Tag Archives: Boys

Rites of Passage Sure Have Changed

I keep a short leash on my boys when it comes to certain things. The big kids weren’t allowed to have a Facebook page until they were in high school, and then only under my watch. Slick and The Trailblazer didn’t have internet on their phones until recently. The poor Caboose is the ONLY sixth-grader on the planet that doesn’t have a cell phone at all.

So last night was a bit of a big night. The Caboose sent his first email. To his dad. Then one to The Trailblazer up at LSU. (Then we had to call his big brother to tell him to check his email.)

His new school is very “21^st Century,” and most of their curriculum is based from the laptops every student is issued. They have school email addresses, and they use email as their primary means of communication.

He showed me how to open up Outlook to check his email like Bill Gates must’ve done once to show the world. I oooh-ed and aaah-ed, and gave a proud smile. He had two messages in his Inbox from teachers. And now he has two in his Sent Items as well.

I saw no need for an email address until now. (The fewer paths pedophiles have to contact my kid the better.) But his school has an extremely aggressive filter on their services (and it’s required), so whether I was ready or not, it was time.

He’s now entered the world of electronic communication. And I’m sure he’ll be toting a cell phone before too much longer. But it won’t have internet.

Cuz I’m the MOM

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Who remembers The Mom Song, the little ditty sung to The William Tell Overture that takes all the stuff a mom says in a day, compressed into a couple of minutes…

(I CAN NOT get enough of this.)

Well, now the teens have had their reply.

I hope y’all enjoyed this as much as I did. 🙂

Happy Birthday, Little Man

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He wore that jersey for three days straight. Since he hasn't gone through puberty yet he can get away with that.

I thought my life was perfect. Two terrific sons, a wonderful husband, a new house with a spare bedroom. I didn’t think it could get any better. Then you came along, and the relatively calm life we had with two kids gave way to the new hustle of three.

Your brothers were easy. You were hard. There were times when I resented the amount of effort it took to get through the day. But that was because I hadn’t yet learned what God wanted me to figure out. That you were the child who would complete me. That you were the one I still needed.

For you are the person who made me realize the greatest truth in life: that we are all EXACTLY what God wants us to be. There have been people along the way who didn’t get you, who thought you needed to change, to fit in a little better, to be more like the others. I must confess that I even thought that a few times. But watching your conviction to be yourself made me realize this great truth.

Thank you.

Now that you’re getting older, I see the greatness that is in you. You will do amazing things one day, because you think so big. I’m not yet sure what that thing will be, but I have no doubt the creativity inside you will one day change the world. You’ve already changed mine.

This year will bring big changes. You’ll be leaving boyhood behind soon, entering adolescence. Manhood isn’t far behind. But I know it will suit you. In fact, I think some of the constraints of childhood hold you back and that once you’re free to open up that amazing mind of yours you’ll reach heights even I can’t imagine. Yes, adulthood is going to suit you well.

So Happy Birthday, Little Man. Keep rocking the world!

A Mind of His Own

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My Gratitude Chalkboard has become fodder for my family. Some of it I find amusing, some not. But a few days ago Slick wrote something on it that brought back one of my favorite memories of The Caboose.

(Cue nostalgic, pre-school music.)

When he was 3 years old, he went to a Mother’s Day Out program a couple of days a week. There was a bulletin board in the hall (where the mommies lined up to reclaim their kids) always decorated with seasonal activities. When a new project went up, all the mommies would oooh and aaah over their little one’s contribution with pride.

That fall, the Thanksgiving bulletin board went up, and each child dictated to the teacher (they were too young to write) what they were thankful for, and teacher wrote it down on the little pumpkin cutout beneath their name. The title of the board was “I am Thankful For…” (wait, now my chalkboard feels much less original).

The wall was full of pumpkins bearing sweet messages of thanks, obviously prompted by the teacher. Most of the children claimed to be thankful for their families – their parents, their brothers and sisters, a few included their pets. Some were thankful for their health (yeah, right), and a few for God. I scan the wall for my son’s pumpkin, so I can beam.

I find it, and it says, “I am Thankful for scissors.”

Huh?

At the time, he wanted to be a barber when he grew up. (Kid loved getting haircuts.) And he liked using scissors. (Probably because he had my undivided attention when using them.) So it made a little sense.

Then I thought about how this process must have gone. Teacher asks three-year-old what they were thankful for. Child looks back at teacher with a blank stare. Teacher says (nodding), “You’re thankful for your family, aren’t you??” Child nods back. Teacher moves on to next child.

Then I thought about my son. He was probably the only kid in that class who gave his own answer to that question. Even at three, my little dude saw things from his own, unique perspective. And no grown up was going to lead him elsewhere.

Impulse Buying — or How to Get Your Kids to Clean Their Rooms

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It’s all Target’s fault.

There’s a new Super Target near my neighborhood, and I heard through the grapevine (Facebook) that it opened a few days early AND that there were no crowds AND that they had everything in every size AND that I HAD to drop what I was doing and head over there before too many people found out and it got crowded and picked over.

So a few days ago I did just that. I roamed through every department getting the lay of the land, exploring every aisle and putting things I didn’t need in the basket. (This is starting to sound a little like the trip to Sam’s that got me to make Red Gravy, isn’t it?)

Sirloin Medallions. Yum.

As I was roaming through the grocery section (yes, they have a grocery section!) I noticed a package of steaks. Little sirloin steaks wrapped in bacon, like tiny, affordable filet mignons. I’m thinking that my kids probably wouldn’t know the difference, and probably would enjoy these affordable (and cute) steaks for dinner. (No, I’m not an impulse buyer, am I?)

Then I remembered a recipe my friend Nell from Allbritton or Nothing posted on her blog a few weeks ago for Steakhouse Steaks. She declared that cooking steaks this way at home would never make you pay big bucks for fancy shmancy steaks from the expensive steakhouse ever again. And that cooking steaks this way would make your husband want to Buy You Things. All I wanted was to get my kids to Clean Their Rooms, so I figured steaks from Target would be good enough. In the basket they went.

They were cute little sirloin medallions, wrapped in bacon, three to a skewer. I grabbed three packages and headed for the cashier. I hurried home to made Nell’s Steakhouse Steaks. My kids made yummy noises during dinner and asked me to make it again.

They did not, however, clean their rooms.

*I recommend you hop over to Nell’s site and read her narrative accompanying the recipe. You’ll probably find her ~~more~~ almost as amusing as you find me. (Wink.)

Nearing the End of Lazy Summer

Talk Nerdy to Me — Part I

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They’re irritating and overused. Like the sound of fingernails of a blackboard, I cringe when I hear them. We’ve all got a few on our personal lists, but there are a handful that are universally accepted as obnoxious. Annoying phrases are everywhere.

Source: universecityblog.wordpress.com

I know I’m not the only one who wishes many of these phrases and words would go away. I know there are others like me out there who long for a return to a more genteel manner of speaking. (Now, I don’t want to swing to the opposite extreme. I don’t need to ask my son “with whom he will be going to the movies.”) But I would embrace the renaissance of a few polite and well-mannered phrases to replace some of the ones I feel just have to go.

The number one offender: “(I/she/he) was like.” Attention teenagers: this is not a verb phrase. If you want to describe what someone says, does, or feels, there are verbs for that purpose. Please learn how to use them.

Fusion words: combining two words, then dropping a syllable or two because you’re too lazy to say the whole thing. “ ‘Sup?” is the number one offending word in this category, but there are many, many more. “Dja-eat?” (“Did you eat?”) If the statement or question requires two words, please speak them both. Having a conversation reduced to a few grunted syllables is just rude and makes you sound like a cave man.

Overuse of the word, “Whatever.” This non-committal word usually means the responder disagrees with what you’re saying, but doesn’t have the energy or vocabulary to respond appropriately. Parents, beware. It does not imply agreement. It’s a verbal tool teenagers use to stop a conversation.

Interrogative words: What happened to them? Questions should begin with words like how, may, why, or did. Raising the pitch at the end of a phrase and inserting a question mark does not constitute a question. (“You went to the store?”)

The dreaded “No offense, but…” This phrase should just be stricken. No good can come of anything said after that phrase. This disclaimer does not give you license to say rude or ugly things, just because you’ve preceded the insult with a feigned politeness. Using the Southern cousin, “Bless his/her heart” (as in, “My aunt is crazy, bless her heart.”) after a put-down is just as offensive. Don’t do it.

Now, I realize that language is an evolving entity. Today’s vernacular is significantly different from that of just a few decades ago. Therefore — as with all things – this, too, shall pass. I just hope I live long enough to hear it happen.

For now, if you see me around and want to chat, avoid these phrases. Speak in complete sentences and leave out some of the slang. Let your language bear some resemblance to the mother tongue we learned in school. Please talk nerdy to me.

Which phrases make your head spin? Please share if I’ve left out the one that makes your head spin!

Coming soon: Part 2 – Nerdy words, and how to use them.

Tales from the Treehouse*

With Apologies to Dr. Maslow

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I don’t consider myself an “expert” in any way. But with 45 years combined experience (19+16+10) parenting 3 boys, I have learned a thing or two. And by today’s measurable standards I’ve done a decent job. They make good grades. They have reasonable standards of hygiene. None of them has been to juvey.

So (after I pat myself on the back) let me share with you a little of the wisdom I’ve gained.

Teenage boys only give their undivided attention to one thing: video games.

When there’s a controller in their hands, they can block out anything. Parents calling, little brothers screaming, phones ringing. I pray the house never catches on fire while Slick is playing Call of Duty. He’d be a goner. I even saw The Trailblazer’s girlfriend on a Skype screen competing for his attention while he was playing FIFA. She lost. They get hypnotized by the pixels on the screen like deer staring into headlights. (A few days ago I thought about throwing the main breaker and telling them there was a power outage just to get their attention. But it was too hot to be without the A/C, so I had to shrug off that idea.)

Once you get past video games on the Needs pyramid, everything else comes with an underlying distraction: thinking about girls. The chart is self-explanatory from that point forward.

The tiny space at the top of the pyramid is what remains of their former dependence on us. As they rely less on mom and dad for other things, the remaining contact is only for the purposes of bonding (us) and asking for money (them). They want to spend as little time with their parents as possible, preferably not in public.

So those of you with teenage boys in your life, study this chart carefully, and save yourself a lot of grief. Don’t get your feelings hurt when they bail on having dinner at home in favor of hanging out with friends. Don’t think you understand what motivates them. Don’t speak to them in public. And make sure the smoke alarms in your house are loud enough to be heard over COD.

I’m sure Dr. Maslow would agree with me.

Not in my Job Description

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There are a couple of things I just don’t do. I don’t cut grass. I don’t climb on the two-story ladder. And I don’t buy cups. I’m talking about athletic cups, not the kind you drink out of.

The only illustration I'm using for this post.

One of my kids returned home from a week at the beach with a friend’s family last night. He looked exhausted and had a beautiful tan (obviously no SPF 100+ sunscreen applied). I knew exactly what would happen without my intervention, so to avert crisis this morning, I gave him two tasks: unpack your bag from the beach, and get your lacrosse bag packed and in the foyer. (Lax camp began this morning.) I even gave a deadline. 9:00 P.M. I was very proud when (a few minutes before 9:00) he went out to the garage to gather his gear.

He returns with the bag, then goes to his room, and begins making noise that indicates he’s looking for something. Soon thereafter, he appears downstairs and asks if anyone knows where his cup is.

Now, as his mother, I feel it’s my job to stay on top of certain things. I make sure he has clean underwear and socks with no holes no more than a few holes. I keep shampoo and soap available, and provide meals. But I will not be responsible for his cup. I just won’t.

Mr. Wonderful remembers seeing one in his closet, so goes to help him look. I’m having no part of this search — just shaking my head and fetching a wine glass to be an observer. They find one. My son announces that it’s too small.

I just walked away.

If any other male made that statement I’d have been on it like gravy on rice. There are sooo many punch lines. But this is my kid, so it’s a little creepy going there.

As it was now too late to go buy a “bigger one” I listened as his dad asked him if he could manage for the first day of camp with the one we found. He said he could. This afternoon I’ll hand him some cash and send him in to Academy Sports to go resolve this issue. By himself. Because I’m not going to get into a discussion about what size cup he needs. Ever.

P.S. For the love of all things sacred, please don’t tell him I wrote this.