Trouble Brewing

We've entered the high school years. It's been a baptism by fire for my poor husband, who sees lecherous boys lurking in every hallway, drugs and alcohol at every party, disaster whenever she is unsupervised. The world is a perilous place for the father of a teenage daughter.

One might believe we have a deceptive, troubled girl on our hands, an after-school special in the making. Nothing could be further from the truth. She is kind and intelligent, innocent and to be frank, a lousy liar. MC will be the first to tell you that he trusts her to make wise decisions. But that heart of darkness known as high school crouches, ready to devour his sweet girl and he is constantly vigilant. (CONSTANT VIGILANCE!!!)

Saturday night, DQ's play wrapped and she attended a party at a cast member's house. I've met these kids briefly, don't know their parents, but was reasonably confident that they were solid kids from solid families. The party was going to be chaperoned. There were no couples, just cast and crew. I was at ease, knowing she had a charged cell phone and would call at the slightest hint of hinky.

My husband? Not so much. He asked three times if there was going to be alcohol. He was very unhappy about the presence of not just boys, but junior and senior boys. And the fact that I neglected to get a phone number for the house she was at? Bad mothering on my part. (He has a very valid point.) About 9 o'clock, he tried to call her, but she didn't answer the phone. I had to physically restrain him from going to fetch her. He muttered darkly about booze, boys and drugs.

And this illustrates the differences in our teen years. I lost my virginity to the man I (unfortunately) married, drank my first sip of beer at 19 (then promptly spit it out), and have never in my life ingested an illegal substance. Not because I am virtuous, mind you. I've simply never been given the opportunity. He was a delinquent. Not really. He was a good kid and engaged in the normal teenage bad behavior. But these experiences have shaped his view and he is far less convinced that our eldest will be allowed to stick to a relatively straight path.

So it's going to be an interesting three and a half years. In 8 days, DQ will be 15 and then the real trouble begins. Learning to drive. Then the license and her passport to freedom. And the bigger D, Dating. Lord, help my husband and the unlucky young man who will be DQ's first date. I have a feeling I will be accompanying him on a drive-by or two, maybe even catching a movie that night, sitting a few rows behind the young couple and spying on our daughter. Would it be wrong to slip him a lorazapam that evening?

Enough!

I'm cleaning house around here. I've been ignoring my body, ignoring my mental health and ignoring my need to do more than mother. No more. And I have Facebook to thank.

It all started with the realization that the virtual living I do via Facebook games has taken away my actual life. I started Farmtown and quit gardening. I started Cafe World and quit cooking. I started Mafia Wars and quit...well, everything else. I was getting a virtual fix on activities I love, without any of the payoff these activities generally provide. And why on earth would I spend the time and not get the benefits?

So I removed those applications from my profile. Step one.

Then I sat down with an eating/exercise plan that has worked wonders for my mom. I have a shopping list ready to go and a schedule worked out. I've given up diet soda. And candy. And fast food. Step two.

Now it's time to reboot my housekeeping efforts, not for my family, but for me. I thrive in a neat home. It affects everything for me. And damn it all, I deserve it. But the family is helping. They just don't know it yet. Mwahahahahahaha. Step three.

I'm trying to dress a little better, jeans and a sweater, rather than sweatpants and a t-shirt. Boots, instead of sneakers. Earrings and mascara, maybe even a little lipstick, if I'm feeling frisky. This is a good time of year for it, since sweaters do more for me than summer tops. The girls look pretty dang good in a slim fitting v neck. And if I'm showing a little cleavage? So what?Moms have boobs. It's part of the job description. Step four.

I'm writing again. Three nights a week, I have four hours dedicated to writing and so help me, Hannah, I'm going to finish a book if it harelips the governor. Headphones? Check. Computer? Check. Dirty mind? Double check. Step five.

So cheer me on as I try to give myself a better life. It's a lot to undertake all at once, but I've decided I'm going to falter here and there. That's going to be okay and I'm going to deal with it. What I'm not going to do is give up.

What's going on with you?

Have You Met My Alter-Ego?

I like to pretend that I am a pretty zen, roll-with-it sort of girl. For the most part, I bring this off. BUT. There is a part of me, a bitchy, snotty, rage-aholic that I keep gagged and bound, locked in a steel cage. It's the part that got me in trouble with Mr. Clairol's buddies and the part that flipped the (figurative) bird to the our old preschool. I swear I should be giving classes on how to offend and alienate people. My talent for it is extraordinary. It would be fine, if I were one of those people that thrives on conflict, but I hate it. That's why Princess Bitch-Pants is under tighter security than Charlie Manson. But she slipped off the leash again.

Tonight, the mother of a friend of DQ called. I like this woman, A, and I adore her daughter, B. But I've always felt A is perhaps too involved in B's life and bristled a bit, when she ventured to make observations about DQ. Especially when they relate to DQ and her boyfriend, X. (Same boyfriend, but my conviction that he's gay is wavering. Scary feeling.)

Let me give you the back story. Go ahead, pop some popcorn, get comfy. I'll wait.

B's birthday is coming up and she's having a party. DQ can't go, because it conflicts with her play schedule. X was going, but DQ allegedly told him he couldn't. A was "concerned." Why was it that she couldn't trust him or her friends? Why wasn't X allowed to have his own life? Excellent questions, but she wanted to discuss, dissect and dismember this on the phone.

Excuse me, I haven't been in ninth grade for 23 years. I have no desire to revisit.

She tells me DQ storms off when the Science Olympiad posse (which includes, B, X and several other DQ peeps) begins discussing the events. DQ has told me all about this, how she and her other non-Science Olympiad friend make a joke about talking about nail polish and leave, since they have little to contribute to the conversation. I pointed this out and A asks, "And they wouldn't benefit from the conversation?"

Enter Her Majesty, Bitchy-Pants. Because really? You have time to critique the social habits of a teenager you barely know? I don't. I make dinner and ride herd on homework and stop two small children from killing themselves or each other. In other words, I got shit to do, lady. And FYI, I don't get off on other people tearing my child down.

"Excuse me? A, I am not going there. I will speak to DQ about this, but I find your involvement in this to be somewhat inappropriate. DQ, X and B need to be given the freedom to resolve this on their own, since they are past the age when parents should be mediating disputes. I'm so sorry, but I need to go now."

FYI, that's only what I would have liked to have said. That was the mature phrasing. I didn't descend into cursing or saying things like, "Get a life and let your daughter have hers," but oh man, that's what I wanted to say. No, my response was somewhere between the two extremes and delivered in the intense, loud way you speak when you want to shriek, but know that is just not okay. I was speaking rapidly and it's probably a bad sign that I cannot remember what I said, only the general idea, which was along the lines of: Mind your own damn business.

See? Aren't I just the diplomat? I ended the call by telling her I was trying to make dinner and had two small children running wild, then hung up. And when she called back a few minutes later to apologize? Yeah, PBP picked up the phone and informed her we were busy, so take apology and shove it. Nicer than that, but again, the general idea.

I'm so ashamed.

I'd like to grow up now, please.

And I did talk to DQ. She claims she was only joking, which we all know is complete bullshit, but I told her she needed to talk to B and X, to get this resolved. And so ends my involvement. Amen.

Because There Isn't Enough Crap Clogging Up My Life

I've been in a drought lately, there's no denying it. Raven has a cool feature on her blog called Wanting Wednesdays and I love checking it out. Jenny's jumped on the bandwagon as well, with Favorites Friday. In the spirit of flattery, via imitation, I'm totally copping their idea and doing a "stuff I lust for" post. I'm not committing to a weekly spot and I'm not giving it a name, because, hello? Creative drought? If I were on it enough to come up with a cute name, I probably would have more for you than a wish list, you know?

This is the Colorado deluxe puzzle from HearthSong. I love the colors and simplicity. I'd like to give this to Big Red for Christmas, but I'm afraid I'd never let him play with it. HearthSong, $29.98.

The Tate Oxford Bootie. These are hot. Sex you up, kick your ass and sue you into oblivion hot. They also boast a 4 inch heel, which in younger days, I wouldn't have even blinked at, but now? Not so much. Payless, $29.99

Oh...I get warm just looking at this. I love long cardigans and this raspberry shade is one of my favorites. Old Navy, $59.50, online only.

This candle has been my very favorite for four years now. Creamy Nutmeg by Slatkin and Co. Of course, it used to be White Barn, but whatever. Bath and Body Works sells them starting in late fall, through Christmas time and you cannot believe how good they smell. Warm, rich and inviting, with enough spice to balance the sweet and a yummy dark rum base. Bath & Body Works, $9.95

I love West Elm. If I didn't have children and I did have a ton of money, my entire home would probably be furnished with items from West Elm. This is the Manzanita Candelabra and I love it. LOVE IT. Of course, the Evil Martha on my shoulder whispers, "You could do this. Find a branch. Paint it silver. Glue some candle holders on the branches. It's a good thing." Shut up, Evil Martha. Shut UP! West Elm, $99

I love tea. Irish Breakfast is my favorite and it's hard to find that in bags, so I've gone over to the fussy side and started using loose tea. Which means I need teapots. Okay, so I don't need teapots, but I do love them. This has pretty lines, very graceful and the artwork is feminine without being fussy, which is harder to find than you might think. The Odmjuk teapot. Ikea $9.99

I don't keep my porn romance addiction a secret. I'm pretty upfront about what I like to read. A friend of mine turned me onto a romance review website called Smart Bitches, Trashy Books and I'm completely hooked. They aren't lying, they are some smart (and funny) bitches. They trash one of my favorite authors, but honestly, the things they laugh about are the things that make me cringe while reading the actual books, so I can't get huffy. I haven't had time to really explore the site yet, so time will tell if they help me find new authors.
http://www.smartbitchestrashybooks.com/index.php

My Man

Being married to Mr. Clairol is a lot of things. It's a joy, because the man has a huge heart, almost no temper and a tuchus that does not quit. It's an adventure, because he is the least self-conscious person I've ever met. He used to wear a red clown nose in rush hour traffic, just for the laughs. And it is endlessly entertaining.

He has a passion for PBS and the Documentary Channel, but without fail, he falls asleep on the couch within 30 minutes. I usually try to record whatever has caught his eye, so he can catch the rest of it later. He thinks it bugs me, but honestly, it's so cute, I fall more in love with him every single time.

He notices bizarre little thing that remind him of bizarre little facts and will expound on it for an hour if you let him. Usually, these things are automotive in nature, but the man can identify the make of a guitar by listening to recorded music. It's kind of hot.

He is endlessly curious and will ask any question of anyone. It used to make me want to die of embarrassment, but these days, I'm almost as curious as MC. I get the answer without putting myself out there.

He adores my parents. Without reservation. Maybe this is because both of his have passed, but it delights my mother. To the extent that I am not sure which of us she loves more. In my worst moments, I'm 97% sure it's my husband.

He's pretty honest about the fact that my cooking was a major factor in his desire to marry me.

And he makes me laugh. I cannot remember a day since we met that he has not made me laugh in one way or another.

I am the luckiest woman in the entire world.

Ativan Makes Idiocy Hilarious

I just went to make a note on the whiteboard that hangs in my dining nook. It's where I jot down little notes to myself, since I can no longer remember things like my ATM pin. True story, ask Trader Joe's.

Anyway...I was going to write myself a note to remind Art to change a lightbulb in Red's room. I know, I tried to fit one more preposition in the sentence but I couldn't make it happen. But then I realized that DQ had stolen my last dry erase marker for school and I keep forgetting to buy a new one.

So I went to make a note on the whiteboard to buy another marker....

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!

Posting For Posting's Sake

It seems like time to write a blog post, but children, I got nothin'.

*pats pockets* Nope. Nada.

I have this nagging feeling that I am writing the same posts over and over again. Like my mother, who tells me the same story four and five times until I finally stop her and say, in a loving voice, "Yep, told me already. Three times. Old sucks, huh?"

And then she beats me upside the head. It's nice that we have these little traditions.

I want to blame it on Facebook, but honestly, I'm not big on status updates. I just haven't got a lot to say right now. I'd much rather rob an electronics store in Mafia Wars or decorate my farm with virtual Halloween decor or play Bejeweled until the game itself reminds me to look away from the screen and focus on a far-away object. Not joking.

I can only joke about my rotten children so much. Likewise, I can only brag about the little darlings for a bit. Complain about my business? Hard to do when it's really all my own doing. I'm taking the weekend to meditate and try to revive my creative wellspring.

That's a lie. I'm taking the weekend to lie on the couch and nurse myself through this minor bout of the flu going through my household. But there will be, perhaps, some revivication of the wellspring.

Hows everyone else doing?