Not quite a boy...

...not yet a man.

Becoming a man.

I admit, as a woman...this is unfamiliar territory for me. I know a little about how to become a woman-(well, I am still grasping at the full concept of this, truly) Because, becoming a woman-is still a work in progress for most women, until...well, death.

I guess maybe, that men-have the same issue?

My son is 17 years old. And as the cliche goes, not quite a boy, not yet a man.
He deals with a lot of the typical things, hormones, school, growing up, full-throttle angst, and responsibility. But these things really just scratch the surface.
I'd like to say that I know what he is going through, but my failing ability to see through his eyes, is becoming quite apparent.

He is struggling.

I have posted prior about my son making the decision 2 years ago to move to his father's house-for many reasons. I told him years ago after a nasty custody battle, that when he was at least 13, he could then make the decision himself to move to spend more time with his dad, if he really wanted to and could give me good reasons-that made sense for doing so.
He did.
After removing him from public school here in my town due to the complete and utter failings in every possible way-I decided to home school. This worked fine for awhile. But when he turned 15, for him-this wasn't enough. The lack of socialization, and all of the trappings of traditional high school were calling him. Including football. Also, dad promised a car when he turned 16-something I refused to do. I didn't want to send the message that he gets handed things his entire life, and also the message that some things are worth hard work. So when Dad offered up a free car, a traditional high school experience, and quite a few other "perks" that I wasn't exactly willing, OR able to let him do. He left.
I now pay child support to a man who barely ever paid his, and I see my son every other weekend, two weeks in the summer, and rotating holidays.
Good times.

I explained to my son that the grass isn't always greener. I explained to him that the revolving door is non existent--and if he leaves, he CAN come back. But, once he does, he STAYS.
I explained that high school looks shiny and awesome from the outside. But, typically it is a building full of strife, heartache, disappointment and sadness.
True enough, my high school experience could be construed as singular-but according to most adults I know-when asked about their memory of high school-I typically get an answer that sums up: Fucking brutal.

I also let my son know about his father's family Dynamic and how that could possibly play out for him.

He was warned.

But in typical 17-year old style-he knows everything, and Mom is an idiot.

To be as brief as I possibly can here-at the beginning of the school year (full of wonder and possibility-ugh) he gets kicked off of the football team for a suspension for a really trivial thing and is told that he is OFF all extra curriculars  until the middle of next year. So, as a Junior-that basically ends football for him altogether.
He was edging the idea of quitting school at that point.
And as much as that opened a big wide door for me, I discouraged it. And really...I am the one who talked him out of it-to my own behest.
Because it's not in his best interests-period.
I did explain to his father that without football, he will not give one shit about school, and that he has to stay on him about grades.
He hasn't. 
And he is currently failing three subjects.
I also warned his father to make sure he is monitoring him with girls.
Because without the distraction of sports and other activities, he could end up running wild with that car and the freedom.
He didn't. 
So, my son gets a job-which he likes, and which I had hoped would distract him from all things vagina for awhile.
It didn't.
Sigh.

And- last week we had a "Plan B" situation.
Good times.

When this happened-he didn't feel comfortable telling his father. Interesting, no?
So, my husband and I took the wheel-and bail him out of his "predicament".

Last night, he sends me a text and asks if I could come get him-apparently, his dad found out about the Plan B, the fact that he has been skipping early bird PE to get "tutoring" from "a friend", and how low his grades are-and threatened to take away his car, and make him quit his job.
And that was a whole hour of text convo, almost leading to a 17 year old runaway situation.

So.

After talking him down from the proverbial ledge-things are in limbo.

His father tells him he has a week to raise his grades. Which is not practical.
And my son, seeing no way out-says screw this-and plans an escape.
Escape from becoming a man.

Apparent escape from all semblance of integrity, and escape from his commitment. The same one that turned all of our lives upside down two years ago,

And here we are.

And here I am. Not knowing how to guide him.

Part of me wants to open my arms and shelter him from all of the bad things in the world, and save him from his mistakes.
And the other part wants me to be a tough love parent and tell him-suck it up, buttercup.

But, his age being so close to the big one-eight is not helping this situation at all.
He-not quite a boy, not yet a man-is feeling so much like a full grown adult that he is SURE, quitting school, working, and leaving home for his Own place is the solution for everything.

Yeah, I know.

So, I find myself-well, stressed-obvi. And scared, and a little helpless.
I want to mom-control this bitch all over the place. I want to fire up my proverbial micro-management chopper and hover like some bad ass CIA surveillance.  I want to call his father and be all like: What THE FUCK is going ON over there, "superdad". You are so busy posturing and bullying that you are forgetting to parent our son, you moronic little turd goblin.
You were SO fucking sure that you could do this better than me, and look...just look at the mess you have made-you utter failure of a man.

But, what I want-and need-are completely two different things, of course. Or better said-what I want and what my SON needs are two different things.

I'd like to do the united front thing, and trust that his father and I could work together and help him.  But, he and I have two very different styles of parenting and he's just SUCH an asshole.
Don't get me wrong, for the most part-we get along. For Logan's sake.
But, I still have a hard time wrapping my head around WHY I ever let him stick his penis into me-and I just don't like the guy, truth be told.

So now, what?

So now, I am waiting for the phone to ring and to figure out what to do.

Maybe the answer is to just let my kid find his own way here. Two years ago, I was literally forced into the empty nest. And while I'm not alone there. I have my husband, who is always my rock-I still feel like that I was cheated out of years. And maybe, while I have had to find a way to let my resentment go-the lesson has to be learned.
My only duty at this point because of the situation being what it is-is to let my son learn his lesson, here.
It is not in my nature to let go-let God. But, for the 10 year old to make that transition from not quite a boy, and the fast lane into-a man, has to be of his own making.
I can't control it. And I know this. It drives me crazy to step back and watch the goat-screw unfold.

But that's what good parenting is, I guess.

Watching the goat-screw unfold.

And letting them know that whatever the outcome of said screwing is-that you are there for the aftermath. To hug it out. Cry with them. And try to repair the damage.
And of course, being me...making sure to say: I TOLD YOU SO.

Being a man isn't about sex, or money, order grades, or career, or anything like that.
It's about becoming a person you would allow your own son or daughter to be with. It's about respect. And treating others the way they treat you. It's about how you handle anger, and how you manifest it, and why you manifest it. Is it warranted? It's about how you protect and love and show absolute loyalty to everyone who does the same for you, and not taking advantage of it. It's about who you trust and how many reasons you can come up with-warranted reasons-for someone to trust you. And it's about love. Loving your family, your parents, your friends, your own children, and your significant others-unconditionally-and remembering what you put your parents through, and smiling about it (just a little) when your own children are doing the same thing to you.
It's about giving a shit.  About others, and yourself. Kindness, giving and receiving. And mostly it's about time. Time isn't just a healer-time is a teacher. And there is no lesson greater than the one that time teaches you. Mostly because it is short. And really, perspective is omnipotent.

Let's hope that in some way-my son squeezes some of this out of what is happening to him right now. Because ultimately-he won't listen to me when I tell him. He's 17-he knows everything.

Just ask him.

XOXO,
#momoftheyear

Weather...

...Or not.

You happen to like winter.  It's here.

Fuck.

I am not a winter lover. I loathe the snow, the cold, the frozen ground, the frozen cars, and frozen fingers and toes.

I detest the thin, dry, air. The slathering of chapstick, lotion, and static electricity when I am attempting to look pretty and styling my low-maintenance hair.

I have never been the person who likes to play in snow, or make snowmen, or snow angels, or build forts, or have snowball fights.

I DON'T LIKE WINTER.

Insult to injury...even though I don't like it. Typically I get three good months of autumn to prepare my body for the aching bones, the sight of my own breath, and layers of clothes. This year...we skipped fall altogether. And it really pisses me off.
Mid-November.
Not even Thanksgiving-and we are shivering, shoveling, salting, sliding, and bundling. It's a fucking weather conspiracy.

But.

In the interest of being a more positive person...today.
There are a handful of good things about winter. I'll name them. Because this last week has been filled with negative crap, and because my soul and maybe your soul...needs some kinder, gentler, information.
And you know me. The kindest and gentlest girl around.
Shutup.


Firstly...
What is it about snow that makes things quiet?

According to some hinky research I did, apparently-when snow stacks up-it absorbs the sound waves and some of the sound between each flake. And, with all of that space-sound is unable to bounce off of snow-as a result, the sound gets absorbed.
Interesting.
But besides all of the scientific mumbo-jumbo gumming up the works-I happen to like that extreme stillness and quiet of a winter night. Some people find it eerie. I never have.
Because the world is so typically noisy, and busy, and really fucking annoying-the nights where everything is white and still- are a refreshing change of pace and needed for sanity.
I mean, who doesn't need a little peace and quiet sometimes?
A winter night is a good start.

Also, there is the whole hot liquids thing.
I mean, as IF-I ever needed an excuse to drink coffee, right?
But not just coffee.
Hot cocoa with a mound of whipped cream so high it tickles your nose, or a cup of lava-hot chamomile tea in an oversized mug.
Or the fresh cup of hot Colombian in the morning with a teaspoon of sugar, a sprinkle of fresh cinnamon, and half and half. 
On a cold day or night...snuggled up on your chair (or sofa in my case) with a warm blanket, a book,  and the quiet snow and a cup of hot liquid-with no place to go is damn near nirvana for this chubby girl.

Snow days. An excuse to call into work and do what I mentioned above-or play board games with your kids, or have a movie marathon with a massive bowl of popcorn, or a Netflix binge, or online shopping all day. Or WRITING.
You know, Just having the excuse to blow off life for a day and mental health break yourself away from reality and just do NOTHING. Is there anything better? I challenge you to find something.

Clothes. No skin.
First of all...I ROCK a turtleneck sweater.  I have a ton of them. They are my standard winter uniform.
But, an excuse to look all chic in a black cowl neck, a pair of jeggings, and ankle or riding boots with frilly socks underneath. Yes please.

Warm jammies. A warmed terrycolth robe after a HOT bath with Dr. Teals.

My cat.
My cat could give two shits less about us when it is hot. I mean, can you blame him? He is wearing a fucking fur coat that he cannot take off.
So when winter comes and he is cold...he actually likes us.
He strives for body heat. So, he will actually snuggle. And this fur-mama...loves her some Charlie snuggle. I am wholly convinced that one of the best things in life is the sound of a contented feline purr. It's like joy escaping into the world.

My huge, king-sized down feather winter comforter.
It's not purposely weighted...but it is heavy. And so stinkin' warm. I sleep so much better when wrapped in this burrito of cotton and corduroy. (Its reversible) It's like a trip back to the womb.  It does make getting up in the cold morning a challenge, yes. But...the sweet sleep. The SWEET sleep. My God. Yes.

Football playoffs, and Mardi Gras.
Enough said. 

Christmas.
Christmas is about stuff.
I like stuff.
(nope..not having a discussion about religion here, folks...as much as everyone pretends that it's about the birth of Christ-no one really knows when that date actually was...and the Bible does mostly guess work...I digress)
Christmas is about stuff.
I like giving stuff.
The getting is OK too...but I'm a giver.
I like stuff.

So, these are the few of my favorite things about cold weather.
Winter, to be exact.

But, I am still pissed that fall never really happened. The leaves are still on the damn trees and there is currently 3 inches of snow on the ground and it is 15 degrees outside.
We got completely screwed.

So, I guess in an effort to salvage my mood, I'll just make myself a cup of cocoa and shut the hell up.

What? You were thinking it...I just said it.

Stay warm.

XOXO,
Suzie Chapstick.
Damnit.

Embracing My...

...Inner Thespian.

Relax. I'm married. Look up the word.

So, it's been a long time...shouldn't have left you...without a dope beat to step to.

Sorry, I like 90's R&B. It used to be my sex soundtrack when I was single.

Don't judge. And Alliyah is dead now, so don't be disrespectful.

Anyway, sorry I haven't written much. But, the title implies that I was doing something new. I warned you about it in other entries, don't seem so shocked.
I was busy.

The theater proved to be a mostly positive experience for me. And despite my early apprehensions, it was fun. I don't regret it and a certainly glad that I finally put on my big girl panties and did it. They are the ones embroidered with the days of the week, and no stains. I'm a big girl now.
I could wax poetic about all of the experience with great, illustrious, descriptive words and give you the visceral tour. But, really I just want to talk about why it was so special to me without all of the pretentious bullshit.

It was the people.

I had been warned about "drama folk" for a good long time. And that the name didn't just foreshadow the drama of the theater...but drama Queens and Kings can actually be dramatic. (Shocking, I know) And not filled with  good drama, but negative drama. Divas, primadonnas, and contrarian know-it-alls abound.
But, I thought initially, whatever...I'm scrappy, bring it.

And while I am sure that those people and those things 100% DO exist....I didn't have that experience.
Maybe I got lucky. Or maybe it was some trick to lure my plebeian ass BACK for more later. You know...give me the fever and this pulling desire to do every show my local scene cranks out. Kinda like the casinos. They draw you in with a thousand dollar slot win, knowing full well you will put that shit right back in and pull out your credit card to keep going.
Drama pushers, if you will.

Well, other than life BLOOD (caffeine) and legal chemicals (cigarettes) and donuts-I'm no junkie, and I found my cast-mates to be some of the most wonderful, down to earth, kind, generous, and genuine people I have ever encountered.
Spending years around speech folk-a close cousin to theater folk, and musicians, I have found this to be a heady mix of 60% asses, and 40% otherwise cool people. So, the horror stories once told to me, I had assumed would be true-
I was wrong. Shutup. It happens occasionally.

The veterans were great. Offering guidance without judgment. Direction without malice, or eye-rolls. The newbies were equally great, and there were a lot of us. A great deal more than I expected. I definitely didn't feel alone in that pursuit. There were people who had never done theater, and there were people like me, who hadn't done it in years and just returned, and the babies-or the kids...who were really-mostly kids. But, a group of talented little shits, with great attitudes and eager to please attitudes.
And the teens...well, I work with them normally-so that was a treat for me. Getting to know all of them, and their collective stories. Teens are awesome and get a bad rap for the most part. I find them wonderful.
The experienced actors were also nice. There's always ego, sure. We all have it-people with the acting bug do what they do for one large reason and many small ones. The big one is always...to get that ego stroked like a virgin on prom night.
But, even with ego...no one seemed overly catty or big for their britches.

Everyone was truly great. No exaggeration.

I have some new found lifetime friends and the review of my mad acting skills were all positive. Of course, most of those were friends and family so they may have been being polite...but I didn't feel any falseness, therein.
A few of my family didn't particularly care for the play itself. It was perceived as avant-garde. But, most of my friends and family aren't what anyone would call typical theater goers...so that review was to be expected.

There were five really good moments throughout.
1. When my big brother was at opening night-he poked at my husband while watching my scenes and said: That's my sister up there. My husband said he was beaming. That was a tear-worthy moment, no doubt.
2. My husband said I was really good. And not just "I'm your husband and I would like sex this week ass kissing good" He said I was genuinely good up there. And he said...he cried a little. Aww.
3. My son watched me, and was proud and excited for me. And that's a lot for his jaded 17 year old self these days. I'm pretty sure his emotion was real.
And
4. I got to know one of my graduated speechies better. I didn't get the opportunity to bond with her initially, because we didn't work together much. But, I am so glad she did this show and I finally did get some time with her. She is a great young woman. Insightful, thoughtful, sweet, super smart, and so stinkin' talented-among other qualities. I feel bad that I let her slip through the cracks while coaching (sorta) but...I am glad to see the awesome woman she is becoming. I'm privileged to know her.
5. Speaking of my speechies...some came to see me. And that was awesome in itself.

Oh and, I got to eat pizza and donuts. But that's an unofficial really good moment. 

Beyond all of that-it was a lot of time demand. Hubby was impatient some weeks. We were definitely off of our regular schedule. But, when he saw the outcome-he was happy and pleased.
So all's well in Noeland.

I also learned a great deal. I know the process now, and I know what to expect as far as the work demand, and the constant vigilance in getting better for every performance. I memorized well...which was always my main concern. I never was great at rote memorization-so I surprised myself there.
I'm so glad I did it. Period.

Will I do it again? Yeah, probably. When I find a play that I really want to be a part of. I'd like a bigger part...not sure about a lead role. But, more stage time maybe and dependent on my memory allowance and the time demand.
I won't be singing, before you ask.

Cats. Being. Tortured.

Or

Cats. Copulating.

Either way, it doesn't sound good, kids.

I think it took me 4 days to recover on sleep-and I know I gained 5 lbs eating the surplus of candy and chips at rehearsal, and I got zits from all of the makeup I am not used to wearing, and I had to wear pantyhose for 6 days, and I had to hand over the planning of my annual Halloween party to my husband. BUT...once I stopped my little bitch whining about anything that was stupidly inconvenient...all I could do was smile because I finally did it.
And because there were the faces of so many proud family starting up at me on stage and the high fives, and hugs, and offered cigarettes and awesome inside jokes and pizza and...everything else-there was little to complain about. Totally off par for me, cause I bitch a lot.

Just taking something positive away from it. Truth be told, I'd be hard pressed to take anything but.

I'm still fat, btw.
My cholesterol was higher on my last blood test.
But the A1C was great.

So balance in the universe has been restored.

Sorta.

And just so you don't think my evil side is slipping- in my next entry I'll tell you all about how I literally had two different instances of almost beating up two elderly people in the last two weeks.

Nope, not kidding.
Trust me, they both had it coming.
Stay tuned.

I'm a lot of things, but not a liar.

-XOXO
Jim's Mom.