And Do You Have a Teenage Daughter?

So my absolutely beautiful teen age daughter comes to me on a Sunday to tell me she wants to go on a hike at the crack of dawn on Monday with some of her buddies from school, two other girls and three boys. She continued to inform me that said hike will last about five hours. Okay, now the average mother with a degree in law enforcement who is married to a pediatrician of Hispanic ancestry would probably pull out her address book to find a “friend” who could run a background check on all the intended hiking companions. I controlled myself primarily because I know all of the kids. All members of the Mock Trial Team and two of them graduated this last year, going off to college in the fall. So I took a deep breath and said “Okay”. Actually I coughed a lot because I have a nasty cold, then I said “okay”.

Originally the group was going to meet at the trail head at seven in the morning (maternal groan here as the teenager doesn’t have a license so guess who has to drive her). Miraculously, however, the time was changed to eight (someone likes me). When you are sick, 8 a.m. is a much nicer and civil time than 7 a.m.

Before we head out the door to the car, my teenager is cornered by her father. Did I mention that he is a Hispanic pediatrician . . . who was probably born hiking? So the list of precautions is bestowed on the daughter. She is packed up with a first aid kit that probably could stock a trauma center and enough water to last in the Sahara desert for a month. Last instructions are to send him the make, model and license plate number of the car that is left at the trail head. Excellent advice, heavy backpack.

So off we go. On the way to the trailhead I get a phone call from hubby to . . . you guessed it . . . get the make, model and license plate number of the car left at the trail head. Hmmm, do you sense a theme here?

We arrive at the trail head, fashionably late (does the current younger generation believe in “fashionably late”?). I do my interrogation; uh I mean my questioning as to whose car was “the car”. Five quizzical set of eyes look at me. I explain the overprotective set of parents, I being one of them. I also said all I wanted was a quick picture on my cell phone camera (gotta love that invention) to comply with father’s request. One of the boys points to his car for me to take a picture. I go to the back of the car to take a quick photo and lo and behold there is a bumper sticker. Not just any bumper sticker, one that says “Save the boobies*”. Flashes of the Mexican dad seeing the bumper sticker, not being amused and questioning my sanity for sending our precious daughter on a hike with these kids came to mind. I took the picture but conveniently forgot to send it to the Mexican dad.

Alas all’s well that ends well. The beautiful daughter arrives home early (apparently some of the group thought the hike was a little too long) and not in the car with the unique bumper sticker. My reputation with dad is safe – for now.

* “Save the boobies” is a sticker for breast cancer awareness.

Twilight Midnight Part 2: Screaming Estrogen

So here we are sitting in the theater, waiting for the movie . . . for two hours! So we moms observed. We first observed the type of people who would actually get to the theater two hours before the show started. We observed mostly girls but there were a few boys being dragged by their current significant other. On the adult side, we observed there were other moms like us, who totally don't believe our sweet, impressionable female offspring should be attend a teenage romance movie at midnight without the appropriate adult supervision. We observed a local DJ come to get the crowd excited for the event. He had a few contests. We observed some teenagers get up and try to make animal noises. Others got to sing. Kids got some CD's for just being plain goofy.

Then it happened. The screen flickered. Just that mere act caused a wave of high pitched screams. It wasn't even the show but the beginning of previews. Mind you they had to start with the preview of the upcoming Harry Potter movie (there were a few shrieks just for that). Everytime a new preview, a new wave a adolescent females screamed, thinking it was the movie.

By the time the movie actually began, I had determined that it would be prudent to make an appointment with my hearing doctor the following week. I am sure that I lost some auditory capability. Ah, and to think I used to thrive on rock concerts in my youth!

Anyway, finally Twilight began. As each actor made their debut on the screen, the screaming started up again. I hate to admit it, but I do believe the starter screams began with my own little bookshelf of teenagers (not the boys of course). Probably most teachers wish their students had this kind of enthusiasm for their classes.

Next I will let you in on one of my parent spying results . . .

Twilight Midnight

I can't believe that I did this!

Yes folks, I am now certifiable nuts! Who in their right mind would go with a bunch of adolescent, estrogen based life forms of the human variety to see the midnight show of Twilight. For those who are not blessed with the knowledge of the Twilight phenomena, it is a series of books by a woman, Stephanie Myers, that follows the developing romance between teenager (Bella) and vampire (Edward). Ms. Myers throws out 99.9% of the cliches of vampires and developed some other twists to enhance the teenage romance. Edward is most girls' dream of the perfect boyfriend . . . you have to read the books to get the full flavor but I digress.

We went to the 12:01 show which was sold out days in advance. Mind you we were at the theater 2 hours a head of time. In the line was a variety of young ladies, a few guys and various adult chaperones (or at least that was the excuse to go see the movie). Some folks even brought the book with them to read in line. I was lucky my eldest (son to say the least) had plopped himself in line early so his sister and her friends could get choice seats. Thankfully I was not forced to sit in the first row to count Edward's nose hairs (have had this experience in other movies and my neck totally dislikes the experience).

So here we are, my friend and I plus 6 girls and two brothers. We adults sat in front of the young ladies while the boys made bookends to the "girl row". Tomorrow I will write about their reaction to the previews and the movie itself. Trust me - the American teenage boy is going to have to step it up a notch after this movie . . .

High School Parking Lot Etiquette

Driving in a parking lot of a high school when the dismissal bell goes off can be a daunting task. The usual rules of the road definitely don’t apply. They are replaced by “get the heck out of here at any cost”. Take, for example, the common backing out of a parking place. For those of us who have done it in a crowded shopping mall garage have experienced what I call “road etiquette”. This usually means that as you inch out slowly, someone in the long line blocking your car stops and allows you to complete your exit, as a point of manners. This little unwritten rule does not apply to high school parking lots. In fact quite the opposite. They close ranks. Barely an inch is left between the cars, as if to say “If you think you are getting off campus before I am you are wrong.” I have noticed that the guys are worse than the girls. Apparently they had an extremely hot date with their X boxes or something. One can wait endlessly for the long line of cars to diminish unless you get lucky and another parent actually makes it into the line. Hopefully they are not too frazzled to have forgotten line etiquette though one cannot blame them for wanting to “get the heck out of Dodge” by that time. I have to admit that I have toyed with the idea of sending my daughter to stand in front of a car that is about to block me and wait until I pull out into the endless line before resuming her seat. Who would run over a cute little freshman girl? Don’t answer that. X boxes out rank everything.

So Today Is My Birthday

Today is my birthday.
So far two of my daughter's girlfriends texted me wishing me a happy birthday, my husband wished me a happy birthday, and one girlfriend texted me with another calling me from work.
Sooooo what do you think my wonderful offspring did this morning? The eldest, who at age 18 has the stare of "I have better things in my life to do than to listen to you" down like a real pro, asked me if I needed him today (after school). Now you may think "How sweet - he wants to do something for his mom!" but oh nooooo. He had planned earlier in the week to do something else and wanted to make sure that I didn't have him scheduled to hang with his brother. I waited a moment before responding to him to give him a chance to go through his mental calendar. Nope, not a thing. So I quietly said "It's my birthday." A fleeting look on his face that said "I'm bad" before he responded "I'm here". Then, without missing a beat, he asked where we were going for dinner (any chance to go out and avoid my cooking).
I can't blame him. I take any chance to go out to avoid the comments from adolescents that usually proceed something like this: You know I don't like ____________ (fill in the blank); Why do we have to have ___________; Don't we have ______________ (this one I particularly like because when I make __________ they forget that they asked for it the night before and it is now on the food blacklist); and my favorite "Can't I have something different?". By that time I usually ask them what part of our house looks like a restaurant and what I am wearing resembles a waitress uniform.
My daughter, who is supposed to be preparing for a camping trip, made a mad dash out of the house this morning to go to school before I had even cracked an eyelid open. We'll see what happens when I pick her up.

When Did I Get So Dumb

Recently my 14, almost 15, year old daughter decided to vent her latest aggravations at me. This venting included the usual teenage whining voice and complaining how the rest of the world would be better if everybody just saw everything her way.

Mind you, I think a certain amount of venting is good for people and has probably prevented many a heart attack by relieving stress but what about the ventee (said recipient of the venting)?

After a good, hmm, I would say 15 to 20 minutes of this I calmly reminded my daughter she had several responsibilities to take care of and that her voice was starting to get way too loud for her dear old mum. Big boo boo on my part obviously.

Suddenly my IQ went down to that of a peanut with my dear only daughter reminding me of every wrong that she perceived I committed in her short life. I was suddenly instructed on my horrible manners for not saying please when I told her to leave the room and vent somewhere else. At that point the choices in my mind were telling her to leave the room or determining which form of murder I should use (I was probably more inclined just to shoot myself). She continued on with her tirade "Gosh Mom. You never _____________ (fill in the blank). I don't see why I can't do that ____________ (fill in the blank)."

I finally used the proverbial "Knock it off or you are so grounded (and yes I will make your life miserable)." At least that got her to leave the room I was working in but mind you I could hear her all the way up the stairs to her room. And with each word, my IQ was definitely going down, down, down.