A Lesson to All Teenagers — Call Your Mothers

Lying. This is a biggie for me, being a child of divorce with abandonment issues. 

I can handle most any kid-related screw-up, but lying.  The phone didn’t ring, allowing me to sleep until five a.m. when I woke with a start. I knew the second my eyes were open that he had not called.  I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and punched the missed calls log.  Nothing.  Lifted the receiver on the house phone.  No interrupted dial tone indicating a message.  He had not called when the concert was over or when he safely arrived at his friend’s house.  Two checkpoints skipped and it was now five-fifteen and I was full of adrenaline.  I called his cell — straight to voice mail.  I called his friend’s cell. Same.  I called his again. Same. 

I got dressed.  

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Dude, If You Want to Rock Go to a Cotillion

My middle child is all metal. He is a rock god. He’s twelve.

Last night was his second session at Cotillion and he learned the Fox Trot. He’s quick to point out that foxes don’t trot, in case you’re curious. Cotillion teaches formal dance steps and social etiquette that my kids can’t possibly learn at home.

I was a non-Cotillion kid when I was in middle school, mostly because my mother was in her rejection of the establishment phase circa 1976. Of course, it was ALL the other kids talked about at school the next day – the horror of dancing together in fancy clothes. But they were grinning like idiots and I knew I was missing out.

My guy, who lives in his black Slayer T-shirt and baggy jeans with ringlets down to his shoulders, cleans up good for Cotillion. He had been planning his Cotillion attire for two years, since his older brother was forced to attend.

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A Mother’s Worst Nightmare

There’s a cold dark place you go when you can’t find your child. I went there once. This isn’t the run of the mill can’t pick out your kid’s head bobbing in the pool, can’t sift through all the hooded toddlers at the park, just focused on a sale rack for a second and now you’re on your hands and knees at Nordstrom.

This is an all hands on deck, EVERYBODY is looking and minutes are ticking by and your toddler is GONE. This is when someone gently leads you to a room so you can scream while they hold you.

I stepped into the Toddler Room to pick up my two-year old son and in the scramble for lunch boxes and hanging up of jackets, I couldn’t see where he might be. The afternoon kids were settling in for lunch and the hip-height chaos was all around me.

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An Unconventional Dad; Cool First, Fatherhood Second

My younger sister and I started flying alone after our parents divorced in nineteen-seventy four. At nine-years old, I soon became familiar with the Albuquerque airport. I would descend the rolling staircase onto the tarmac, holding my little sister’s hand as we walked toward the adobe terminal and looked for my father.

He would be inside wearing Ray-Bans, jeans pressed with a crease, a big turquoise belt buckle, and new running shoes. He would pick up my sister, who is seven years younger than I am, and hug me too hard. Soon enough, I would learn that he smelled like pot.

The summer he wasn’t waiting at the gate, arms crossed and Ray-Bans on, I didn’t panic. The gate emptied and we were the only ones left. I searched the faces as we went down the escalator and continued to scan the crowd gathered around the baggage claim. I found a pay phone, expertly dialed “0” before the number, gave the operator my name and it rang forever before she told me to try again later. I repeated this routine countless times for several hours.

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Movies Drone On

I fear that my kids will grow up to be the NPR listeners who don’t become members, even during Pledge Week with a free fleece sweater and a half pound of Peet’s for incentives.

It hit me that my son had seen every movie considered a new release. I know they’re file sharing everything – rest easy, Lars Ulrich, they paid for “Death Magnetic” – but he’d seen “Tropic Thunder” the day it premiered without the benefit of a ride to the theater and popcorn money. Most teens don’t open the newspaper’s Datebook section, search the movie listings for where and when it’s playing, and ask a friend to go or co-ordinate a ride. 

Why bother when you have a laptop and Wi-Fi?

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Multiple-Personality Mom

Ten years ago I learned that one key to successful parenting was consistency. When my boys were three and five I found myself completely overwhelmed.  I took a Positive Discipline workshop with other consoling miserable parents, most of whom had teenagers and these parents were really not loving life. 

They told wonderful Afterschool Special-worthy horror stories, but then they would cry. At least my two whirling dervishes were in bed by eight, and I still outweighed them by fifty pounds if things got ugly.

Ten years ago all my fears were homegrown: holding onto the banister, keeping cleaning supplies out of reach, wearing sunscreen, standing up in the tub, jumping off the top bunk, wearing a helmet, asking before you pet a strange dog. 

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