The Dating Game

I always knew the time would come when I would have to sit down with my daughter and have a one-to-one chat about the big wide world of dating, about the games that are played, the feelings involved, and the inevitable interactions of her friends. I did not expect it to come so quickly, I thought I had another couple of years at least, especially as we have only just conquered her school phobia and anxiety issues (admittedly with the help of her counselor, without whom we would still be battling it I am sure). So, you can imagine my schizophrenic attitude towards her when she came home proudly one day and announced she had been asked to be someone's sweetheart.

It sounded so innocent, the word sweetheart, but when I heard the whole story I knew my time was up. Our current mother-daughter relationship was going to have to change up a notch; she was going to need the big girl's mummy advice now. You see, one of her friends had carefully negotiated this invitiation of becoming a sweetheart on my daughter's behalf, but not on her instruction. It seemed the friend was quite happy to be the surrogate sweetheart and, as time went on, she proved it so. I sat back for a while offering gentle words of advice but unfortunately by the time my daughter had gained her confidence, she had also realized that the friend was the one wearing the boys jacket, sitting with her legs on his, and was involved in many a cozy tête-à-tête's with him.

She was lost, trying to make sense of the whole situation. On the one hand, she liked this boy and on the other, she was seeing her friend in a new light, the light of a young woman in the making. My first reaction was to wade in and protect, teach her how to play the games people play but that seemed unfair, she is a nice sweet girl, that is not in her character and, most importantly, she likes her friend a lot. I got my thinking cap on and made a decision, I would help her in another way.

A long time ago, in my professional capacity, I would train adults in the corporate world in the art of understanding human behavior and interactions to get the best result. I also had a vision of teaching teenagers these skills but, as life takes over, there never seemed the right time. I also realized that I had become rusty myself on these issues, after all, I was about to help her draw her weapons and shoot the girl (metaphorically of course). This seemed a perfect opportunity to resurrect the books and start equipping her with the right skills. I need my daughter to understand human behaviors and know how to deal with them and schools just do not do have that on their curriculum. I wanted to make sure that she came out feeling good about herself even if she didn't get the boy.

As it turned out, the boy solved the issue for me. He soon moved on to her friend's friend, and then repeated the pattern over again. The girls realized they were the ones to have been played, played against each other but I am not giving up on my idea. This taste of what is to come was a wakeup call for me. My books are out and I am going to go through them with my daughter one-step at a time. Who knows I may even devise a training plan for teenagers to help them cope and understand human interactions. I am no psychologist, just an individual who thinks that life skills are just as important as algebra and punctuation.

Entourage?? Anytime You Want...

So I've just returned from a trip to Florida as part of my eighth grader's entourage - at least that's what it felt like. I believe officially I was considered to be a chaperone. The eighth grade has a trip to Florida every year. It's earned based on conduct, and dang it, he's a well-behaved kid therefore there was no way to get out of it. We rode a charter bus, and we did Universal Studios, Islands of Adventure, Sea World, and Aquatica. It feels like I'm missing something in there - oh, yeah - sleep. Sleep is what I'm missing. In all fairness, I don't remember it being listed on the itinerary anyway.
It was a fun trip though I'm not really an amusement park kinda gal. Museums, architecture, historical stuff - that stuff turns me on. Roller coasters - not really. I already know how it feels to be scared senseless, I've been in hospitals before, and bulimia does not interest me especially with the prices these parks charge for food. So I did exactly one at the Harry Potter world stuff. It would probably rate a wimponus spell, but I survived which was important. I really enjoyed Sea World the best - shows and animals. Plus I had been to Sea World as a little girl. I have the most adorable bracelet with little dolphins on it and I found the old home movies not long ago. May I say that ponytails and Peter Pan collars quite suited me.
But here's the deal. I spent a fair amount of time alone. Thanks to the proliferation of cell phones, my son and his four friends were able to be in constant contact with me and they are all taller than me and the school approves of their going off without you as long as all numbers have been exchanged and you have plans for meeting up. So I would sit in Starbucks (there are only so many times I was interested in walking around stuff I didn't want to do) and read. They would text me. I would meet up with them, distribute money, pick up what they wanted me to carry, get my instructions and move on. See - entourage member - the one without a lot of power, but a ton of interest in being included.
But here's the point - I wouldn't trade it for anything. I got to see how our son and his friends interact. At times I could see the children they were - laughing and feeding seagulls and pigeons with such delight and abandonment, wearing silly hats and stuff. And at times I could see the men they are becoming - holding the door for people, showing good manners, disapproving of how some people were acting. They are good kids and I know just how fast time flies. Our son had his fourteenth birthday while on the trip. Which can't be possible since my profile picture shows me holding this adorable toddler. In the blink of an eye he'll be gone to college, but I'll always get to hold on to the memories. And for that I'll gladly be a member of the entourage.

Being Stevie Nicks

 She did it to me again, alone in my living room, she sang for me. And I sang back. I can’t sing a lick, but I can sing Stevie Nicks.

Mentoring American Idols, there she was. Unbelievable. The chic who sang my high school heartache out, “alone in my room I will not wait for you.” And she loved the idols I did, Phillip and Elise. I’d take you any day Philip, you with your heart that comes out your mouth, and Elise, a chic who rocks Led Zeppelin. What a star.

So Stevie already had me at hello, but then she had to go and give advice to one of the girls who has a voice bigger than her passion. “My mother died two months ago. I have no problems.” Sing that, she said. Feel that. Damn you Stevie Nicks, still singing my story.  Alone in my room, she made me sing again. 

Thank God for her. There’s no one like her. She is my past, and she’s still with me.

He Who Dies with the Mostest Toy Hauler Wins

By Sheilah

We’re off to South Carolina, to look at the toy hauler the boys must have. They have too many toys is what this whole adventure tells me, and now they need a big wagon to carry them in. I picture Dylan at 2 in the backyard lugging his Red Ryder wagon around, chock full of sand toys and sticks and stones and all the things he acquired that he cannot let go off. I see my husband when we first met 27 years ago in that huge Ford truck with the off-road tires and the lift package on it, near monster truck-like. The size of those tires was awesome, I concede that.

But now, they tell me, the dirt bike racing requires a hauler/camper. There is no way around it. They cannot tent camp any longer. It rains too much, gets muddy, their backs are stiff. They refuse to stay home the night before and hit the race early Sunday morning. No, they must be there the night before to walk the track, get the lay of the land, roast marshmallows. I get it. I do. Half the reason for racing is so Dylan can hang out with his friends, run in the night, complete the whole dangerous life of boys thing by camping.

Does it all really require an expensive camper, though? I ask quietly. Of course it does, silly thing! They’ve spent weeks looking at campers vs. toy haulers, and the final result is in: it must be a toy hauler, which is the camper turned trailer with the back that opens like a ramp to load the bikes in the back. The couches-sleepers fold in and up to the sides to make room for the bikes. The queen bed is on a hydraulic lift so it easily raises to the ceiling to make room for the bikes. Clearly, the bikes are the thing. There is a bathroom and a kitchen, if you cared about such, but I don’t think they do.

So a toy hauler it will be. Wi-fi, stereo surround, microwave, shower, stove, fridge and freezer, beds and dinette—all the creature comforts. You can open the windows and sleep by the sound of the cicadas. You can open the back and pull a screen down. You can mount a flat-screen TV to watch motocross. You can primitive camp where there are no facilities. You can dream of your hare scramble race through the woods the next morning, your Suzuki tucked in safely beside you, amping your dreams.

And you can hitch your toy wagon to your truck, with stars in your eyes, dreaming. Everything you want on your back as you travel down the back roads to some random land in the woods that a farmer has devoted to this dangerous sport, so boys can be boys finally, like they used to be when we were all farmers.

And Mommy, the most important thing, remember, is that YOU will be there, cheering me on at the race. Oh, who wouldn’t want one?

Julianna, We Need To Talk

We’re in the middle of supper; both children are talking at the same time while trying to gain our attention. We’ve all put in a long day, we’re all tired and that's when I notice the frown on my hubby's face. Being a good wife (Okay, so I’m not Julianna Margulies, or a lawyer, or a brunette, besides, TV keeps raising the fictional bar on what a good wife is.), I shush the children and ask my husband if everything is okay. He proceeds to tell me he’s worried, because he lost the envelope with….wait for it….his coupons.

A month or so back I wrote “Toilet Paper is Just Like Fine China, Right?” explaining how the hubby has started on a coupon clipping bonanza that might not always meet with this wife’s approval. Julianna Margulies has nothing on me when it comes to the cross examination on coupons. “Is it something we use? Is it buy two for fifty cents off, and can you double the coupon? Are you sure it’s a better bargain than the store brand? Do we need it or do you want it because we have a coupon?” I swear I would have dropped my fork at the dinner table when he told me he was worried, but we were eating sandwiches and that would have been too messy.

I honestly think the kids looked at him a little cock-eyed, especially when he said he was calling his mother to see if she had the paper and could cut out the coupons for him! It’s almost like he left me for another woman, kinda like what happened to poor Julianna’s character. Still, ya gotta love a man who is willing to go to those depths to save the family a dollar, but I live in fear. What will I find in the pantry tomorrow? He doesn’t seem to come home with just “one” item, it’s always multiples of one item and I may run out of storage space. He did promise me he would stick to certain brands, which is progress since our toilet paper fiasco.

I used to wonder what to get the man who seemed to have everything except the big, HUGE, ticket items, like a boat or a 98 inch flat screen TV. (How do people watch those things without having serious eye damage?) He has a big birthday coming up and I figure with all the big bucks he’ll be saving, I should get him more than an envelope to put his coupons in. I can see it now, a manly leather three ring binder with dividers and protective plastic sheets! Yes, I am a good wife.