The original inspiration for this post came during our family vacation to Whistler. Although a fun time was had by all, I was ever so disturbed by my boys' complete lack of couth and situational awareness. It would be an understatement to say I was discouraged and perhaps even a little humiliated as my kids belched, ate with their hands, told inappropriate jokes just a little too (okay, a lot too) loudly, and basically ran amuck, while other kids sat cleanly and quietly, exuding politeness and civility (and these weren't just those cute little British kids). I think the last straw was when, at the nicest restaurant we visited, my eldest (Mr. Moody Teen, himself) picked up the creamer pitcher, and took a big swig. Where had I gone wrong?
I've always adhered to the philosophy of 'choosing one's battles' when correcting, guiding, punishing my kids. Clearly, I haven't chosen so wisely. Or so I thought...
While I was back 'home' this past weekend, reliving old nightmares (and creating some new ones) with my parents and brother, my husband and boys were basically left to their own devices. No, baths weren't taken, clothes weren't changed... heck, hair wasn't even combed. Home repair projects weren't completed. There really wasn't much in the way of organized, productive activity, whatsoever.
However, homework was completed (marginally, I assume, but who cares), serious guy time was spent, a home cooked steak dinner was prepared and consumed, and the following little gem was emailed to their mom (me).
They may never be able to eat in public, and no girls will ever want to get near them, but they've won my heart forever.
*author's note: in case it is too difficult to read, the sign says We Miss Mom. also, if you don't find this a big deal, you obviously don't have teens. the sheer will it must have taken for them to a) smile (yes, those count as smiles), and b) hold up a nerdy sign admitting their love for their mother, is staggering. or perhaps their father was holding them at gunpoint. either way, this was a dramatic moment.