Love Bites

I sniff my teens. Seriously, when they come home at curfew I take comfort in the 'All Free and Clear' mixed with 'Degree Men's Sport' armpit, which is where my head lands these days. I admit, I also like to see the whites of their eyes. These are the only clues I have when my greetings are inevitably met with hasty grunts and shuttered doors. Rest assured, if they want to drive the car, they must check-in for a clandestine sniffing at curfew. Love bites, as a mom to four teens, and that is where my secret interrogation begins...

Peri-menopause exhaustion turns into a caffeine-like buzz at bedtime when my teens are out, despite whatever melatonin induced coma I've attempted. My husband snoring beside me, the warmth of the bedsheets is little comfort to a mama bear awaiting her cubs. The beep of the car door lock outside alerts me it's 11pm on the dot. Not even the two sleeping Schnoodles hear the footsteps up the stairs as my son approaches our bedroom. I sense hesitation. 

"Night mom," he whispers from outside the door. Flicking on my bedside lamp, I spy him quickly raise his hoodie over his head peeking inside. Wrong move chess champ! Street smarts that outwitted my parents and launched an undercover career, have been both a blessing and a curse in motherhood. 

"Come give me a hug buddy!" I outstretch my arms, asking him to please lower his hood. Squirrelly dude left me confident the hoodie move was a false-flag operation. Sousaphone bruise my ass! Checkmate. Love bites when your mom discovers a fresh neck raspberry you can't disguise with a shoulder shrug. 

Turning tomato red like his mom suffering a hot-flash, my son claimed he was furious his girlfriend didn't listen when he told her to stop, instead offering him a cold ice pack. Is she a vampire? 

Caught between giddiness of my son finally experiencing life outside a pandemic face mask and the protection of a mama bear, I sprang into action 'Googling' hickey. Who knew Visine could get the red out of anything above the neck? Ha, and my kids say you can't teach an old mom new tricks! 

I love the natural consequences of working audio visual for church service at 9am on a Sunday. "We'll find you a collared shirt in the morning," I promised, assuring him that 'no means no' for boys too. My husband, wide awake and by all accounts speechless, chuckled as I crawled back into bed replaying the scene a bazillion times in my head. (I couldn't help but remember Olympia Dukakis in Moonstruck, scolding Cher for her love bite at the breakfast table.) At least I fell short of shouting his life was going down the toilet! 

The lustful lesion was easily disguised by the black button-up band shirt I found in his closet. I smiled countering his insecurity in the bathroom mirror, clear in broad daylight without a drawstring sweatshirt.

My teens are great people. Shocked I survived with little forethought as a teen, I'm grateful my children are wiser and I respect them. We value their input for screen time and many house rules, though we've overruled hats and hoodies at the dinner table. While my boys don't always have manners fit for grandma, they'll be able to pass the muster, not having been raised by wolves.

My son had two things going for him at dinner that Sunday evening: brothers who didn't know which shoulder props a Sousaphone and a mother who's not a snitch. 

"Your brothers could learn a lesson from you about the bruise on your neck," I shared when the culprit's dinner teasing rose above my level of potty-talk toleration. I'll admit I took the easy route with my son sweating interrogation, and for the first time in my family's existence, everyone with two ears (and balls) heard me when I spoke! While my tactics silenced my son, they had the opposite effect of igniting his fury. Lesson learned, myself included. I later apologized for joining the table of immaturity, assuring him his brothers were none the wiser, and we all escaped relatively unscathed. 

The next day I texted, "Your brother asked me why you would be embarrassed of a Sousaphone bruise. I told him I didn't know, it's a heavy instrument and to ask you. 😊" 

His cover story intact, I further texted "Don't make fun of him. Bruh, that would not be cool!"

Apparently his girlfriend loved the fact that I said 'bruh'. How ironically vampirish of her.