Teen Tantrums in Suburbia

I have been in blog-avoidance for several months now, and realize this is not a good thing for me.  I think of blog topics all the time, but I let the thoughts go fleetingly out of my mind and ignore the urge to get on here and write about it.  Below is one that's been consuming my home life, and it's time to blog it out.

M is for "Me Mostly Mad at Mom"

My most recent conflict is the intense jealousy and claim of inequality from my teenager Lil Lady in respect to her younger sister, Chillgirl.  Lil Lady is almost 15 and thinks the world is unfair if it doesn't turn on its axis around her.  She wants to come home off the bus to a quiet and undisturbed house, and alas, Chillgirl is there with her 2 cronies from across the street, playing the Wii, watching Netflix, or laughing at Youtube videos.  In and out they go from the garage to the backyard trampoline, and Lil Lady is sick to death of it.

I do agree, I don't want the circus around me when I'm just getting home and I usually make her take the party to one of the other girls' house when I get there.  Lil Lady has a valid point on this one.  But her handling of her dissatisfaction of this issue is my biggest frustration.  She yells, she criticizes, she accuses.  She loves to tell me what I should do to rectify the situation.  So I react.  New Rule: Chillgirl and Cronies must leave our house (or just Cronies leave) when Cranky Lil Lady gets off the bus.  Like, every day. Done.

Me making this proclamation usually isn't enough for Lil Lady.  She uses her valid outrage to go ahead and tell me and Chillgirl every single thing she feels wronged about in her little high-schooler life.  I don't punish Chillgirl the same as I punish her. I constantly take Lil Lady's phone away from her, but never Chillgirl's (not true).  I don't yell at Chillgirl enough or stay mad at her as long.

Chillgirl is FOUR years younger and a very different personality than Lil Lady.  They don't fight with me the same way. They don't do things to get in trouble the same way.  Chillgirl skates by on her quiet demeanor and habit of puckering her lips for a "mama-kiss" and a hug when she's sorry for doing something.  She even cries, but pathetically, not angrily.  Chillgirl's most often offense is leaving behind a mess or forgetting to do something she's been told.  Ten-Eleven year old stuff.  I correct her, she's sorry, we move on.

Lil Lady's biggest offense is her MOUTH.  Such hateful and furious things fly out of those lips, and there's not enough mama-kisses in the world to take them back, which by the way are never offered anyway.  This child never wants to let anyone else get the last word and loves to tell me how her friends think I'm the meanest mom of them all and that she never wants people over to be around me.  Never mind that she's kind of a hermit and doesn't ask friend over because she prefers to be alone with her iphone.  And the iphone is my main way of getting her attention when I've had enough.  Gone is her lifeline,  but more terrorizing ensues when this punishment is bestowed.  She's wrong, I correct her, Holy Hell breaks loose.

We do get through it.  I send Chillgirl away to her room or outside so I can stop the spiral-down tornado of her sister, while giving her all my attention even though she claims I ignore her for Chillgirl all the time.  If she could just watch a video of herself in action, I think she'd be shocked.  She usually takes a few minutes with her head back in her iphone (which isn't taken away from her nearly as much as it should be) and then devil-child goes away, and she's back to non-crazy, normal chatty teenager.  Whew.

Happy Times

Scattered thoughts from an Overused 40+ Year-Old Mind

In June I will be 42 freakin' years old. I'm okay with the number. My life at 42 is no one else's but my own. Not dependent on anyone and I handle my own shit. Can every 42 year old say that?

I have 2 kids and 2 dogs and 2 bikes, a house, a car, and a yard of my own. I'm a single parent. If the grass grows, I mow it. Well, sometimes I pay the teenager across the street when he wants to make a quick 20. When the house needs cleaned, I clean it. Ok, I make my kids do some of it, but they aren't that great at it. When I'm having a bad day I wallow in it. Alright, I call a meeting of my BFFs and we meet for margaritas or wine. Its better than therapy.

Clearly I am an independent woman, but am not shy about asking for help.

I have a phone with a calendar on it which Google links to a calendar on my laptop or any computer I'm near. I love calendars. I have things scheduled already out to August at this point. I like to know waaaay ahead when something's coming so I can stick in my calendar. It gives me peace of mind to add an appointment. Then I know I have a chance of not forgetting it. I thrive on checking today's date and making sure I've got my ducks in a row for the day. Wow, that sounds a bit sick.

I make lists. On envelopes or post-its or scrap paper. Bills to pay, things to buy, places to be, people to call. Every week a new list. I add the status on my 401K and my mortgage balance and my weight. I throw everything on there. It soothes me. Out of my head and on to paper. Then I really get jazzed when I can cross off stuff...or maybe check it, whatever my mood demands.

I try to stay active and by doing that, I schedule every single minute down to the second with "stuff". Why? When do I rest? 42 ain't no spring chicken! Metabolism is slowing, brain function is getting muddled, skin is drooping, hair is graying. But I'm told I don't look 40+. No matter I'm told that by 75+ year olds, hey, I'll take it anyway. Because my 42 year old brain can't click as quickly as it once did, my calendar alerts keep me from forgetting something important and let someone down. I'm a pleaser and a perfectionist. Not always a good combo. I am not the most organized person either. It looks unorganized to the untrained eye, but my mess is mine and I know where everything is. Or at least what pile its in. Here is a picture of my actual workspace at work...sticky-notes, piles and all:

I know it looks like a scene from the movie A Beautiful Mind but I know where any manufacturer rep's phone number or insurance account number are hanging in the mess. It would make sense to put those stickies on one single computer-typed page. I look at my mess and am sometimes disgusted. I'm sure my office isn't professional-looking. I don't do well with change so in the 12 years I've hibernated in this office daily, this is what I get. The mess isn't going anywhere. It is all I can do to get from one day to the next without forgetting to put on a shirt each morning, so if I'm arriving at work fully dressed, getting my kids and the dogs fed, and moving my ass enough that I don't weigh 200 lbs, I figure I'm doing alright.