Adventures In Motherhood

My 15-year-old daughter texted me a picture of my blog this week, "ok this is interesting," she wrote. Laughing aloud I learned two things in that moment, the first, that I was literally busted on Santa with enough proof to out me to her brothers, and the second, that she respects my writing enough to read it. I also realized that I matter to my teen. In all honesty, parenting teens is like climbing Mt. Everest without a guide, doubting your abilities, being attacked by wild animals, struggling for oxygen, feeling weak, and lacking confidence in your ability to survive. I brace myself as I grab a morning cup of coffee, not entirely sure if a mountain lion or fluffy bunny will show up at the kitchen table before school or after, if we're lucky enough to have time to eat dinner as a family. My mountain climb is never ending with four children and it's a mental Mensa game! "You made me sound like a bratty kid," she said at the breakfast table the next ...

Who knew my former career as an undercover CIA agent with top-secret clearances would prepare me for my largest role as mom to four? Unfortunately my cover was nearly blown for the first time disguised as Santa! Tooth Fairy, Santa, Easter Bunny, you name it, it's an easy job if my husband would only follow my rules... admit nothing, deny everything, make counteraccusations . We still have an 8-year-old and I have undercover magic left to give! Last Saturday, while counting the Portland Trailblazers basketball tickets Santa had carefully delivered to each of our six stockings, my husband announced we were missing a ticket for seat 7. Oh s*&%! The barcoded ticket I discreetly printed on our color printer must've been thrown away with the wrapping paper on Christmas Day. How was I possibly going to cover my tracks and print another ticket without the kids knowing in the ten minutes before we left? "Santa's cheap!" sang my 13-year-old son laughing. Granted...

Having worked undercover for the CIA prior to starting a family, my colleagues and I would often banter about times we were confronted regarding our true careers, jokingly professing to admit nothing, deny everything and make counter accusations, rather than risk exposure. Despite knowing my professional background, my children lack the ability to discern my modus operandi when I admit nothing, deny everything and make counter accusations. While honestly not my parenting style, I must confess that a few clandestine tricks of the trade have come in handy as a mother, especially when it comes to Santa Claus. I distinctly remember sitting on a bench at the North Pole amusement park in Colorado when my daughter, eight years old, asked me if Santa Claus was real. She proceeded to inform me that the secret was revealed on the playground and she no longer believed. For years I dreaded this conversation so much that I found myself ill prepared to answer. After all, we had gone to the North P...