to get to do high school parent stuff! A dance with dressy clothes and pictures and all the things!!!

This kid waited until two hours before the dance to approach his dad about going to the dance. His plan included skateboarding to a buddies house, picking up his date, having dinner, then going to the dance. Wait! Hold up! Did I miss something here? Where are the obligatory pictures? The gushy mom noises I’m supposed to make? Where is the part where I get to be teary-eyed as I watch him pose with a cute girl then ride off laughing with friends?

I got nothing. No pictures. No gushy mom noises. No teary-eyed send off. I didn’t even get the promised cell phone pic at the friends house. I feel cheated. Disgruntled. But mostly, I’m hurt. All up in my feelings. And my happy reactions at the rolling feed of friends kids all dressed up and off to the dance are colored slightly by my own sadness.

My hubby, man I love tremendously, pointed out the fact his lack of picture hurt my heart. True to form, my kid shrugged and brushed me off. Sigh. Heartbreak stinks when it comes from the humans you grew from scratch. It’ll take a few days but I’ll eventually get over it. For the rest of the year, perhaps I’ll expect disappointment and I won’t be disappointed.

No pictures for mom……

Loving Your Child….

Who lies!!

Check out this months iMom article sharing our struggles with the high schooler!

https://www.imom.com/loving-your-child-who-lies/

I’m friends with the monster…

Inside of my head!

I love social media. Sometimes. I love watching former students grow into awesome young adults. I love seeing their academic accomplishments. Watch them get their drivers permits and licenses. Seeing them compete in sports and excel. It makes my preschool teacher heart shout when I know I had a tiny part in the success of a child’s life. I firmly believe preschool is the foundation academic excellence is formed on. Fight me on it😎

And yet, as I watch former students become honor society inductees, learn to drive, hold down jobs, letter in sports, and dress to the nines for prom, a small part of my heart weeps. It’s a little corner that hides behind the joy. It’s shady and enjoys poking holes in my joy for others. It’s a green and it’s well-placed barbs hit me where it hurts.

I’m generally not a jealous person. I truly enjoy watching the joy in the lives of others. But, when I feel like I should be joining in on sharing those same milestones yet am not, that little green monsters starts poking at me with her sharp sticks. It’s in those moments that it gets hard to type well wishes and congrats on those joyous social media posts.

When the current teenager of the house hit freshman year, I was excited. I prepared myself for hectic basketball seasons, drivers lessons, Friday nights football games, and loads of friends in and out of my fridge. I was eagerly anticipating our color-coded family calendar being full, juggling schedules and sporting my school pride. Somewhere in there, a sharp left turn happened. And I’m left holding a bag of expectations wearing a sad expression.

Some days I feel like the kid who’s mom promised her chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and was handed a cheese stick instead. What I was hoping for when the kid hit high school is very different from the reality. I sit and wonder, were my expectations of his high school life too high? Perhaps. Maybe I should employ the philosophy MJ uses in the new Spider-Man movie—“If you expect disappointment, you can never truly be disappointed.”

It makes me sad for my kid that he isn’t taking high school by the horns and doing the things. No Friday night lights with friends and pizza afterward. No cheering teammates on from the sidelines itching to get into the game. No cheesy drivers license picture. No fun prom pictures to look back on. Nothing.

We tell our teen constantly we can’t want it for you. We can’t want his future for him. We want him to do the work. We want him to want to play ball, learn to drive, go to school events, graduate high school. We want him to want a life that leads to the bright future we always hoped he’s have.

Being his mom is frustrating at times. God knows I love him with every fiber of my being. But, doggone if parenting him isn’t the most frustrating practice in juggling patience, persistence, and tough love. I’d rather juggle flaming swords blindfolded at this point. As he draws to the close of his junior year, with four summer school classes to look forward to, I can only hope his final chapter, senior year, will be better. Because, at this rate, his graduation cake won’t say “congratulations” it’ll simply read “you’re done”. And that is a sad thought.

Are we done yet?

Will the real Cam….

Please stand up!

Parenting has been rough lately. The child I thought would be easy to guide is giving us a run for every dollar. I should have known when he was smooth sailing in elementary school there’d be trouble ahead.

The high schooler has been busted for many things lately. We’ve had to turn our home into a tiny fortress. Not to keep the riff raff out, but to keep him from doing something crazy. Imagine waking up to find a window on the front of your house open to who knows what and your 17-year-old not in bed where you left him. Yeah? Everything you just thought, we thought and then some.

We take his cell phone because of sheer irresponsibility and crude content. Breaking all of our rules and guides regarding how you speak to others and content watched and shared is clear grounds for privileges revoked. What does he do? He goes and somehow gets a new one behind our backs. For someone who has no car, no job, no money, it was quite an amazing feat. He managed it. and I don’t buy his story of how he did it for a minute. Sigh.

We allow limited forays out with friends to keep him from feeling stifled. Heaven knows I don’t want my children to view me as a warden or drill instructor. Despite that I’m told, I know exactly what happens when he leaves this house. The lies are waist deep. Y’all, when I say I sit with my hands in my head every day, believe that is actual truth. My kid has too many faces to keep up with. And he juggles them with moderate efficiency.

When others reach out and say my child, the human I grew from scratch, says horrible things about me it tears me up. It hurts a hundred times worse when he smiles in my face, kisses my cheek, and says he loves me. I can take a lot, but such two-faced behavior from my own child is a twin-edged blade in the heart.

To heap mortal wounds atop near fatal injury, he’s been telling people how he dislikes his dad. His dad. The man who chose to love him, take care of him, give him his name and all the protection that implies. I can’t for the life of me begin to understand why he’d speak that way about someone who didn’t have to love and care for him but chose to do so. Watching the hubby’s heart break over callous words caused a deeply sleepless night.

Every mom instinct is screaming inside me. Daily. I have so many questions and never get any answers. Why seems to be the biggest one? Why would he lie about me then smile in my face? Why does he walk around telling people he dislikes his dad, calling him his stepdad? Why can’t he be honest with us?

Every day I keep going back to the story of the prodigal son. He left home, squandered his life, and lost everything. I wonder if that is what we are facing. Is my son going to take everything and leave, thinking the world has better to offer? Is he going to turn his back on what he’s been taught about love and faith? Will the world chew him up and spit him out? Is there nothing I can do to help him see the dangerous path he’s choosing?

My husband keeps reminding me that we will at some point have to let him go and live his own life. The very thought scares me spitless. I don’t like the idea of my child being chewed up by the world. The very thought breaks my heart. But, just like the father of the prodigal son, we will be here, home, to welcome him and remind him what family means.

I’m sure a countdown is somewhere ticking, counting down the days until he’s done with high school. Counting down the days until he can leave and release himself from our rules. Counting down the days until I possibly watch my child walk away from home and into life unknown. It’s ticking loudly and with each tick, a small piece of me wears away.

Run, run Lost Boy…

Away from reality.

Hurt.

Anger.

Disappointment.

Crushing heartache.

In the last three days, I’ve felt all of these emotions and so many more. Parenting is indeed the the hardest thing a person will do.

It hurts my momma heart that my teenager so callously disregards rules put in place for his safety. That he cares so little for our thoughts and feelings he’s willing to face whatever consequences to simply do what he chooses; regardless of whether it’s right or wrong. And pointing it out, numerous times, the fact that anything could happen, seems to mean nothing.

It makes me angry, deep in my gut angry, how cavalierly he willing disregards the things we try to teach him. The disrespect that rolls off this kid is maddening. The time we take to try to teach him, to guide him only to be told by his own admission he wasn’t actually listening awakens the momma Hulk within me! I could feel my blood boiling behind my eyes when he uttered those words to my face.

But worse than the hurt and anger, is that lingering companion, disappointment. Disappointment is a sneaky friend who sits in the back of your mind, lingering on the outskirts of your mind. It slyly peeks out just when your mood is beginning to lift, just long enough to remind you it’s still around.

Countless times caught in lies and misdeeds yet no remorse. It’s all about what he feels, what he wants, what he decides he can do. Oh how I wish I could say we are horribly strict parents who don’t allow fun and demand perfection at all times. At least then some of the outlandish behavior would make sense. After all, kids rebel hardest against impossibly stringent rules. That’s not even the case! We allow our kids fun and freedom within reason. We encourage friendships and exploring self, but not at the expense of things like respect and concern for others.

What makes me sad is that he’s teetering on the precipice of adulthood and it’s frightening the direction he’s headed. Am I looking at my own prodigal son? Will he take off as soon as he’s of age, squander his life, end up hitting the bottom only to return home where he always belonged? The thought breaks my momma heart to pieces.

It’s a literal ache, this momma heartache. I feel it when I look at his pictures. When I walk past his room. When I put his laundry in his room or pick up his randomly misplaced socks. I feel it when I lay down and pray over my family at night. And when he walks out of the house to head to school. It’s my new constant companion, riding shotgun beside uncertainty with disappointment in he backseat pitching in its two cents. I’m a big ole momma mess.

I know that God has a path for him, for this situation. He knows what will happen. I wish I did too. But, I have to trust God. I have to give this too to God and know that it’s His will that will be done. My teenagers free will may terrify me and drive me to distraction, but God knows how this journey goes.

And while I settle myself and tell disappointment to hush up and stop clouding my mind, I will do all I can to have faith that this too shall pass and God will show up as he’s done time and time again.

My Lost Boy😔