“Just give me one good reason...”

I’m forcing the teenager to take a few riding lessons.

(Mom: you only recognize him if you know him...)

 "it's dumb and boring” he says.

Admittedly, walking in circles around the arena as one overcomes fear of being way up high on such a large and unpredictable animal can be a tad boring at first.

Learning to post can induce mental and physical fatigue with being so repetitive, and its actually hard work—really!

It takes strength of stomach, thigh and calf muscles as well as a sense of timing.

The teenager wants “just one good reason” for having to take riding lessons.

He doesn’t buy the “I love you and want you to have as many opportunities as possible, even if it doesn’t feel like an opportunity at the moment” bit, or that “one day you’ll back and be thankful for the experience!”

I don’t know if this is a case of “mother knows best,” but I’m sticking to it!

Some things are just too easy here—like the eight minute ride to the barn and how inexpensive the cost of the lessons—so why not take advantage and make the most of them?

“Besides,” I tell him, “It’ll be impressive to girls someday.”

I can’t believe I actually said that!  

It’s a road I’m not at all ready, or willing, to travel…

Postscript

The Legal Dude is in NM with some colleagues, both of whom ride and, in fact, will be riding today. 

Their advice: Forget the barn and get the teenager on some trails.  

Hmmm…

Maybe, just maybe...

"My Son"

Alas, all good things must come to an end.

And so it is true with my four week color foundation art class.

These past—beyond intense—weeks have been the best four straight weeks of my life in recent memory.

To say “I loved it!” doesn’t do justice.

It was fun, exhilarating and one huge confidence booster. 

It was also hard, hard work and I often stayed up until the wee hours of the morning working on projects or the required sketchbook. 

Again, I loved every minute of it!

My professor was great, as were my classmates.  I will miss them all.

I struggled, and I soared, at varying times during the session.

Most recently I struggled with my final project—using expressive color to create art based on an emotion, past experience, etc.

A classmate dubbed my piece “My son.”

I had hoped to create a fabric and photo montage, or a collage, of the emotional journey with the teenager—from toddler-hood through teen-hood.

Alas, it looked instead like a gargantuan scrapbook page—not at all what I was aiming for nor the note I wanted to end on.

So at the 11^th hour I decided to forego the montage effect and let the background stand alone and be the final piece, with a few little embellishments.

I’m neither content nor satisfied with the final product, but have made peace with it.

Hard to tell if my prof liked it or not.

He made seemingly positive comments and intimated (I think) that it has a sense of “distilled clarity,” which is a good thing. 

Still, hard to tell what he actually thought.

Creating this piece took me on a roller coaster of an emotional journey: looking at photos of the teenager as a smiling toddler who allowed me to hug and hold him in my arms and in later years increasingly distanced himself by standing just “that” little bit of distance away from me.

So the piece contains a great deal of symbolism, which can also be interpreted by the viewer.

Don't know if I'll get my usual grade, but I’ve made peace with that too.  

I've come to realize that the true value in taking this class is not garnering the coveted “A,” but rather learning to grow artistically. 

I believe I have.

How to read "My Son"

From right to left (the reverse of all other art):

The vibrant and highly saturated, warm, happy and sometimes simultaneous contrasting colors represent the unconditional love between the toddler and his mom—me. The final piece has a few Lego pieces attached in bright primary colors, which, together with the buttons, are falling towards the left to represent (as does the downward slant of some of the fabric pieces) how the toddler moves—away from me.

The piece gradually darkens to create an atmospheric expression of brooding, moodiness and a sense of closing down—the dark squares on the bottom left representing a barrier, along with the stripes adjacent to the horses—hurdles for him on his journey of life or perhaps for me to jump over as he continues to distance himself from me. The long vertical piece on the left is a tie, representing how my baby is becoming a young man...sigh.

As they say, all good things must come to an end.

Our children can’t stay toddlers, or need mom, forever.

Fortunately each new stage is a wondrous—if sometimes painful—experience.

“Teen” Tweet of the Day…

So…the teenager just came home and called out, “I can’t believe we’re having such crappie weather in May!”  (It started snowing again.)

“You’re not going to live here forever, so just embrace the adventure!” I called back in return.  

(He’s already claimed: “No way, no how am I going to University here!”)

“So if you like it so much, maybe I’ll just buy you a home here when you’re old and make you live in it!” he retorted.  

Yowza! Out of the mouths' of babes—yet again!

At least his statement indicates that he plans to take care of us in our senior years!

Besides, I snapped back: “I might actually like that!”

So now I don’t have to feel guilty about not going for a walk, or to the gym, because whenever the teenager provokes these really good belly laughs—like today—it turns out to be excellent abdominal exercise!

Teenagers:  Never a dull moment when they’re around…

What’s a little wind…

 between a bunch of teenagers?

Despite today's high wind warning (with gusts up to 47 mph), track recruits get out and practice.

My teenager is out there.

Glad he’s giving another sport a try, besides basketball.

It keeps him busy, physically fit and engaged with other kids.  Besides…

 just gotta love the view!

The last game…

The buses were lined up at the junior high by 7:30 a.m.  

The teenager left the house at 7:45 to hop a bus, which is now carrying his team to Cheyenne for the end-of-season basketball tournament.

It’s snowing—a light but steady snowfall, which slightly diminishes visibility.

They can't be seen but two yellow school buses are parked over there

Fortunately the winter advisory, in effect since Friday morning, expired before 6:00 a.m.

50% chance of intermittent snow showers between here and Cheyenne all day long, however.

I have no idea when they’ll be back—early if they lose, late if they win.

The Legal Dude is out-of-town otherwise we too would be on our way to Cheyenne.

He’s on his way back from White Plains, NY, where he took a team of 3^rd years to an annual competition.

He won’t be home until mid-evening.

So I’m here alone, waiting for my men.

Can’t say I’m sorry the teenager’s traveling time is over.   

Although it's only a temporary hiatus, depending on this next season's sports... 

Dress Code

It was a balmy 15 degrees this morning.

Light, wet misty flakes fell intermittently all day, but heavier snow is expected overnight.

It was a good day for the teenager to have a home game and not travel.

He has to dress on game days—in dress slacks, dress shoes, button down and tie.

Now, if he can just learn how to tie his tie

He doesn’t complain one bit…

Amazing!

Thanks coach!

Parlez Vous & the Pink Beret

The teenager is taking French this year. 

His classroom is a hoot—everything is pink. 

There’s even a little café area with pink chairs and a little pinkish awning.

I really must take photos one day.

Anyway, the kids have to wear berets every day, which the teacher sewed for them, or else they have points deducted.

The kids got to choose the color fabric they wanted and the teenager, of course, picked the fabric closest to him, which happened to be—pink!

So every day, until yesterday, he’s sat in his morning French class wearing this…

His Pink Beret

Yesterday, a ninth grader gave him her old beret from last year, which happens to be navy.

His now discarded, pink beret

I can’t believe he sat in class every morning wearing a pink beret—and never once complained!

Sometimes I wonder—which alien planet abducted my son!

A change of heart…

As I glance out the windows, I can see the Jr. High football team(s) practicing across the street.

They’re in uniform this afternoon and look so grown-up. I think they must be scrimmaging.

I’m feeling conflicted.

Several weeks ago, the teenager said, he was “going to join the football team. “

I said, “Oh-no you’re not!”

Football—in my book—is one of those more injury prone sports.

[Forget all the face masks and mouth guards basketball players wear!]

The teenager insisted he was going to join the team—that is, until he learned he would have to attend his first practice at 7:00 A.M., this past Monday morning, and at which point he had a total change of heart.

I thought I would feel a sense of relief, which I do—sort of.

As I watch the boys gather and practice, a part of me wishes my teenager was out there, running around, communing and bonding with his fellow schoolmates. [He decided to switch schools and attend the Jr. High this year, and while he does have friends who attend, he still will be a new kid.]

Then the afternoon storms move in, the wind picks up and the rain—maybe—starts to fall and, I think better of it.

Once the lighting moves in, though, I’m all for his change of heart.

Besides, basketball season isn’t that far off after all.

Birthday boy…

Today my baby turns 14.

Hard to believe, especially since some days he acts like he’s, two.

Happy birthday to my teenager, who as of today, really is a teenager!

Bar Mitzvah Boy

Be still my heart!

My baby boy seemed so at ease, and displayed such a commanding presence, on the Bimah (stage/pulpit) this past Saturday.

How very proud I am.

All these months, he’s been dreading the prospect of standing in front of people to recite Shabbat morning prayers and blessings and read his Torah portion, in Hebrew.

All these months I’ve been worried how he might stutter and stammer, lose his place, and be all nervous and embarrassed.

It seems we both worried for naught.

My baby seems to have some “public speak” in him.

He looked so handsome up there.

He looked so calm.

He looked downright comfortable!

It’s been a long, and often difficult, journey –years of tears and fights during Hebrew school days back east—to reach Bar Mitzvah day, and I can’t believe it’s finally over.

I thank his Hebrew tutor, for giving my baby boy the encouragement, the courage, the confidence and the ability to be so cool-headed and at ease on Bar Mitzvah day.

The Rabbi said blessings over the Challah and wine at the start of
 Shabbat on Friday evening

Blessings also said over wine and Challah after Shabbat and
the teenager's Bar Mitzvah service

Cake made for the teenager by the Sisterhood ladies from 
Cheyenne, Mt Sinai Synagogue

Now my Bar Mitzvah boy deserves to enjoy the rest of his summer break…

Iced Coffee

Yesterday, the teenager asked if he could have an iced coffee made with that morning’s leftover decaf.

Yes, I admit it.

I occasionally let the teenager have a little decaf with lots of cream and sugar, much to the dismay of the Legal Dude.

I made it with lots of cream, added sugar and topped it off with whipped cream.

He made a face and said it had w-a-y too much sugar.

“Too much” and “sugar” never are used in the same sentence by the teenager!

He said, “Taste it.”

He was right.

It did have too much, but it wasn’t sugar.

I had inadvertently added salt, and lots of it.

Large Kosher salt crystals to boot.

I haven’t used salt in place of sugar since college, when my friends and I "intentionally" replaced sugar with salt in brownies or other sweets, to get back at our guy pals for some infraction or other.

Being the nice mom that I am, I gave him my iced coffee.

I don't use sugar, so there were no Kosher salt crystals to contend with.

Remember, I want him to have nice memories, "so he’ll be sure to put me in a nice nursing home when the time comes."

I think it's a safe bet that iced coffee with salt won't get me into that "nice" nursing home!

Freedom badge—a long time coming…

On Wednesday, the teenager decided to attend the last day of school..

School let out at 11 am, but he decided hang with some buds, first at the skate park, then on to the civic center to shoot hoops, over to one bud’s house, back to the park and back again to the bud’s house.

Who knows how many miles they walked, or how many university 'free ride' buses they rode.

It was after 5:30 and the Legal Dude was already home when I insisted that the teenager finally head home.

He wanted to continue to hang with his buds until a 9 pm showing of MacGruber or head back to the park around 7:30 pm.

We said he had to come home for dinner and then we would discuss the rest of the evening’s events.

He insisted he would walk home.

I didn’t know where his friend lived and when we finally managed to wrestle the address out of him (Have you tried communicating with 13 year old boys recently?) we realized it was some 3 plus miles away.

We told him to stay put, that we would drive over to pick him up. Besides, I wanted to know where his friend lives.

As we drove there, we realized that the teenager has no concept of space, time or reality.

All the way home he insisted “I could have made it home in 20 to 30 minutes or could have jumped on the University free ride bus,” which we pointed out was no longer running due to the lateness of the hour, to which he responded, “Oh, yeah,” which only confirmed his lack of good sense or judgment.

I was already ticked-off, because he had left me dangling for a good portion of the afternoon as to his whereabouts.

I need to know where the teenager is going, who he is with, what is he doing and when he gets there. Then I need to know when he leaves wherever he is, to come back home.

I also need to know that an adult is at home whenever the teens are at someone’s home.

Finally, I want to talk to the parents to make sure it is okay that for my teenager to be there.

The teenager, on the other hand, is one of those youths who firmly believe that any intervention from his parents infringes—and I do mean, “Infringes”—on his independence and freedom.

In other words, he sees no need to call to let us know the who’s, the what, the where or whys of his coming and goings.

Yeah, right—as if!

Besides, letting him hang and wander about with his friends for 6 hours is, in my book, allowing for a heck of a lot of  independence.

But I know I was a big pain in the tuckus on Wednesday and that he was beyond annoyed and embarrassed by the number of text messages he received—not only from me but also from the Legal Dude.

Moreover, he insists that his friends do not have to check in with their moms.

Everyone tells us Laramie is a safe place and that for someone of the teenager's age, it's okay to be out walking across town at 8 or 9 pm.
Yeah. I get that it's much safer than Northern Virginia—I see little six and seven year olds biking and walking along the streets, with nary a parent or adult in sight, all the time. 

I see kids of all ages walking all over town, heading home or to school or to the park or the civic center at all times of day.

Still—the teenager didn’t grow up here and neither did we.

We don’t know many parents of the teenager's age, or the places the teens like to hang out or anything about how it all works with a teenager biting at the bit for independence and freedom.

This is a completely new minefield for us.

Maybe letting him walk home from the Southern most tip of town to the near, Northern most tip is not such a bad idea, especially if it helps him to realize his reality is anything but, and that his 20 minutes is actually an hour, or longer.

Maybe it would teach him a lesson: that he doesn't, in fact, know as much as he thinks he does.

Maybe it would help set him on the track to earning that freedom badge he so yearns for.

School’s out—for summer…

Tomorrow is the last day of school here in Albany County.

Why it’s called Albany County and not Laramie County, which is the next county over near Cheyenne, is beyond me.

Anyway, tomorrow is the teenager’s last day, although he claims he is not going.

The kids are going to Jimmy John’s, a local sandwich joint, for the morning, which is about as long as the day lasts.

The teenager wants this to be his last day, and I think we might let him have his way.

It feels a bit weird, to have school end the second day of June. The teenager’s old schools in Virginia, practically run to the end of June.

For the past several years on his last day of school, the teenager has come home to play Alice Cooper’s hit—"School’s Out"—for several hours on Guitar Hero.

It will be interesting to see if he does so this year.

If he doesn’t, I’ll be a little sad, as it’s just another indication that everything is changing and nothing will ever be the same with my little dude.

Sigh...

Love, from my teenager…

I know I shouldn’t do this, but—

There are some posts, that really should not see the light of day, and I usually keep them under wraps.

However, this is one post that I love too much to keep to myself, and would like to have for “Blog posterity.”

Whatever you do, however, please—please—please, never tell the teenager, or at least not until he becomes an adult.

The reason I LIKE my mom

I like my mom because
Because she is funny and knows some
Stuff

I like my mom because
She likes to have dinner parties
That makes me hide in my room

I like my mom because
She has know it all syndrome
And it is funny to watch her

I love my mom because
She is sweet and kind
And has a big heart

I love my mom for all of those reasons
But mostly because my mom is so nice

I love to love my mom

Remember...not a word to the teenager!

Some things never change…

I've spent a lot of time at the teenager’s school these past two days, helping with appreciation week.

Today I got to work with the littlest kid-lets, helping them write little love notes to their teachers.

Reminds me all over again, just why I am going back to school and why I love working with that age group.

Standing outside the cafeteria, trying to snag the oldest kid-lets to write little notes of ‘preciation for their teachers, I managed to snag some of the teenager’s friends.

Later, one of them told the teenager, "you look a lot like your mom."

Aw—I love the kid who said that, because I don’t hear that very often.

Then there are the teachers, some of whom do not yet know me and whom I don't want to know that I'm the teenager's mom—because then they'll know and I'll know, what we both know, which is that we just do not want to go there.

Sneeking a peek…

Walking across campus after my morning class, I heard shouting and laughing that sounded a lot like young people’s voices.

Not college age young, which from my vantage point is very young, nor were the voices kid-let young.

No, these voices sounded like “teenager” young, and in fact, like “my” teenager.

Sure enough, I looked across the pasture, which is what we call it here, and saw my teenager and a bunch of his buds playing football—something that causes me high anxiety.

















I don’t know if he saw me—standing next to Ross Hall—taking photos.






















If he did, he ignored me, which he is pretty good at these days.






















I don’t know.

There’s just something really cool and comforting about strolling across campus and seeing your son, playing around with his buds.






















I have to ask: who is this tall, young man-boy, with his cap nonchalantly perched backwards...

I don't like to post photos of the teenager, but I figure he's too far away to recognize, unless you know him.

I think, in the second and third photos, his baseball cap looks a bit like a beret making him look a bit like Che.

On that note, his Spanish teacher told him his first day in class that he looks just like a young Pete Sampras.

A little bit of knowledge…

is a dangerous thing.

This has definitely been the case with my Developmental Psych course.

More often than not, I have walked out of class feeling depressed, sometimes near tears, thinking “boy, have I ever screwed up with the teenager.”









[clipart]

It’s true—I’ ve spent the past four months reading and hearing about all the things I "should have" done but of course I didn't do, or about all the things I “shouldn't have" done but of course did do.

Gees...

It got to the point where the Legal Dude forced the following mantras on me…”don’t take it so personal” and “it’s all just theory.”

The only (meager) consolation is that my Professor, who had her doctorate before having kids, claims she feels the same way.

This past Tuesday, as we studied the family and children and the styles of child rearing, I at last walked out of class thinking, “FINALLY—just maybe I had gotten something right!"

That doesn't mean however, that I'll stop worrying about what I still might, or might not, do to completely and totally screw up with the teenager!

Thank goodness, next Thursday is my last class!

Life of Pi…

Excerpt from an e-mail from the teenager’s reading teacher…

“At this point, all I can say is "WOW!" This is an adult text that your kids are discussing, and at a phenomenal level of sophistication. In fact, the two youngest members led the first two discussions, one about anthropomorphism and one about religion, and I am amazed at how well they have done -- better than most grown-up teachers that I've had for sure. The questions they are asking are unbelievable. I honestly did not expect the discussions about religion to go so deep this quickly...”

The teenager isn’t crazy about the applied learning theory strategy used at his school. He say’s he’d rather be “taught, taught.”

I don’t know, the concept sounds good, "in theory."

He says the book is tough, but that they do have interesting discussions.

Yesterday they sat outside for the afore-referenced discussion. I saw them sitting there as I made my way to my afternoon class.

This morning they walked to the union to eat and drink while they continued their discussion.

The teenager hasn’t complained once about having to read this book.

Not even when he had to read several chapters this afternoon, after his Hebrew lesson.

In fact, he hasn’t complained about much this past week.

I know it won’t last, but it sure is nice while it does.

I'm feeling kind of proud right now...

The Life of Pi and Holden Caulfield…

I’m not sure, but the teenager may slowly be moving into another genre.

He finished Night.

Under duress, I must add.

He finished it nonetheless.

Turns out one of his classmates had already read it, so that it gave it a bit of “cache,” other than just a reading requirement imposed by his mom.

Now he has to read Maus…


which he says he's not into, even though it’s a graphic novel.

Then again, if a classmate recommended it, he’d be all over it.

He did ask though for The Catcher in the Rye,


but I’m embarrassed to admit that the “reason” he asked for it: because it was mentioned on “South Park.”

Yes. My son has started to watch South Park.

Animal Farm is on the list because one of his classmates told him “you absolutely must read Animal Farm” and the Legal Dude added 1984 to the pile.

I’m not sure if he’s moving away from the likes of Darren Shan and the Demonata series, but one can only hope he’s starting to venture forth and expand his horizons.

Oh yeah, The Life of Pi is the book he chose to read and discuss at school.


Yesterday the teachers “hawked” their chosen "reading fare" for breakout reading groups.

The kids got to name their top three choices.

The teenager got his first pick, The Life of Pi.

Should be interesting…

You are NOT invited...

First we were invited...

and then the invite was rescinded...

In case you can't read the teenager's scrawl, here is what it reads...

"Mom and Dad

Please don't come

They can't keep me here"

Needless to say, I went and had a jolly good time. However, I completely forgot to take my little Nikon...too bad.

I was initially worried that I might be a little embarassed by the teenager's "house," but it was fine.

While not as totally creative and awesome as some, it was on par with many.

And the teenager had a good time, even though he'll say he didn't.

I think he also enjoyed explaining about his house, how he measured, etc.

I know I was proud of him.

I also went for the teachers, who work so hard with the kids and deserve a lot of credit for it.

A nice night and a good time was had by all...