Menopausal Mother

   
     Smart teenagers know that the way to a parent's heart is through obedience, love and respect for the people who raised them (plus offering to do a few loads of laundry will go a long way). But smarter teens know when to keep their mouths shut, even though chances are they disagree with most of what their parents tell them. They have their own agendas, but the clever ones know how to distract their parents long enough to cloud their judgment. They'll push the limits to borrow the family car or extend a curfew, all the while swearing that they'll be careful.

      As parents, we want to trust our little beastlings, so we give them the benefit of the doubt. But sometimes it backfires…..

1. I'll co-sign on their student loans because I know they'll never be late on a payment.  
    Yes they will. And when it happens, you'll be inundated with robo calls from collection agencies          because your college-age teen chose to buy the latest iPhone, stereo system, or big screen TV rather than make a monthly loan payment.

2. Sure, my kids will help me mow the lawn this weekend, fold the laundry and dust all 90 squirrel figurines in my curio cabinet. 
     For real? What planet are you from? First off, no teen wakes before noon. After that, you'll be lucky if they brush their teeth and put on deodorant. In other words, you'll be cleaning out the A/C grate and weeding the garden by yourself.

3. My kids won't remember family night at the sports bar/restaurant when I had one too many beers. 
       Yes. Yes they will. And they will remind you until your 80th birthday about the time you entered a punching bag contest after nine beers and the punching bag won. Nor will they let you forget what you looked like after you swung, missed the bag, and ended up on the floor curled up like a cocktail shrimp.

4. My teen just got his driver's license. He'll do fine since I taught him how to be a consciencious driver and to always obey the speed limit.  
     What you don't know won't hurt you….until your child hands you a $150 speeding ticket from going 65 in a 25 mile-per-hour school zone. This same teen still believes that his 1991 Dodge Caravan can outrun a 2015 Mustang GT.

5. Of course my kids know better than to break their curfew. 
     Uh-huh. That's why they leave their bedroom window unlocked and oil the hinges on the front door with W-40 while you're sound asleep in Never Never Land.

6. I know my kids enjoy spending time with the family, especially when it's Monopoly night.
     Wrong. They would rather scrub grout from their shower tile or babysit the neighbor's toddler who has a bad case of diarrhea than spend an evening with dear old BORING mom and dad.

7. Their first love will be the school valedictorian who has a full scholarship to an ivy league school where they'll earn their doctorate in nuerosurgery. 
      Dream on. Every teen goes through their "I-wanna-bad boy/bad girl-phase." Grit your teeth and gnaw on a leather strap until they outgrow this nail-biting phase of life.

8. I don't need to spend more than $200 a week on groceries for a family of four. 
     There's a little known fact that teens, especially boys, consume a gallon of milk a day washed down with an entire package of cookies and chips. You might as well buy a few chickens while you're shopping because you can never have enough eggs in the house when there are one or more teenagers living under the same roof.

9. My teen hates the smell of cigarette smoke and the taste of alcohol, plus she hates taking any form of medication. Chances are she'll never drink, smoke, or try drugs.
     Sadly, this is wrong. Chances are your teen WILL try one or all of these things at some point because peer pressure is mightier than you can imagine. Brace yourself for a bumpy ride…"Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore."
   
10. My kids will never get a tattoo or body piercing. 
     You wanna make a bet? The good news is that some of those things will be in areas on their body that you will never see, so don't worry about it. If you can't see it, it doesn't exist, right?
   
     The only lie you're allowed to believe is the one that really isn't a lie, even though at the time (while raising teens) it might feel like one. They love you. They really do. And one day when they're old enough to understand all that you've done for them, they'll appreciate you.

     But don't forget to hide the WD-40, just in case….
   



       
     

   
     I love my quiet weekends. They give me license to indulge in one of my favorite pastimes: napping. When the lunch dishes are cleared and my schedule is free, I retire to my private little cave under a stack of blankets and pillows. Once I close my bedroom door, the family KNOWS not to disturb me. If my beauty rest is interrupted, they'll be dealing with a haggard troll…. and the consequences for waking me will be swift and painful.
     Most weekends I can steal a little shut-eye by mid afternoon. I'm a firm believer in a three hour siesta. But lately, uncontrollable outside forces have been messing with the sweet slumber I desperately crave. No, I do not have young children screeching or stomping through the house like a herd of buffalo. What I DO have is neighbors. And an obnoxious ice cream truck that takes sadistic pleasure in blaring, "Pop Goes The Weasel" from massive speakers as it drives past my home. Three times. The vendor's timing is precise----he catches me the minute I am caught in the throes of a deliciously sexy dream, about to lock lips with Johnny Depp and then….POP GOES THE WEASEL!!
     I grit my teeth against the sudden urge for an orange creamsicle, convinced there must be subliminal messages hidden in the tinny songs from the ice cream truck.
     Burrowing deeper under the covers, I wait for the offending truck to pass my home at a turtle's pace.  Just when I start to slip into the land of Noddingoff, the doorbell rings, which sets the dogs on edge. Over their incessant barking, a salesman is trying to convince me that I need to switch cable companies so that I can add an additional 500 channels to the existing 700 I already have.  Hey, I never get the chance to sleep, so why not feed my insomnia with more channels allowing me to live vicariously through people testing out Tempur-Pedic mattresses on late night infomercials?
     Once things finally settle down, I drift back into the slumber I have waited for all week.  I never know how much time passes---it could be two hours or two minutes, but it happens all the same----the neighbor next door who won last year's Curb Appeal Award has decided to do a little creative landscaping. Possibly carving Mickey Mouse topiaries out of his hedge. As he trims the base of his meticulous creations with a weed wacker, small stones ricochet loudly like a woodpecker on steroids against my bedroom window. I'd rather sleep in a room filled with chocolate wasted toddlers than listen to the torturous tapping of flying debris from the neighbor's new lawn toy.

     I decide to give napping one more shot, when suddenly I am baking in a 475 degree oven.  Who invited the freaking sun into my bedroom? Within seconds, I'm bathed in a puddle of sweat from the aftershocks of a merciless hot flash.
     Giving up on the fantasy of a two hour nap, I stagger into the kitchen for a jolt of caffeine to push me through the rest of the day. Peering around the corner, I see The Hubs sleeping peacefully on the couch, his lips fluffing out with each whistling exhale. I hear the TV in the background----a testosterone-infused program on cage fighting. I marvel at his ability to sleep through doorbells and barking dogs. Actually, I'm a wee bit jealous. Okay, a LOT. Deciding that it really wouldn't be fair for my well-rested husband to be stuck with a wife who resembles an Iggy Doll, I wake him from sleep. He opens one eye, peers up at me and smiles. I hand him a cup of coffee and flop down beside him on the couch. He channel surfs like a kid with severe A.D.D. before settling on the Discovery Channel. Grinning, he wraps his arms around me and I snuggle against his warmth. Within minutes, I drift into blessed slumber.
     I can't think of a better way to spend a Sunday afternoon than nodding off during a television documentary on the sleeping habits of wombats….while curled in the arms of the man I love.


Want more Menopausal Mother? Here's where you can find me this week: Find out why I'm a vacation sloth over at Humor Outcasts: http://humoroutcasts.com/2014/vacation-sloth. Got some neighbors who are driving you crazy? I have a solution for that. Read my latest funny post at In The Powder Room here: http://www.inthepowderroom.com/read/home-time/2014-03-neighbors-from-hell.html