Adventures In Motherhood

The past few days have been a whirlwind of teenage Tik-Tok-worthy wasteland. The dog froze his nutz off in Wallowa Lake and we found ourselves bouncing off our booty cheeks rafting down the Boise River yesterday. Rolling through Utah in the back of the bus today, I’m somewhere between seasick and sadness as I continue my pilgrimage towards Park City, Utah, the last resting slope-scape nirvana for my late brother, and I remain grateful my four children have each other.   Wallowa was the turning point for this Force Family Fun experience. Moving Day 3 heading backwards on the Oregon Trail towards Colorado, we nearly reached the breaking point one hairpin u-turn and scorching coffee spill on my hind leg and that of my Schnoodle in the back seat of the minivan, just shy of the quaint town of Joseph. Nevertheless we forged on to the Switzerland of Oregon, where the Schnoodle was baptized in the glacier waters of Wallowa Lake. Apparently everyone, save myself, froze their nutz off in the lak

We’ve only just begun our trek backwards to Colorado, having already succumbed to the pitfalls of the Oregon Trail...  Determined to see the last of the ‘7 Wonders of Oregon’ on our move east to Colorado, we found ourselves in the Painted Hills yesterday. The red, orange and black colors smudged in the landscape appeared like a sand painting awash on the hills of central Oregon. A paleontological feat, some 35 million years in the making, the history lesson fell on deaf ears thanks to milkshakes and greasy cheeseburgers at the #1 thing to do in Condon, OR.  We hit ‘The Drive In’ in Condon Oregon (insert 13-year-old’s condom joke here 😜) around one o’clock, famished from the Holiday Inn Express breakfast described as ‘mid’ by my four teenagers, because what it lacked in Fruit Loops it made up for in rubbery cheese omelets. A few greasy burgers and milkshakes later, we were well on our way towards John Day National Monument. Let’s just say, we were ill prepared for the awe-inspiring Pai

I let him hit the curb. Hard. I braced myself for impact and it felt good. I'm not sure I've read 'allow your kid to crash the car' in any parenting books, but I'm here to say I finally got his attention. He was driving me crazy! If I had a dollar for every time my 15-year-old expert with the driver's permit said, "I know how to drive MOM," I'd be able to pay for a full tank of inflation-priced fuel for my minivan. Regardless of his expertise, I insist on silence in the car so he can focus, and I can breathe. Unfortunately, that night, there was no greater distraction than two brothers in the backseat begging to turn on the rap music. We had gone out to dinner in a Friday night attempt to steal some family conversation that didn't consist of bathroom banter while my husband was out of town. I was at my wits end from the testosterone overload of parenting three teen boys. Bruh.  Rap music took center stage after devouring the bread and first rou

Gone are the days of kitchen closings for dinner table behavior that belongs in the bathroom! We have now achieved Festivus, for the rest of us parenting teens. The ‘Seinfeld’ holiday includes the ‘airing of grievances’ during the Festivus meal where each person tells everyone else all the ways they have disappointed them over the past year. Among our three sons, this airing of grievances has surpassed the airing of gas to make your brother laugh.  I don't recall many sit-down meals in my family of four growing up, either because we ate meals on t.v. trays or the ridicule usurped positive memories. The responsibility of parenting dinner time discussion has proven equally challenging when ridicule is forbidden and plates are emptied faster than dog dishes. Over the past decade we've tried sharing highs and lows, emotions on the 'feelings wheel', compliments, and vocabulary games like 'Wild Words'.  Lately the sharing of highs and lows has turned into who can shar

 All I know is the tan suede moccasins were here one day and gone the next. That's really all I can say...  My husband Bruce adored his worn-in moccasins purchased in Vancouver, Canada on a Forced Family Fun (FFF) trip several years ago. He imagined they were stitched together by an indigenous tribe, later to be sold in that souvenir shop where we also bought a deck of Canadian playing cards. Those moccasins were so worn-in that the leather shoe laces had broken and the knots my husband made to tie them tight were barely hanging on, so on his birthday, the year prior to their disappearance, I took the beloved soles, along with the baseball catcher's mitt, to a professional baseball glove restringer.  That was back before Covid and the pandemic kept all six of us confined to our home. Back when FFF meant a rare family movie night and before I lost my marbles to four kids online schooling. Back before perimenopause and parenting four teenage children made me cray-cray. Back befor

I thought I'd done everything to protect my kids during the pandemic, from quarantine, to vaccinations and face masks, until Santa came to town. Apparently he wanted to offer vaccinated children who were dating an additional barrier against infection this year!  It was 7 am on the nose Christmas morning and the kids were throwing Schnoodles on us in bed. Like the rousing cup of coffee every parent needs, it was pitch black outside and I could hardly believe it was morning. Grabbing our robes, we hustled downstairs before we missed the destruction of stockings and gift wrappings. Regardless of age, our children were equally excited by the Pez dispensers, Lifesavers and foil wrapped Santas in their stockings, and eager to find out which Schnoodle earned a lump of coal for puking on the carpet or stealing someone's dinner off the table. Board games were to be expected, as Santa enjoys 'Forced Family Fun' as much as we do as parents, despite the teens; but it was the last b