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...

Today is the final day of 'Winter Break'; New Year's Day and I am thankful for time. The kids have had too much screen time, too much time eating candy, too much pestering time, and too much time supervised by parents, so I did what any good parent would do and kicked them out of the house! It's a new year and the sun is shining, even in Portland, so time to get on with those New Years' resolutions...right? I'd rather reflect on the blessing of 'time' by writing alone, as best I know how. I am thankful to have experienced 18 days together with my four children and husband. Who says that? I'm not sure we've ever had 18 days together without an insane schedule of activities! Sure, I could do without the week confined to the same travel sleeping quarters with my son and husband coughing like barking dogs at midnight, poor souls, but I'm thankful for that time of forced family fun, especially since our teenage daughter all too ready ...

Tripping over shoes is exactly why I agreed to a puppy, as if four kids isn't enough. Leave your shoes at your own risk with this terror around. You can tell by his shifty eyes he's up to no good! Unfortunately this cuddly deterrent, capable of devouring his weight in Christmas ornaments, hasn't scared my 15-year-old daughter, the Imelda Marcos of footwear, who has no less than a closet full of shoes laying around on any given day. I have threatened to throw her shoes on the porch with her three brothers' fragrant locker room beauties, however, that's become an expensive proposition with three pairs of hers already stolen. Apparently her fashion style is in high demand and less rancid than the boys', so I opted for a shoe rack inside, allowing two pairs at a time while training the puppy the rack is off limits. Needless to say, my advanced math teenage daughter cannot count. She entirely consumes the upper rack and most of the floor on any given day, a...

This morning began like any other, dogs out, coffee on, my starving 15-year-old daughter accusing me of running out of food in the house, rushing my 8-year-old to the bus stop, wetting down my 13-year-old's hair, lest he look like a rooster at the band concert tonight, and verifying my 11-year-old had black pants and a white shirt that fit for his first band concert. This was all before my first cup of Joe! Determining I'd have to add 'buy black pants' to my endless To Do list today, I made my ritual stop in the boys' bathroom to flush the simmering pot whatever they had deposited. A boys' bathroom is a Petri dish of disgusting bodily fluids and this morning was no exception. Little did I know it was a ticking time bomb ready to explode. Like a Magic Tree House book, I was transported on yet another Adventure In Motherhood: 'Tsunami Before Coffee'! Flushing the handle, I turned to jog downstairs for a cup of coffee before stopping cold in my tracks. My...

"We are the only kids that don't have smartphones at school!” insisted my four children when we moved to Oregon two years ago. Even my 1st grade son had children in his class with the latest and greatest smartphones at that time. I recall a similar conversation from my own childhood revolving around getting a corded telephone for my bedroom. New technology, even greater challenges; flipping awesome! Having moved halfway across the country at the start of my daughter's 8th grade year in middle school, we were keenly aware of her need to build social relationships ASAP. When she named every known child her age with a smart phone, we quickly realized that she was quite possibly the only 8th grade student in Oregon and Colorado without one. Having experienced traumatic family moves during my formative teen years, my daughter knew I was an easy sell, and my three younger sons began their campaign as well. Fortunately as parents, we had Bill Gates on our side. How can childr...

I imagine 6 th grade back-to-school playground discussions on the foursquare court planning after school activities turned to guns. My 11-year-old son admitting to friends he’s not allowed to go to Graham's house because of your unlocked weapons. I imagine another boy, Solomon, claimed his mother felt the same way. I imagine your son told you about Solomon and your ego took over. This would explain why my son burst through the door crying the second week of school. “ Graham’s no longer allowed at our house mom because his dad is mad at you for telling Solomon’s mom they had guns! ”  Hell yes I told Solomon’s mom last June why my son couldn’t play at your house! I would never lie.  I imagine Graham was bragging when he took all the boys into your bedroom with the unlocked weapons during his birthday party last year, my son later confessing the truth. I’ve since learned to begin play dates with safety conversations about allergies, pets, gu...