It’s all over too quickly. Babies to boys to men.
Showing posts with label raising teenagers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label raising teenagers. Show all posts
6/09/2009
4/03/2008
How Can They Miss Me If I Won't Go Away?
It's down to the wire. Tomorrow morning it's lift-off. I'll be gone for 9 days. The Youngest Unnamed One is staying behind, watched over by Mertis. They say they plan to eat out EVERY SINGLE night and have great adventures.
I am a wee bit concerned as the two of them tend to get a little wild and crazy without my supervision.
Take the Christmas debacle for instance...
They climbed up on top of the roof and hung the giant wreath from the tippy top of the house. I know, it's only a one story home, but still, it was dangerous don't you think?
Mert and the Youngest have been known to get wild for no reason whatsoever....
This puzzles me because when I'm home, when he's not under Mert's influence, the child is such a calm, retiring thing...
Okay. That was years ago, I know. He's a junior in high school now and Mert has never been arrested for any major crimes, that I know of. Sigh.
I'm sure they'll both be fine. Just fine...
In fact, sniff, sniff, I bet they won't even MISS me!
I am a wee bit concerned as the two of them tend to get a little wild and crazy without my supervision.
Take the Christmas debacle for instance...
They climbed up on top of the roof and hung the giant wreath from the tippy top of the house. I know, it's only a one story home, but still, it was dangerous don't you think?
Mert and the Youngest have been known to get wild for no reason whatsoever....
This puzzles me because when I'm home, when he's not under Mert's influence, the child is such a calm, retiring thing...
Okay. That was years ago, I know. He's a junior in high school now and Mert has never been arrested for any major crimes, that I know of. Sigh.
I'm sure they'll both be fine. Just fine...
In fact, sniff, sniff, I bet they won't even MISS me!
4/01/2008
Look, Ma! No Braces!
Both boys have been saddled with braces and in both cases, they've worn them for YEARS. In fact, we the myth about our orthodontist is, she won't release you until you provide another hostage. After all, that's how we found her- one of my friends was a patient.
But finally, after three long years, the Youngest Unnamed One has been cut loose.
Tonight there will be feasting and celebrating in the castle. Dancing girls will gather round the bonfire...All right, so maybe we'll just go down to the cafeteria and eat whatever we want.
Still, it's a happy day in the neighborhood.
11/14/2007
Phases of Life- Boys to Men
The Unnamed Ones have taken up cooking. The Eldest Unnamed One has been at it for a couple of years, but with the arrival of Gordon Ramsey and Kitchen Nightmares, the Youngest Unnamed One has also become enamoured of the culinary arts.
They want to open a restaurant. Together. The two of them. The same two who fought like cats and dogs every day of their childhood. I can't tell you how many times I had the "Friends come and go but family is forever" and the "One day I'll be gone..." talk. I'm not proud of pulling the guilt card but desperate times called for desperate measures.
Anyway, in light of these recent developments, I decided to ask the two if they'd like to each make a dish to go with Thanksgiving dinner.
The Eldest is on it. The last time I checked, he was thinking he'd make Mac and Cheese with Bacon.
The Youngest weighed in last night. We'll be having Turkey, Mac and Cheese and Egg Rolls.
Cool, huh?
After dinner, I'll kick their asses at...er...I mean, I'll introduce them to the card game, Phase-10.
Life is good.
5/02/2007
Life in Miniature at the K & W Cafeteria
The Eldest Unnamed One is drunk on being 18, in love and his impending high school graduation. He is brash and goofy, a know-it-all and a kid again...and it is only Tuesday.
We are in line at the K & W Cafeteria, trying to pretend we don't know each other. I ignore his silliness. He ignores Mertis's silent disapproval. I talk to the Youngest Unnamed One and wish the line wasn't so long.
It has been a hard day in Old People Land. The social worker at one place, one of the young, good ones, may not quit after all, but only because her heart's been broken by the new boyfriend. I am selfishly glad.
I am thinking about this when I hear a voice say, "You know, you keep chewin' on that pen and you'll wind up swallowing it. You don't want to write your name that way, now do you?"
I turn and catch my breath. Hell. A frail old man in an orange ball cap, his jeans loose and cinched tight around his waist with a canvas belt, a frayed hole in the back of his pants exposes his shirt tail. His smile is disarming, his eyes gray-blue and too happy for what I am sure is about to come.
He has taken on the Eldest, the one who is never wrong, facing off against the kid with a happy smile and the clear expectation that this is going to be a wonderful conversation.
The Eldest chuckles, sticks the pen in his pocket and says something I don't hear...but the Beloved smiles, so I know he can't have insulted the old man.
"She your sister?" the man asks.
The Eldest smiles indulgently while the Beloved explains, "Girlfriend."
"Girlfriend, eh?" He gives the Eldest a collegegial smile. "Well, you favor, that's why I asked."
"I graduated high school in 1947," I hear the old man say. Two women I take for his wife and daughter try to pretend they're not with him, turning their attention toward the cafeteria line and murmuring to themselves about what they'll have and what will disagree with their tricky stomachs.
The Old Guy is oblivious. "1947," he says. "That was probably before your time, huh?"
The Eldest chuckles. When the Old Guy asks where The Eldest will be going to school, he feigns mock indignation. He's a State grad.
"What was your major?" I hear the Eldest ask. He seems truly interested.
I decide maybe I won't disown him after all.
The Old Guy tells the Eldest every parable and bit of advice he can think of and fit into the ten minute trip down the food line...And all the while my son listens, nodding and commenting, smiling and agreeing...even when I'm fairly certain he doesn't truly agree.
I look at the Old Guy and do the math. He is my father's age...were he here. I think of the Eldest and my Dad, of the way my father loved that boy and of how the boy loved his grandfather.
I remember the dream I had the night before. I am in my father's parents' living room. Both my grandparents are there, sitting enjoying the cocktail hour just as they did every afternoon. Only, I know they are dead. I know they are dead and I know my father is dying. He is with me, following me into the room. In my dream, dad is much younger. He is the same age he was when I was five.
He walks into his parents' house, sees his father sitting in his favorite arm chair and Dad's knees buckle and give out as he sags against me. I am trying to hold my father up and he is crying. He knows his father is dead. He knows he is dying. But I think he cries because he is so glad to have him back.
I am standing in the line at the K & W, watching my son and the new friend who needs to pack every bit of his life into the Eldest's awareness before they come to the end of the line and there is no more time.
I am following the two of them, half-attending to Mertis and the Youngest Unnamed One, pretending I care what we eat when all I want is my dad.
The Eldest Unnamed One realizes none of this, surely doesn't know what a microcosm this cafeteria has become for our lives and probably would care less if he did know.
Some days I wonder how the world can keep spinning without Dad. Missing him takes my breath away.
And then I see him in the Eldest or in the Youngest and I realize he is here after all...Dad would've listened to the Old Guy. He would've smiled indulgently at the Eldest, found his way into the heart and soul of the Youngest and made Mertis laugh.
He would've understood life in miniature at the K & W on a Tuesday evening.
We are in line at the K & W Cafeteria, trying to pretend we don't know each other. I ignore his silliness. He ignores Mertis's silent disapproval. I talk to the Youngest Unnamed One and wish the line wasn't so long.
It has been a hard day in Old People Land. The social worker at one place, one of the young, good ones, may not quit after all, but only because her heart's been broken by the new boyfriend. I am selfishly glad.
I am thinking about this when I hear a voice say, "You know, you keep chewin' on that pen and you'll wind up swallowing it. You don't want to write your name that way, now do you?"
I turn and catch my breath. Hell. A frail old man in an orange ball cap, his jeans loose and cinched tight around his waist with a canvas belt, a frayed hole in the back of his pants exposes his shirt tail. His smile is disarming, his eyes gray-blue and too happy for what I am sure is about to come.
He has taken on the Eldest, the one who is never wrong, facing off against the kid with a happy smile and the clear expectation that this is going to be a wonderful conversation.
The Eldest chuckles, sticks the pen in his pocket and says something I don't hear...but the Beloved smiles, so I know he can't have insulted the old man.
"She your sister?" the man asks.
The Eldest smiles indulgently while the Beloved explains, "Girlfriend."
"Girlfriend, eh?" He gives the Eldest a collegegial smile. "Well, you favor, that's why I asked."
"I graduated high school in 1947," I hear the old man say. Two women I take for his wife and daughter try to pretend they're not with him, turning their attention toward the cafeteria line and murmuring to themselves about what they'll have and what will disagree with their tricky stomachs.
The Old Guy is oblivious. "1947," he says. "That was probably before your time, huh?"
The Eldest chuckles. When the Old Guy asks where The Eldest will be going to school, he feigns mock indignation. He's a State grad.
"What was your major?" I hear the Eldest ask. He seems truly interested.
I decide maybe I won't disown him after all.
The Old Guy tells the Eldest every parable and bit of advice he can think of and fit into the ten minute trip down the food line...And all the while my son listens, nodding and commenting, smiling and agreeing...even when I'm fairly certain he doesn't truly agree.
I look at the Old Guy and do the math. He is my father's age...were he here. I think of the Eldest and my Dad, of the way my father loved that boy and of how the boy loved his grandfather.
I remember the dream I had the night before. I am in my father's parents' living room. Both my grandparents are there, sitting enjoying the cocktail hour just as they did every afternoon. Only, I know they are dead. I know they are dead and I know my father is dying. He is with me, following me into the room. In my dream, dad is much younger. He is the same age he was when I was five.
He walks into his parents' house, sees his father sitting in his favorite arm chair and Dad's knees buckle and give out as he sags against me. I am trying to hold my father up and he is crying. He knows his father is dead. He knows he is dying. But I think he cries because he is so glad to have him back.
I am standing in the line at the K & W, watching my son and the new friend who needs to pack every bit of his life into the Eldest's awareness before they come to the end of the line and there is no more time.
I am following the two of them, half-attending to Mertis and the Youngest Unnamed One, pretending I care what we eat when all I want is my dad.
The Eldest Unnamed One realizes none of this, surely doesn't know what a microcosm this cafeteria has become for our lives and probably would care less if he did know.
Some days I wonder how the world can keep spinning without Dad. Missing him takes my breath away.
And then I see him in the Eldest or in the Youngest and I realize he is here after all...Dad would've listened to the Old Guy. He would've smiled indulgently at the Eldest, found his way into the heart and soul of the Youngest and made Mertis laugh.
He would've understood life in miniature at the K & W on a Tuesday evening.
4/30/2007
The Price of Doing Business...Here
The Unnamed Ones are at it again. Last week while the Eldest was home sick with a bug and his brother was keeping him company, they made more money in three hours than I make consulting in my three nursing homes in a week!
Smug. Let me tell you, they are full of themselves.
They even gave me change back when I sent them to the store!
What is the world coming to?
Hey, maybe I should charge a commission on all their work as A.) this is my house and they were using my utilities and, more importantly...B.) I was the one who raised them to be such devilish entrepreneurs!
That's worth what, 30 percent?
Smug. Let me tell you, they are full of themselves.
They even gave me change back when I sent them to the store!
What is the world coming to?
Hey, maybe I should charge a commission on all their work as A.) this is my house and they were using my utilities and, more importantly...B.) I was the one who raised them to be such devilish entrepreneurs!
That's worth what, 30 percent?
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