I am the mother of a 14 year old. I am just about at that stage in my life when I will have to start searching her friends’ bags when they come over for any hidden paraphernalia. For instance: beer, vodka, bongs…
Now I was no saint when I was a teen. But I didn’t start acting like a complete dumb-ass until I was at least 16. What’s with these kids today and their need to grow up so fast? Teenagers are stupid. Even though at this age I proclaimed to my mother that MY children will be allowed to do whatever they wanted.
I worry that my kid will make the wrong decision someday but for right now I’m feeling pretty confident that she won’t.
Here are just some of my reasons:
- She will not take cough medicine even though she is coughing so badly she has all but coughed up her esophagus.
- She will not swallow her Flintstone vitamin AND an Advil because she’s afraid of drug interaction.
- She will not spray a little saline up her nose to help ease some dryness for fear of becoming addicted.
- She will not take Tylenol because someone once told her it will kill her liver.
So, to those mom’s who also check bags…I think you may be safe with this one. Unless she’s holding it for someone else. But that is a whole other topic.
About 2 years ago, I started hearing these horrible stories about what goes on in the back of the school bus. I was completely flabbergasted not to mention a bit freaked out. I know I sound like my mother, but what is happening to the youth of today?
So, needless to say, I had to have the “talk” with my child. I mean, she already got the generic Birds and Bees talk. You know, the “you must wait until you are married for 5 years, and only if you really, really love your husband can you share that love in a special way that MARRIED men and women do” talk. I was pissed that I had to go a bit deeper. Damn you, stupid slutty girls.
Me: Do you know what Oral Sex is?
The Kid: Well, yes.
Me: (oh God) What do you think it is?
The Kid: um…when you talk about sex?
Phew…ok, she’s still Pollyanna. Now I had to, in a way that would scare the living shit out of her, tell my sweet little 12 year old what this Oral Sex was all about. Luckily, she was completely, out of this world, disgusted by the concept. I can only hope this disgust lasts for, oh I don’t…EVER?!
As for the kids sitting at the back of the bus? Some words of advice: Boys, keep it in your pants. Girls, keep your mouths closed, it ain’t all that.
Yesterday I told of my daughter’s special gift of my leftover “incidentals.” Well, at least they had a sticky strip to make her life easier. Would you like to hear about MY hand-me-down?
Hysterectomies run in my family. A tradition that runs 4 generations deep on my maternal side. Anyway, when my mom lost her “womanhood”, she left me a nice surprise but I wouldn’t find out about it until it was too late. Believe me, if I had known it would have accidentally died in a fire.
Mother Nature showed up when I was 14, sitting in my room, on the floor, doing a puzzle. My mother was at work. My father was home. Oh God.
I called my mom in total panic mode. She instructed me to go to the hall closet. In the said closet on the top shelf is where it was, cobwebs and all. What I pulled down completely had me puzzled.
What is it? A headband? A dog collar? I could only wish. For those of you who don’t know, it’s called a Sanitary Belt. Honestly, I think it was a hand me down from HER mother. And the pad I had to use? It looked like it was made for a menstrating elephant. Never mind an 80 pound teenage girl child. Once I figured it out and got it on, it flopped about until dad drove me to the nearest pharmacy where he made ME go in and get some supplies.
Well, 30 years and many therapy sessions later, I’m over it. And whatever became of the belt? It’s hanging in the Smithsonian. Right next to the torture rack.
My husband and I decided long before we married that probably one child would be enough for us. We were completely fine with it but it seems no one else was.
Them: So, when are you going to have another child?
Me: Um, never…
Them: Oh my, I’m sorry.
Me: No, really, it’s okay.
Them: So what is it? His sperm? Your eggs? You know, my husband’s sperm are slow swimmers. Just stand on your head, it’ll turn those bastards into a pack of little Mark Spitzes.
Me: Well, no, there’ no problem there. We just don’t want to have any more.
Them: (GASP) WHAT??? Oh.my.god. That is totally not a real family. No, two is a family, but one? One is a pet.
Okay dude, like really? If I had a dime for every time I got that reaction or something close to it, I’d have to change my name to Ivana Trump. All I know is there are a lot of people walking around with more balls than Yankee Stadium.
So, if we are not a family, then what are we? A pack of dogs? A pet sitting service? Well, she has always been good at fetching my slippers. I guess we should have changed her name to Fido.