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.