Teen Talk Sans Teens (Thank God)

Okay, forget the teens. I have no words of wisdom regarding those curious creatures, as mine are sending me perilously close to the edge. However, I thought I would share with you a nice little treat waiting for me when I came home from a stressful afternoon of having to interact with actual living, breathing human beings. Enjoy. Oh, and those disturbing black marks on the side of my washing machine are from this hose thing that keeps my mudroom from flooding.

I Pledge...

To wish my good pal, Em, the happiest birthday EVER!

She has a spirit that shines, a heart that radiates goodness, and the soul of the kind of mother I strive to be.

5 Things I Hate About Back To School Night

1. I am not the one who, by law, must go to school. I have already been through school. Just teach my kids already, and leave me out of it.

2. It goes against my policy of ignoring and avoiding everyone around me.

3. I have to get out of my pajamas. I tried staying in them one year, and the comfort wasn't worth the dirty/concerned looks I received.

4. It always interferes with some highly anticipated Season Premiere. ANTM, Biggest Loser, DWTS... you name it, I'll have to miss it. Curses!

5. The Teacher's Pets. Yes, they come in grown-up sizes, too. And they sit in the front row, nod their heads maniacally as the teacher speaks, and inevitably figure out a way to 'name drop' their own kids' names, LIKE ANYONE CARES. And of course, they force us to stay after the bell, asking ridiculous questions about the curriculum, LIKE ANYONE CARES.

I'm tempted to play hooky this year, but I want to go scour the walls for my kid's essay/poem/picture hanging there haphazardly. What can I say? I may have a bad attitude, but I still think my kids are the best, just like everyone else.

Oh, and in a show of solidarity with my pal Em, over at Life, Liberty and the Pursuit..., for each comment I receive, I will donate one can of food to the local food bank. Limit one comment per customer, s'il vous plaît.

Snips, Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

Happy Birthday, my dear, infuriating, wonderful Moody Teen.

Sixteen short years ago, you came into my life rather uneventfully... on your due date, no less! My water broke uneventfully. My one contraction I endured before having the epidural, contracted uneventfully. Before I knew it, you were in my arms.

You were a thrill seeker and a car lover from the beginning... The higher and faster you could get in your swing or bouncy seat, the happier you were. You slept with a Hot Wheel in each hand every night.

You grew into such a confident, adventurous kid... If it looked fun to you, you tried it. You didn't worry what others might think, or if you'd be able to catch on.

Ah, and then the teen years came along, and what wasn't to love? I can honestly say that I only wanted to kill you a (large) handful of times (so far).

Which brings us to today...

You keep me on my toes, you rebel, you argue, you love, you laugh, you even occasionally hug, and you live like no one else I've ever known.

I am so proud of you... Not your grades or accomplishments or determination in the face of adversity or athleticism... but you.

Love,

The Mother To Whom You Are Not Speaking at the Moment Because of the Car Argument

The More Things Change...

For those of you following along at home, we last left "The Big Family Breakup," with me having a major showdown with my elderly parents in the middle of the airport (with basically me doing both the showing and the downing), as my newly-minted alcoholic brother, fresh out of ICU, headed straight to rehab, as he had been forbidden to return home to his wife and kids. As with any good cliffhanger, I sat on the plane back to DC, torn between cutting all ties and resolving to make amends.

Fast forward three months...

Well, my brother seems to be on the mend, so to speak, but I really only know that second-hand. I'm in my usual avoidance mode with my parents, leading them to believe I'm still a somewhat willing participant in this whole nonsense that is our family unit. But of course, there has been no real dialogue. No actual communication or discussion of feelings, regrets, wishes, solutions. And I am having a hard time accepting that there won't be. There just won't. They can't do it... They don't know how.

Which leads me to feel like I need to be an adult about all of this and throw a little compassion their way.

It's all very weird and extremely sad. It would break my heart into a million tiny pieces if my boys grew up to feel this way. Not only because of the adult relationship we would be missing, but because I would know their distance is a consequence of a childhood gone awry.

And, oh, how I want them to look back and remember the happiness and unconditional love.

Fool Me Once...

Okay, maybe I am just tired. Or maybe I'm a bigger sucker than I care to admit. But here it is... I think I am going to give Michael Vick a second chance to make me loathe him. I am going to take him at his word that he is sorry. I am going to trust that the US justice system, in conjunction with Tony Dungy's wizardry, actually worked, and he is the changed man he claims to be. It's a big leap for me, I know, but why the hell not?

I do wonder if, had he not gotten caught, his epiphany and subsequent decision to "be a part of the solution" would have occurred? But I look back on all of the bad/wrong/stupid things I have done, and getting caught was most certainly a catalyst for change in some cases. Should that matter?

What's so funny is it is easier for me to be forgiving of someone who a) doesn't need my forgiveness, b) has millions of dollars to make himself feel better, and c) hurt sweet, innocent animals, than it is for me to extend the same to people in my own life, who have done far less. But I guess baby steps, right?

Oh, and Michael? I may forgive, but I certainly don't forget... Just ask my husband.

Life Goes On...

So I guess it isn't really any surprise to any of you that I am a total maniac. And, hopefully, you read my silly little blog with that in mind... That I am just plain nuts. An emotional nightmare, if you will.

I feel like after my last post, I should explain myself, which is kind of counter-intuitive to the whole notion of blogging for oneself. But, not only am I insane, I also have rather substantial guilt issues. Hence, the need to explain away any kind of emotional outburst that might cause you, my dear readers, any physical or psychological discomfort. Sick, isn't it?

Anyway, the long and short of it is, nobody is dead or on the verge of death, or even within a year or two of dying, for that matter. My son is fine. Life goes on, and let me tell you, that boy knows how to handle life. We should all be taking notes.

But my head is someplace different now. I am changed. I am the one that's not okay, and that's just silly, because I am not the one with the disease. I am obviously sulking and I hate that about myself.

I am all caught up in this whole "He doesn't deserve it" thing, which leads to the whole "Well, but who really does deserve it (besides evil ol' me, of course)?" which just makes me sad for all of us. And being sad sucks.

So, in an effort to snap myself out of this, I am about to do what any self-respecting head-case would do... Make, and then eat, a chocolate cake. Please pardon me while I make myself feel better with food.

Oh, and ps: Thanks for coming to my rescue, once again. Your words, your prayers, your strength, love and humor amaze me. Pat yourselves on the back, people. You deserve it.