Adventures In Motherhood

My kids messed with the wrong mom. Further proof that their prefrontal cortices are still under construction. I applaud them, however, for testing the boundaries as normal teens do, as well as testing my bona fides as a former trained CIA operative, because now, they've given me a chance to prove my skill set. With more eyes on the prize - empty-nesting in t-minus three years - the stakes have never been higher to prove my children can, and will, achieve their goals, if it's the last thing I guide them to do. Despite my menopausal mania, tradecraft proved effective and Operation Buzzkill a success.  "You get in less trouble if you tell the truth," has always been my mantra.  At times when they were younger, I swore by the old lie-detector test - the one where they'd place their palms down on mine and I'd ask them questions while locking their eyes. Behavior assessment and elicitation, now less effective, probably because their pupils are frozen from too much s...

This is a shitty story. Honestly, from my son who woke up sick, to my daughter who left her shit everywhere, to the dog who shit in my car. Either way it stinks to high heaven! I'm effing tired of reminding my sixteen-year-old daughter to pick up her shit. We simply don't have the square footage divided by six people and two dogs to allow for any one person to occupy the entire house with their belongings. I hurdle her shit on the stairs to the basement, on my way to the kitchen, and out the front door. You'd think I'd be in tiptop athletic shape! Unfortunately I stubbed my toe on a chair tripping over her Vans, Nikes and Blundstone shoes to lock the front door before bed last night. Hobbling my way to the kitchen to shut off the lights and grab my cup of freshly microwaved Sleepytime tea, I couldn't help but notice my computer still sitting unplugged on the dining room table. "Yeah, mom," I distinctly remember my daughter saying as she ‘Vlogged’ her f...

My 13-year-old is stubborn. I am reminded of this as he begrudgingly drags the garbage bag around the house emptying trashcans, the large white Glad plastic bag busting at the seams, in order to instill fear in his mother of it exploding all over the carpet. In an effort to relinquish control and ease my burden, I can no longer watch the stubborn parade of trash. His antics began when he was merely a toddler, age two. Pregnant for the third time and literally busting at the seams myself, I desperately needed his cooperation in order to pick up his sister on time from pre-school. "No!" he shouted, running as fast as his little legs could propel himself up to his bedroom, slamming the door before his weary mother could catch him. Fuming mad, knowing the time was ticking towards the preschool pickup tardy bell and I would face repercussions, the least of which would be judgment and lecture, I struggled to mount the stairs after him. Needless to say, I was additionally tardy ...

Parenting is not perfect. In fact, it's unsightly at times when behaviors escalate and parents have to pull their shit together, remain relatively calm, and adult the heck out of an unfavorable situation. This is increasingly difficult in public, when all eyes are on the Tasmanian devil of a child who is your responsibility to manage whilst stares of judgment penetrate your parental psyche. Recently I was reminded that my boys seem to lose their minds on family 'trips', as I deliberately reserve the word vacation for romantic getaways not involving children. Escaping for our 20th anniversary a few years ago, we opted to take our four children to Disneyland and Laguna Beach, a milestone celebration we wanted our children to remember. Albeit not a romantic couples vacation, the trip seemed achievable without babies in tow. Managing daily entertainment at Disney or the beach with children ages 5, 8, 10 and 12 was easy compared to the evenings when melt downs began and no am...

Everything I learned about parenting I learned from episodes of The Simpsons! Not exactly true as I responsibly recount smatterings of Parenting With Love and Logic along the way; however, as sure as the streets of Portland (creator Matt Groening's hometown) point to Springfield's namesakes, I can't help but admit my admiration for the show's creativity has impacted my parenting style. At my wits end this past month with my boys' hormones on fire and my patience wearing thin during 'May End-of-School-Year Madness', I reached for a consequence. D'oh!! Bart and his chalkboard antics came to mind and I reminded my children that parenting their Bart Simpson behavior was also in my playbook! Don't knock it until you try it! Seriously, parenting from a cartoon has its benefits. My children believe in the authenticity of sentence writing, having seen Bart's disdain for chalkboard punishment firsthand on T.V. Writing sentences on a notepad in the solac...

I vividly remember the years when I managed life with four children in tow, ages seven, five, three and newborn baby. I smiled politely, yet secretly despised the well-meaning adults who admonished me to "enjoy these years; before you know it your kids will be grown!" Never mind my precious young children crying in the grocery store, while I, frazzled and weary from lack of sleep and shower deemed food a necessity. It was extremely difficult to envision any light at the end of the tunnel in the fog of parenting multiple young children, let alone acknowledge the admiring grandparents who fondly recalled these years. Lately, with the glaring light at the end of the tunnel on 'high beam', my daughter a high school freshman, I catch myself admiring the young parents pushing toddlers on swings and walking strollers, wishing I could turn back the clock, yet honoring my pledge to never utter those dreaded words...'enjoy these years' to parents in the thick of it! C...

I have always been a proponent of language in our house.  "Use your words," I constantly remind the children, "and stop pounding your brother!"  My daughter learned 'wild words' in 5th grade; multi-syllabic challenges to our vocabulary, like 'perseverance', we implemented at dinnertime.  Foreign languages expand brain development, so I've shared smatterings with my children over the years and successfully advocated for a Spanish and after-school French class at our school.  My tolerance for profanity, however, in a house full of children, is zilch.  As such,  I swear by the 'Sriracha Effect'! I always knew my children would learn more than George Carlin's 'Seven Dirty Words' on the playground.   Over the years I've cautioned my children, "Use swear words at school and I'll know!"  Initially, they figured it was because of my CIA training and skill in lie detection and surveillance, however, I reminde...

Drastic behaviors call for drastic measures and my children's reactions ranged from "Oh no, you didn't!" to "What does this mean?” as they stared dumbfounded at the sign posted on our refrigerator.  Observing the sheer chaos I had caused, I relished the pleasure of liberation.  While I have fantasized about posting a sign 'Mom's left for the Pacific Crest Trail', or 'Mom's on an Eat, Pray, Love International Adventure', carrying nothing more than a backpack and none of the worries that accompany parenthood, that was not the sign I posted that day.  Who hasn't dreamt of escape?  That Monday, I did the next best thing; I closed the kitchen, and experienced relief and validation.   I look forward to the 2-3 times per week that we can sit down as a family and enjoy a delicious meal I have thoughtfully prepared.  The other nights we are lucky to have a sandwich in the car as we race off to children's sports activities.  I affecti...