You Can't Push Someone Up a Ladder

I'm tired. All the time. And no, it's not an autoimmune disorder or bad sleep hygiene. It's that I never actually rest my eyes and my body, both at the same time, for a full night. And do you want to know why? Teenagers. More specifically, my teenager.

I'm like a firefighter, or what I think a firefighter is like, at night. My clothes and shoes are always nearby. I've got my phone on the bedside stand - fully charged and ready with the ringer on. I am able to leap from bed at a moment's notice and handle whatever situation comes my way. Well, most of the time.

The usual situation is talking to police officers at my door at all hours.  They come to my house so frequently now that we're on a first name basis. I'm even getting to know the State Troopers so I guess that's a bonus? Two visits ago the police officer said he really felt bad for me asked if he could give me a hug. Of course I agreed because a) he's very nice, b) he's cute and c) I was happy to know someone was on my side. Bullet proof vests aren't very snuggly though so it wasn't as comforting as I hoped it would be.

The last visit was on a Sunday morning at 4:00am. My son crept into my room and whispered "The police are at the door. Here's your robe. I didn't do anything bad, he just had to bring me home." Because this is my life now. I stumbled out of bed, clutching my robe, rubbing my eyes and sat down at the table to see what was going on. Let's see, this time, my son had been picked up at a local park with two (older) girls who were drinking. He had not been drinking. (No, I'm not your typical idiot parent that trusts her kid. They did a breathalizer on him, that's how I know)  Anyway, the officer had to drive him home because my son was not supposed to be driving after 10:00 pm. The only up side was that the officer confiscated the hard lemonade from the girls and brought it to my house. I enjoy hard lemonade. So...silver lining?

I've had the police at my house when my son and his buddies destroyed a mailbox (my aunt and uncle's), when my son ran away, when my son's friend was in trouble, etc. I really could go on and on but I'm just too tired. Suffice it to say that they don't have to ask for my name or birthdate anymore. Timesaver!!!

There are days when I just don't know what else to do with this kid. Many, many days. On those days I usually throw in the towel, give up and beg a family member to keep him for "just one night" so I can get some rest. I don't know what the future holds. I don't know if he'll be ok or if he'll continue to spiral out of control. I hope that, one day, he'll figure it all out and get on the right path. But on days like today, I have to remember that I'm only human, that I'm doing this alone, that I have another kid to worry about and that I have to put my own oxygen mask on before I can save anyone else. 

I Want To Be Sedated

I don't want to be sedated forever, just until my kids aren't teenagers anymore. You hear the stories, see the movies and read the books about teenagers and the difficulties involved in raising them. But I'm not sure you can ever be fully prepared for it. Especially if you end up with a challenging teenager. Which I have. #luckyme

The problem with teenagers is that they're actually insane. Quite literally. Their brains don't function in normal, predictable patterns that make sense to anyone but themselves. And sometimes I don't think they make sense even to THEM.  Which of course makes it difficult for those of us operating outside their minds to understand what the F is going on.

The trouble is that they walk among us and, therefore, we are foreced to deal with them. Some of us must actually live with them, day in and day out, and that is no small thing. It's like living with a toddler again - temper tantrums over the silliest little things. 

Arguments I've actually had in the last few weeks are as follows: 

• "No. You cannot go out with your friends in my brand new car that I just picked up TODAY." (He seriously asked if he could. This after he totalled his own car - that he hasn't even paid off yet - the weekend before). 

•  "Leaving the house at 3:00 am to play Pokemon Go is unacceptable. Any normal human being you might poll will agree with this. It does not make me a horrible person for demanding that you be in the house, in bed, at 3:00 am. Really."

• "No. You may not walk to town (2 miles away) at 11:00 pm. There are no sidewalks and it is DARK outside. A car will hit you. No, it doesn't change my answer if you offer to ride your bike to town instead."

•  "Please stop "play" fighting with the dog. It makes her bitey and it makes me mad. I have asked you a million times not to do it and yet you continue. When you're done playing with her, I go to pet her and she bites me. When the dog hides from you it's her telling you she doesn't want to play anymore. Stop it."

• "If you are supposed to be at work at 7:00 am you should be there at 7:00 am. Calling in at 9:00 am to tell them you're too tired to work is unacceptable. You will get fired. When you say you're going to be there you have to be there. That's how life works. That's how you keep a job."

Raising a teenager is exhausting - physically, emotionally, spiritually and in all other ways. Plus, I never feel like I'm doing it right and I won't have any true feedback for about 10 years. I need a pay increase....

Bone Face

Of all the things I ever considered, this was never one of them. Truly. Did not occur to me even once. So here's what happened:

What's funny about this photo is that it looks like Hazel's happily holding a bone in her mouth. Not true. It's actually STUCK there. REALLY stuck. I didn't know what was happening at first. She jumped off the bed and was acting really weird. She seemed to be clawing at her face but I couldn't figure out why. I got out of bed to get a closer look and saw the bone. I tried to loosen it and get it off but she wasn't having it. She was fighting to get away from me and doing everything in her power to make that happen.

As a general rule I tend to be pretty good in emergency situations. But I've learned that mostly applies to people now that I really think about it. Animals are a totally different well, animal. They just don't understand that you're trying to help them and it freaks them out even more as you're forcing yourself on them to "help". She was running away from me as I chased her all through the house. Another fun fact - when there is a bone stuck in a dog's mouth, there will be lots of drool. Lots. Gushing amounts of drool. Disgusting.

Zoe was in bed and awoke to me screaming "Quick! Google "How to cut through bone". What the shit? No one should wake up to that request ever, it's just not healthy. On any level. The only thing she could find was that you should smack it with a meat cleaver. So I yelled, "Refine the search!! Check on "How to cut through a bone stuck on a dog's jaw!"

We weren't getting anywhere. I told Zoe to hold Hazel while I tried again to get the bone off. It was impossible but Zoe gave it her all. Hazel was scratching and twisting, shoving her legs around and making it generally impossible to get a firm hold on her. At this point I noticed that Hazel was starting to pant heavily - much like Zoe and I after the wrestling match - so I decided we needed to call the vet.

After a number of mix-ups (went to the wrong place and waited there 20 minutes for a vet who had no idea we were even there) we ended up at a 24 hour emergency vet's office. Since it was, by this time, about 11:30 pm, the doors were locked and we had to be buzzed in. The tech that came to greet us looked at Hazel - who was now happily wagging her tail, excited to meet a new friend - and with a questioning look said, "Can I help you?" Because it actually looked like nothing was wrong with her.

I just gestured to the dog and said "She has a bone stuck on her face." The tech looked a little closer and said, "Oh! I guess she does!"  Meanwhile, real emergencies (pets injured and dying) were coming in and Zoe and I had to stand there like idiots telling everyone, "Yup. Got a bone stuck on her face."

They ended up having to sedate her to remove the bone which, just so you know, costs about $164.00.  I'm not blaming the vet's office. They provided a great service and saved the (stupid) dog. I'm mostly blaming the stupid dog. Most expensive dog bone ever.

You'll Shoot Your Eye Out

I tried. I really tried to make it through Christmas vacation as the "fun mom", the "wonderful hostess" and the "grateful guest." Two out of three ain't bad...

It's a lot of togetherness when you stop to think about it. The kids have all been in school pretty full time since September and that's been just fine. We got into a schedule, a rhythm, if you will.  Then we get to Christmas and it's suddenly two weeks of total togetherness. Full immersion. No escape.

Christmas is fun and New Year's Eve is fun. Plus you've got some cool parties sprinkled in there for flavor but let's be honest, when you get to that final Sunday evening, when you know they'll be headed back to school, you're relieved. All of you. You're absolutely at the limit of what you can take.

We'd been to a party that Sunday night (that I wasn't so hot to go to in the first place) and had been on the road a lot during the day. The party provided a lovely dinner but when we got home the kids asked "What's for dinner?" Seriously? You JUST ATE. So I started to scrounge around to see what we had. The fridge was a mess. Weird holiday leftovers, no milk and certainly nothing that could be considered dinner (egg nog anyone?). But I pulled a MacGyver and got it done. It wasn't pretty, probably wasn't even good, but they were fed.

I told the kids I was excited because Downton Abbey was going to be on for the first episode of the series. They KNOW how much I love that show. Still. Max insisted on coming into my room and annoying me about every 15 minutes throughout the entire show. When he wasn't entering my room, he was teasing his sister or making the dog bark like crazy. Then Zoe would come in to complain about him, interrupting my show. I. Was. Done.

And then it happened.

He was screwing around and shooting rubber bands and Nerf darts at the dog who was laying on the bed with me. She was getting agitated and so was I. I told him to knock it off. I mean it. Knock if off. But he didn't. He shot one last dart and it hit me square in the eye. Everything went into slow motion. He gasped, Zoe cried out, the dog barked and I grabbed my eye and started crying. I mean really crying. I fell off the bed, still holding my eye, and said "We might need to call 911."

Ok. To clarify. Did I overreact? Yes, Of COURSE I did. I'm not an idiot. I get it. But the tears were not all related to the dart in the eye. Obviously. I mean it hurt and all but I was DONE and this was the last straw. I could not hold it together and just openly sobbed. Max was going crazy. He ran to the bathroom to get a cool cloth for my eye, brought it to me and said, "Mom, are you ok? I'm so sorry! Use this cloth on your eye, it will help."

I probably should have responded better to his concern, you know encouraged him and used it as a teachable moment. Instead.

"SEE?" I shouted. "See what happens when you don't listen? People GET HURT."

He shrank away from me.

Listen, I know when I'm being the "Dragon Mom". The mom with the crazy, scary voice reserved only for the most serious offenses. And this was it. Full on. All of the stress I had felt leading up to the holidays, making sure everything was done and everything was magical was being unleashed on my kid. It's a lot of pressure handling everything and everyone was counting on me to make it perfect. Right down to gifts for the dog's stocking. Aside from all that, my eye did actually hurt and I thought, at least for a moment, that I had a corneal abrasion.

But I did not have a corneal abrasion. The next night we had a planned rubber band gun/Nerf gun war in the house but I wore ski goggles to avoid another incident. At one point, Zoe and I pinned Max down and were shooting him repeatedly. Sometimes it's good to get your aggression out but hitting him with the actual gun was probably going too far. Way to be - Zoe. 

Seventh Grade Camp

This was the year Zoe attended 7th grade camp. She begged me to go along as a chaperone for the week - how sweet is that? - so I agreed. BEST TIME EVER.

I really wasn't sure how it would go. Would I be cool enough? Fun enough? Could I keep order with all the girls in my cabin? Could I survive any girl drama that might pop up? I shouldn't have worried at all.

The chaperones got to the camp before the kids so we had time to look around and get our bags unpacked. Most importantly, adults got first choice of bunk. Critical decision. Lower bunk, closest to the bathroom? Yes please. I was one of the lucky ones and was assigned to one of the "lodges". That translates to heat and A/C (sort of), bathrooms and showers IN the lodge and close proximity to all activities. Other were not so lucky and ended up in the "Wilderness" cabins. Translation - smells like mold, might have bats and you have to walk to the bathrooms.

We were given our assigned kids almost as soon as they arrived. They were all seated in the outdoor amphitheater and the chaperones were all waiting at the back. They read off the kids names and then they came back to meet us. I don't mean to brag but I truly got a WONDERFUL group of girls. I knew some of them or had at least heard of them through Zoe so they weren't a complete surprise. Still, it was interesting to get to know each one of them and tricky to learn all their names. They were confused about what they should call me - Mrs. Nowak (uh, NO), Zoe's mom, Ms. Arnold?  Instead they settled on calling me "Mom". I was honored and thrilled. Though later, when I would get separated from them and they would all scream "MOM" (at the top of their lungs) I was kind of rethinking that choice. I would then run around, usually in the dark, swooping them up like a bunch of lost lambs.

They had to haul all of their luggage to our cabin and, unfortunately, a few of the girls (or maybe their moms?) overpacked. By a lot. It took some doing to drag it all there but once we got it there we were able to settle in and get to know each other. I had one of the larger groups - 11 girls - so we had a good time talking, laughing and sharing.

Each group of girls traveled with a group of boys which made up our "travel group". We did all of our activities together and also shared all of our meals so I had to learn all the boys names too. Definite challenge for my name recollection skills! I tried to come up with rhymes for their names, "Boisterous Becca" and "Mindful Michael" to name a few.

We did cool things - horseback riding, underground railroad reenactment, nature classes, canoeing - but the coolest thing really was watching these kids grow, learn and interact with each other. At every meal, each table was supposed to have one adult, four girls and four boys. Hard to manage at first but then everyone started to fall in line. I was a fanatic about manners at my table (Zoe was horrified) and gently guided them into understanding how to be polite and how to share. The change from the first day to the last was ASTOUNDING.

At each meal I came up with questions to ask the table. What was the best gift you ever got? What was the best gift you ever gave? Do you have pets? Do you have siblings? What's the coolest thing you did over the summer? Tell the table something they may not know about you? Do you have any special talents? What is your biggest pet peeve? Who is your best friend? What do you like to do?

The rule was that everyone who wanted to share was given a chance to answer the question. The other rule was that everyone at the table had to listen to that answer. Yes, I quizzed them. I would say, "Michael, did you hear what Katie said?" If he didn't, I would have her repeat it. I thought I was annoying them but, by the end of the week, the boys were rushing to sit at my table and saying, "Aren't you going to ask your questions?"

On one of the final days we were scheduled to participate in the Predator/Prey game. Apparently I misunderstood the instructions and thought the game was for the KIDS only. So I showed up in my cute sandals and flowy pants only to be told that I would be part of the turkey flock, made up of my girls. Oh dear. I'm still picking burrs out of those pants....

So here's the thing. The camp was, obviously, for the kids. But I gained so much. It was one of the most wonderful experiences of my adult life. To be given a view inside the minds of 7th grade kids. To hear about their thoughts and fears, to see them interact with each other, to laugh with them. It was a GIFT.

Each night I would try to settle the girls in - not an easy task as you can imagine - and then I would spray each of their pillows with "sleep spray" (lavender and vanilla pillow spray). Once they were all in their beds I would read aloud to them. I brought this crazy old book with me that I hadn't looked at in years.  It was a story about an eccentric pig who falls in love with a statue of a dolphin and they LOVED it. They all lay quietly each night, waiting to hear what happened next. We didn't get a chance to finish the story and I still get girls who come up to me to ask what happened at the end!!

The thing about kids at this age is this - they are absolute sponges. They soak up praise (and negativity) as if it were water. For instance, I had one kid who told me she was lazy. I said,

"Huh. That's weird. I haven't seen you be lazy at all. Why would you say you're lazy?"

She replied, "That's what my mom tells me."

Her mom told her that and she believed it. I had numerous instances of similar conversations throughout the week. Every time I heard something like that I would reply with something positive in the hopes of replacing a negative thought . Kids at this age, though they pretend they don't need you and pretend they're not listening, take in every word you say. Positive, negative or otherwise.

The teachers and administrators at Zoe's school totally get that. They have made a careful study of this age group and they have perfected the proper way to guide these young folks through the rocky road that is middle school. I was thrilled when Max attended the school and thrilled that Zoe is there now. They are amazing people who are REALLY good at what they do and I can't thank them enough for allowing me to go to camp!

MOM, I Think I Need Stitches!!!

It's every working Mom's worst fear. You're at work, doing your thing, earning a living to support your family when the call comes in.

Me: "Hello?"

Zoe: (muffled crying) "Mom!! (more muffled sounds - was that Max?) Mom! I think I need stitches."

Me: Blood runs cold.  "ZOE! What's wrong? What happened? Are you ok?"

Zoe: "I'm really bleeding! It's a deep cut! (crying) It really hurts! I need stitches!"

 

Me: Panic ensues. "Zoe! Talk to me! Where's Max? Put Max on the phone!"

Max: "Hi Mom. (Voice goes sheepish) It's not as bad as it sounds, she's ok. She probably does need stitches though."

Of course, prior to the phone call, Max had desperately tried to get a hold of the situation. "You're ok Zoe. Here, I'll put pressure on it. It's not that bad. DON'T CALL MOM."

Me: "Max, I'm going to call Aunt Susie, Aunt Kelly or Grandpa to get over there to assess the situation. Send me a photo. NOW."

I got on the phone and got Sue. Near hysterics I explained the situation and she packed up the boys and headed over. 

Then I got this: 

Ok. She's not going to die. That's good. Still, it looks pretty deep. May need stitches.

Meanwhile, Sue arrived on the scene. Can I say, once again, Thank God for my AMAZING family? What would I do without them? Who would I call to do these things? Sue didn't even question me at all, just said, "I'm getting in the car now. I'll call when I get there."  She called and explained that it wasn't too bad. The bleeding had stopped and she was applying a bandage. "Does she need stitches?" I asked. She wasn't sure but was leaning towards yes.

During this time I got Max on the phone again and got an explanation of what had happened. Zoe was in the shower and Max thought it would be funny to pour cold water on her over the top of the shower curtain. True enough. Classic prank. BUT. He used a glass bowl, which promptly slipped from his grasp, fell to the shower floor and smashed into a million pieces. One of the shards hit Zoe's foot and cut it open. This was the look on my face:

Plus, I liked that bowl. Dammit. I got home and transported Zoe to Urgent Care. At that point, Max was feeling pretty bad about it all. When we got in the room, the nurses set out the "stitch kit" and Zoe started crying. That's when Max lost it. They actually made him leave the room for the stitching because they thought he might pass out. I stayed. Obviously. Even though I'm not clinical and the sight of stitches makes my stomach hurt. 

All's well that ends well. A day in the life, folks, a day in the life. 

Kentucky Trip - Pretty long post. Get a cup of coffee.

The kids and I recently went to Kentucky for a vacation. Specifically to Cave City, Kentucky. Cave City is a somewhat defunct place with lots of old roadside attractions. Many have closed down and fallen into disrepair. As a child, my family and I visited the Mammoth Cave area and I have very fond memories of it so I wanted my kids to have the same experience.

It was the first real (more than 3 hours from home) trip I've taken with the kids since the divorce and I was kind of nervous. I just wasn't sure how it would work out - me being the only adult and all. I told Aunt Sharon (my guide for all concerns around being a single mother) about my fears and she talked me down.

Sharon: "What are you afraid of?"

Me: "What if the car breaks down? What if my credit card gets shut off? What if I lose one of the
          kids in the cave?"

Sharon: "Then you ask for help and someone will provide it."

Me: "It can't be that simple. I'll be frantic and afraid."

Sharon: "If you saw a mom in trouble, saw that she needed help, would you step up and help?"

Me: "Of course I would."

Sharon: "There you have it. There are people like that all over the world. Take the trip."

And so I did. Were there moments when it was hard being the only adult? Yes. Was I afraid some of the time? Yes. But I did it anyway and it was GREAT.

We made it our mission to visit the tackiest, cheesiest and hoakiest roadside attractions we could find. Zoe had her heart set on visiting the wildlife zoo. Sounded good to me until I looked more closely. It was a TAXIDERMY zoo. Are you kidding me? ALL. IN. When we first walked in, the attendant was painting her nails. She seemed pretty surprised to see us and actually said, "Can I help you?"  I smiled and said "Three tickets to the zoo please" and she about fell off her chair. I think she was more prepared to give us directions to the nearest cave as opposed to actually showing us the zoo.  We joked and laughed our way through the place, commenting on all of the broken down, musty and moth eaten animals that have likely been there since the 1960's.

Look out kids! Wild Deer!! Oh....wait...

The other attraction Zoe insisted on seeing was Dinosaur World. Truly, a classic roadside attraction from yesteryear. Some guy decided to create a bunch of dinosaurs in his backyard and ask people to pay to come and see them. We were happy to hand over the admission fee. Once inside we began to roam the acreage to see all of the dinosaurs. They were HUGE and there were lots of them. Whole vignettes were set up of dinosaurs eating, hunting and protecting their young. We noticed pretty early on that the colors of the dinosaurs were a little suspect. Like purple spots and orange stripes kind of suspect. Then Max noticed the names weren't quite right. And when I say not quite right, I mean completely made up. The creator basically put a name/word before "saurus" and called it a dinosaur. Like Beckysaurus (wife's name?) Loved it.

Max looking highly skeptical about the existence

of this dinosaur. The Maxosaurus.

Zoe also really wanted to go ziplining. This had been of particular concern to me since she initially mentioned it in the early planning stages of the trip. I decided I was going to be fearless and free and try everything the kids wanted me to try. But I was concerned. My weight has held me back from many things (that's a topic for another blog) and I was worried I wouldn't be allowed to do it based on my size. Zoe and I went to the zip line park to check it out. We got in line and, before I knew it, I was buying tickets to not only zip line but to ride some crazy ass sled (luge?) down the side of the mountain. The line was long but, when it was my turn, I leaned in to the window and asked the lady, as quietly as possible, "I'm a little on the chubby side. Is that going to be a problem?" She stood up and looked out the window - gave me the up and down once over and said, "you'll be fine."

I was so relieved. We walked into the store and they immediately began getting us into harnesses and helmets. I was horrified. This cute 20 something guy was trying to wrangle my uncooperative body into a too small harness. I kept apologizing and wiggling, trying to help with the process but we were both pretty sweaty by the time it was done. Zoe and I took the chair lift up the mountain and prepared for our descent. It's pretty damn scary, I have to tell you, when you're hanging from a wire about to be sent down the side of a mountain with only a harness between you and certain death. To say the safety regulations in Kentucky are a little loose would be putting it mildly. Nonetheless, when they pushed me, I soared. Zoe and I were on side by side lines so we could see each other all the way down. All was well and right with the world. I was flying! My baby girl was laughing beside me! The wind in my face and the forest below!

You're supposed to be looking at the guy at the landing station to see what signals he's giving you before you come in. I looked up to see the tiniest little 20 something dude ever preparing to "catch me". Seriously? They pick this guy for me? He was frantically signalling me to hit the brakes which I was frantically trying to do. It worked a little but I was still coming in pretty fast. I had visions of me hitting him like a bowling ball hits a bowling pin. Seeing him fly through the air - ass over apple cart - saying "Whhhhhhhyyyyyy". But it didn't happen. He actually caught me. I thanked him profusely, legs shaking as I exited the platform.

Zoe coming in like a BOSS. Probably helped

that the CUTE 20 something was waiting

to catch her.

We went back into the store to remove our gear. I was all set to unhook everything and step out of it but that wasn't to be. Another 20 something boy grabbed my harness and started tugging. (Are there no women in the zip lining business anywhere, for God's sake!!) So he started pulling the harness down but I could feel my pants going down right along with it. Moments away from full exposure I grabbed hold of the harness and started pulling up - against him. He looked at me in total confusion and we both stopped pulling. I leaned in closer to him and said, "It seems as if I'm having a problem removing the harness. Perhaps you have a more private area where I could resolve the issue?" He blinked twice. "Uh, ok. Sure. You can go in there." I followed his direction into the next room where I promptly dropped the harness along with my pants. Thankful for no witnesses, I pulled my pants up and strolled out of the room, handing the kid my harness.

We also ended up at a pretty odd haunted house which Zoe, wisely, refused to enter. She told me, "Those guys are sketchy A.F."  I wish I had been as smart. It is purported to be the oldest haunted house in the country. It was very scary but more in the sense that we could be in real danger of falling through the floor as opposed to "ha ha, that's scary when something jumps out at you" kind of scary. I had my eyes closed through most of it. Still, a total delight in the way of old roadside attractions.

I later found out that there's a whole thing happening with the place (www.funtownmountain.com) which had been abandoned for years. I guess a young entrepreneur bought the place and was going to revitalize it. Never happened. Too bad. Sad to see it in such disrepair. Cave City in general appears to be dying but it really is a place that should be saved. It's a piece of history that will soon be lost completely if something doesn't happen. It's silly and touristy and straight out of my childhood memories. And probably yours too. Maybe you should plan a visit down there. I think you can still rent a wigwam to stay in. And when you walk into the old country store you'll get the same greeting that everyone else gets.

Store owner: "Where you from?"

Me: "Michigan"

Store owner: "That's all right, you can come in anyway."