Tom Fletcher's Wedding Speech

Communication between me and my oldest teenager, for whom I originally started this blog, is sporadic, at best.  See, she's away at college, and checking in with mom is not a high priority next to cramming for tests, working, an internship and of course, a boyfriend.

Every now and then, like today, we make a strong connection inadvertently through a Facebook post.  She posted this video on my wall, and while it was a long one -- about 15 minutes -- it was worth every second to wacth it. 

All I can say, Honey, is that THIS is what I hope for you someday: To find a man who is as devoted to you and who adores you as much as Tom Fletcher does his new bride.

No rush, though.  Get your degree and settle into your career first, right?

Helicopter Mom Or Ripped-Off Consumer? You Decide.

     Maybe you can help me.  I could be one of those parents who wants to jump in and save her daughter when the going gets tough and life appears to be unfair.

     Or I could just be a ticked off, ripped-off consumer.  You decide.

     So the story goes that I enrolled my daughter in a volleyball club.  She’s 15 and has never played volleyball before, but my very tall daughter (she’s 5” 10”) appeared to show an interest in the sport when she asked for a volleyball for her birthday.  I gifted her the ball and went one step further by signing her up for a local club team.

     It was a great mommy thing to do.  Now, the not-so-great consumer part:  It costs $1,800 for my daughter to have the privilege of being part of this club!

     The ex-husband and I are splitting the cost, so that took the sting out a bit.  But I reasoned, “Oh, it will be worth the money because she’s tall and probably has some hidden talent and perhaps she finally found her sport.” It’s my duty as a mom to develop my daughter’s potential anyway, right?

     You can’t put a price on that.

     So we’re about a month into weekend tournaments and my daughter spends more time on the sidelines watching the other girls play than she does on the court actually playing.  Not that I’m keeping track of her playing time, but I just happened to calculate the total percentage of court time that she had last weekend and it amounted to about 2% of the entire tournament.

     And my blood was boiling! The coach glanced over at me a few times because I was smokin’ hot.  No, really. I’m pretty sure flames were coming out of my ears.

     OK, so maybe my daughter isn’t as experienced a player as the other girls, who have been playing volleyball for 3-4 years longer than her.  But she goes to every practice and works her butt off, just like the other girls. She runs, she hustles, she dives, she digs, she blocks at the net, she has a pretty awesome overhead serve for a beginner . . . and yet, she isn’t getting as much playing time as the other girls in actual game situations.

     Did I mention that we are paying $1,800 – just like all the other parents?

     I did some Googling about “playing time,” and it turns out that it is a hot button in youth sports programs across the globe. There are plenty of parents, like me, wringing their hands and tempering their frustration on the sidelines because their children are sitting out while coaches continue to play their best players.

     Frankly, I don’t think it’s fair. I’m seeing firsthand that when you continue to play only the best girls, two things happen:  These elite few  only get better in their athletic abilities, creating an even greater divide between them and the other, not-so-experienced players like my daughter, ensuring them even more playing time in the future.  And, something only a mom would notice:  I see how wilted and defeated my daughter looks on the sidelines.

     (Or maybe I’m just imagining that, and looking at her through the wrong lens. Mine.)

     When I think about all the money we’re spending/wasting for my daughter to be nothing more than a substitute player, it makes me mad, as a consumer — and breaks my heart, as a mother.

So I asked my daughter how she feels about not getting to play much in a tournament, and bless her heart, here’s what she said:

     “It’s OK.  I’m not good enough yet to play. I just need to work harder and get better at practice.”

     The helicopter mom wanted to swoop in and wrap my arms around my gigantic little girl and say, “Well, of course you’re good enough! You can do anything!”

     But I didn’t, because somewhere deep inside me, I knew she was right.

     So I’ve decided to cool my jets and sit quietly on the sidelines like a good little ripped off, ticked-off parent, with my teeth planted firmly in a very wide leather strap.

     Because character is being developed on – AND OFF – that court.  And I need to remember that’s something that no amount of money could ever buy.

Bad Lip Reading Gets The Teen Vote!

My oldest daughter's first words were, "Shut up!" Please, let me explain. During nice spring days, I used to tie up my beloved Cocker Spaniel, Higgins, outside in the front yard -- in the shade! -- because he liked it there. Lots of stuff going on to engage his senses, I guess. Problem was, he barked all the time, at everything, even ants crawling by on the sidewalk. It drove me crazy, all that barking. And I would yell out the door, "Higgins, shut up!" probably more than any sane person should.

Now you know where this is leading.

So one day, my little cherub of a baby looked at me and said, "Shut UP!" -- emphasis on the "UP!" Cute, but embarrassing in public, let me tell you! And it suddenly hit me: Careful what you say and do -- your children are watching.

Fast forward about 19 years and another daughter later. My youngest is 15 and of course, has had to listen to me rattle on and on about politics. I didn't think she was paying attention. You know how egocentric most teens are. If it's not happening within their immediate social circle, they just aren't interested.

So at dinner last night, she asked me, "Who won the debate?" It was a proud moment. My baby was talking politics! She really was paying attention. Later, I heard her laughing so hard in her bedroom, I had to investigate.

To my great surprise, she said: "Mom! You have to see this video of Mitt Romney. It's hysterical!" What? Now she's watching political videos – and she knew who Mitt Romney was??! I was beside myself with pride. Just when you think your teen is tuned out, you discover she’s really tuned in.

She showed me this video that I'm about to share with you. It has more than 14 million views on YouTube and is making its rounds in teen social circles all over the world. The good news is, teenagers are engaged in politics. They are watching and listening to everything we say.

The bad news is, they are having fun watching someone edit and dub all over it.

Winging It With Teens

       Motherhood is a work in progress; a lifelong dedication to on-the-job training. Our children aren't born clutching Owner's Manuals, so as parents, most times we are winging it when it comes to raising them.

My oldest daughter, who goes to college out of state, is home for the summer. She did a lot of growing up this last year while she was away at school, and I am bursting with pride for her. Straight A’s her freshmen year, can you believe it? But she also balanced books with her share of fun, too. Frat parties, football games – the whole nine yards.

        I'm thrilled that she is home right now and I get to play at being her mom again. But quite frankly, I'm a little confused about my role with her.  She is in that “tween” stage again -- nearly 19 years old, but not quite a legal adult.  Or, as she says, "I'm old enough to vote, watch porn and go to war.  But I can't drink."

She still asks for my permission to go out at night, for which I feel both grateful and extremely guilty.  It’s nice to know that, in her eyes, her mom still has some control over choices she makes.

But should I ‘fess up? If she only knew that when I was her age, there is NO WAY I would have ever sought my mother’s permission to go out with my friends.  I had my own car, made my own money, my own apartment.  I had completely vacated the nest. 

If she only knew how easy it would be to declare her independence. All she has to say is, “Mom, I’m 18. I can do what I want.” Part of me -- that young girl who was 18 at one time, too -- wants her to play that card; but another part of me hopes she doesn’t quite yet.  I still worry about her and foolishly think that I can still protect her.

Tonight she wants to go out with some old high school friends who are back in town for the summer, too.  A reunion, no problem there.  But there’s a catch:  They are going to a gay bar downtown. See, one of her friends is gay, the rest are straight, and he has convinced them it would be fun to hang out at a gay dance club.

She asked me if she could go. (Again, she really didn’t need to.)  So I played the “mom role” expected of me. I grumbled incoherently about it not being a good choice, and that I was concerned about her being out that late.  She said they just wanted to go dance and have fun.  

I had to repress every ounce of my mother’s instinct to say, “OK,” but I really don’t have much of a say here at all.  The reality is, my daughter is all grown up, and I need to trust her to make good decisions on her own.

Yes, as parents we are winging it most of the time.  But there comes a time, no matter how much it pains us, when we need to push our children out of the nest so they can take flight, too.

Regretfully, Yours

Over chips and guacamole one night, my 14-year-old daughter asked, “Do you have any regrets, Mom?”  After subsequently choking on a chip, I began mentally flipping through a Rolodex of regrets in my life. Number one was marrying her father, who didn’t turn out to be the best of men.  Of course I couldn’t tell her that, so I dug deeper. 

“I regret that I didn’t go to the rodeo with Fred.”  A confession -- and an epiphany.

Fred was a childhood friend.  I liked him -- a lot. He had soft brown eyes, a big heart and a mentally disabled brother he fiercely protected. But I was a shy and immature 7^th grader, so nothing ever came of my crush.  In high school, Fred worked up his nerve to ask me out. While on our way home from a movie, he stopped to help a woman change a flat tire on the side of the road.  Fred was a hero, even then.

Fred later asked me to the rodeo.  I made up some lame excuse not to go. He had become a cowboy and moved to the foothills. A simple guy, living a simple life, and simply too redneck for me. 

 I never saw him again.

When I was away at college, Fred was killed on his motorcycle by a drunk driver.  His family donated his organs, including those beautiful brown eyes, to a handful of people who are alive now because of him.

I’ve always wanted to find the man who was given Fred’s eyes. I want to look into them one last time, and from the bottom of my soul, tell him that I’m sorry I judged him so harshly, and that he was the kind of man I should have married all along.

But I can’t go back. I can only hope my teenaged daughters will learn from my mistake: To not judge someone so quickly; and to give every person they meet a chance to show them what a hero he or she can become.

IT'S MY DAY!

     Today is officially Mother’s Day. The one day out of 365 days where moms, like me, are supposed to drop the laundry basket and not do a damn thing except RELAX!  Who, me?  Relax?  It’s a tall order for most of us mom types.  And it was all I could do to stay in bed while I heard my youngest 14-year-old daughter frying up homemade donuts in the kitchen.  They smelled good, but all I could think about was, “I wonder where all the grease splatters are flying?  I’ll have to clean that up later.”

     Honestly, Lynn . . . take a chill pill.  You being treated like a queen is a good thing!

     Looking back, it turned out to be a GREAT day!  My oldest daughter, who is away at college up north, surprised me with a very expensive bouquet of purple roses.  My favorite flower!  I am always amazed that God could come up with a color that beautiful for a rose.  Takes my breath away, it does. I’m still not sure how my cash-poor college kid paid for those flowers, but I’m not even going to think about it.  It was an incredible gesture – I trained her well. And I had no idea they delivered flowers on Sunday!  It’s hard to surprise me, but she did.

     My youngest and I attended a special Mother’s Day Brunch at Henry’s Steakhouse at the Red Hawk Casino in Placerville. Now, if you’ve never been to the Red Hawk Casino, you’re truly missing out. It’s a great little getaway for the day – especially if you’ve grown tired of the same-old-same-old routine in town.  Just up the road, the Red Hawk oasis of fun awaits, and there is really something for every member of the family there. 

     Of course, you’ll find gaming tables and slots galore for the big kids. Nightly entertainment. Five restaurants to satisfy almost every palate – from steak and seafood to sushi, Mexican cuisine and 24-hour café fare.

     As I said, my daughter and I indulged in the special Mother’s Day Brunch at Henry’s Steakhouse, where we were treated to a selection of food that never seemed to end:  fruit, pastries, oysters, shrimp, salmon, omelets made-to-order, ham, sirloin of beef, waffles, chicken, fresh vegetables, crab cakes, artisan breads – and I haven’t even gotten to the dessert spread yet. It was an amazing two hours of non-stop eating, and we waddled out of there very happy, thank you very much.  Chef Jerrett Davis creates some incredible dishes in his kitchen at Henry’s.

     So if you’d like to have a romantic steak dinner for two at Henry’s Steakhouse, and you have some young ones, from six weeks to 12 years old, take them to KidsQuest, Red Hawk’s supervised childcare program.  They will be fully entertained, for about $8/hour.  In fact, there’s so much to do at KidsQuest, they will probably forget about you for a few hours: an indoor playground, an arcade, video games, a Karaoke stage and more.  Isn’t the alone time worth it?

     Bigger kids will love the Cyber Quest arcade, which is professionally supervised and only offers non-violent games. It will actually dazzle you when you walk in, and you may think twice about going back to the gaming tables.  Somehow, this looks like more fun because people aren’t as tense about losing their money here.

I know all about Cyber Quest. How?  Well, after stuffing myself at brunch, I told my teenager that I wanted to play a few quick hands of blackjack, and she said she’d wait over by the restrooms for me.  She was texting friends, and seemed otherwise occupied.  After circling the casino a few times, trying to find a winning $2 table, I settled in.  My first hand?  BLACKJACK!  Happy Mother’s Day!  Fast-forward 45 minutes and a stack of winning chips later, and I feel a tap on my shoulder.  I turn around and see two very big security guards flanking my very tall teenager, and actually dwarfing her.  “M’aam?  Is this your daughter?”   

     The dealer stopped tossing cards to everyone, and the whole table turned around.  I was CRIMSON with shame!  I felt like some kind of white-trash mom – or a softer version of Joan Crawford -- who abandoned her child on Mother’s Day to go gamble away grocery money at the blackjack table.  All that was missing was a cigarette in one hand and a gin-and-tonic in the other.  Apparently, children aren’t allowed on the casino floor – not even by the bathrooms.  Some nosey woman called security on me.

     I quickly grabbed my winnings and the security guards escorted us up to Cyber Quest, where abandoned children are allowed to hang out with their deadbeat moms, I guess.

Long Time, No Post

Yes, I am still alive.  And my daughters are very well, thank you.  I know it's been a very long time -- years, really -- since my last post.  But I have a good explanation:  My oldest daughter asked me to stop writing about her.  Above all else, I respect my daughter's right to privacy.

She understands that her mom is a writer, and that writers write about their lives, but she didn't like me posting pictures about her or telling total strangers the little everyday details about her life. It was getting to the point where she stopped telling me things about herself that I should know, as her mother, because she was afraid that I was going to blog about it.

So I stopped blogging about her. Cold turkey.  My relationship with my daughter trumps any obligation that a blogger feels toward readers. A bizarre relationship by any definition, isn't it?

To catch you up, my oldest daughter is now in college, and my youngest daughter has hatched into teenhood.  So I am reliving these teen years all over again.  It's equally fun and frustrating.  Maddening is a better word.  As is the case with most siblings, my two daughters are polar opposites, and the youngest one doesn't mind if I blog about her.

So I probably will, from time to time.  When the mood strikes.  Or when I find the time.