Do you remember the Beau Hunk? It's been awhile.
The Beau Hunk's back in town.
His name has been banished from our home. We've tired of calling him "the one who's name must not be spoken", so he's been simply diminished to "Voldemort".
In the past six months, Voldemort has taken to stalking our daughter. In turn, I have taken to stalking him on Facebook.
Via Facebook, I learned that he was recently discharged from the Marines. That's no shocker to either myself or my husband. We had very little confidence he would make it through four years of taking orders from someone else.
He is back on his regimen of steroids, working out, and tanning. According to his public Facebook page, he is prepping to enter a series of bodybuilding competitions, working as a model (HA!), and applying to colleges.
That's right. He's applying to colleges.
I'll allow you one guess as to which university he's applying to.
Last night at dinner, I told Hubs we need to get our daughter out of there. It's time to transfer.
Showing posts with label Teen parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Teen parenting. Show all posts
Friday, January 3, 2014
The Beau Hunk's Back In Town
Do you remember the Beau Hunk? It's been awhile.
The Beau Hunk's back in town.
His name has been banished from our home. We've tired of calling him "the one who's name must not be spoken", so he's been simply diminished to "Voldemort".
In the past six months, Voldemort has taken to stalking our daughter. In turn, I have taken to stalking him on Facebook.
Via Facebook, I learned that he was recently discharged from the Marines. That's no shocker to either myself or my husband. We had very little confidence he would make it through four years of taking orders from someone else.
He is back on his regimin of steriods, working out, and tanning. According to his public Facebook page, he is prepping to enter a series of bodybuilding competitions, working as a model (HA!), and applying to colleges.
That's right. He's applying to colleges.
I'll allow you one guess as to which university he's applying to.
Last night at dinner, I told Hubs we need to get our daughter out of there. It's time to transfer.
The Beau Hunk's back in town.
His name has been banished from our home. We've tired of calling him "the one who's name must not be spoken", so he's been simply diminished to "Voldemort".
In the past six months, Voldemort has taken to stalking our daughter. In turn, I have taken to stalking him on Facebook.
Via Facebook, I learned that he was recently discharged from the Marines. That's no shocker to either myself or my husband. We had very little confidence he would make it through four years of taking orders from someone else.
He is back on his regimin of steriods, working out, and tanning. According to his public Facebook page, he is prepping to enter a series of bodybuilding competitions, working as a model (HA!), and applying to colleges.
That's right. He's applying to colleges.
I'll allow you one guess as to which university he's applying to.
Last night at dinner, I told Hubs we need to get our daughter out of there. It's time to transfer.
The Beau Hunk's Back In Town
Do you remember the Beau Hunk? It's been awhile.
The Beau Hunk's back in town.
His name has been banished from our home. We've tired of calling him "the one who's name must not be spoken", so he's been simply diminished to "Voldemort".
In the past six months, Voldemort has taken to stalking our daughter. In turn, I have taken to stalking him on Facebook.
Via Facebook, I learned that he was recently discharged from the Marines. That's no shocker to either myself or my husband. We had very little confidence he would make it through four years of taking orders from someone else.
He is back on his regimin of steriods, working out, and tanning. According to his public Facebook page, he is prepping to enter a series of bodybuilding competitions, working as a model (HA!), and applying to colleges.
That's right. He's applying to colleges.
I'll allow you one guess as to which university he's applying to.
Last night at dinner, I told Hubs we need to get our daughter out of there. It's time to transfer.
The Beau Hunk's back in town.
His name has been banished from our home. We've tired of calling him "the one who's name must not be spoken", so he's been simply diminished to "Voldemort".
In the past six months, Voldemort has taken to stalking our daughter. In turn, I have taken to stalking him on Facebook.
Via Facebook, I learned that he was recently discharged from the Marines. That's no shocker to either myself or my husband. We had very little confidence he would make it through four years of taking orders from someone else.
He is back on his regimin of steriods, working out, and tanning. According to his public Facebook page, he is prepping to enter a series of bodybuilding competitions, working as a model (HA!), and applying to colleges.
That's right. He's applying to colleges.
I'll allow you one guess as to which university he's applying to.
Last night at dinner, I told Hubs we need to get our daughter out of there. It's time to transfer.
The Beau Hunk's Back In Town
Do you remember the Beau Hunk? It's been awhile.
The Beau Hunk's back in town.
His name has been banished from our home. We've tired of calling him "the one who's name must not be spoken", so he's been simply diminished to "Voldemort".
In the past six months, Voldemort has taken to stalking our daughter. In turn, I have taken to stalking him on Facebook.
Via Facebook, I learned that he was recently discharged from the Marines. That's no shocker to either myself or my husband. We had very little confidence he would make it through four years of taking orders from someone else.
He is back on his regimin of steriods, working out, and tanning. According to his public Facebook page, he is prepping to enter a series of bodybuilding competitions, working as a model (HA!), and applying to colleges.
That's right. He's applying to colleges.
I'll allow you one guess as to which university he's applying to.
Last night at dinner, I told Hubs we need to get our daughter out of there. It's time to transfer.
The Beau Hunk's back in town.
His name has been banished from our home. We've tired of calling him "the one who's name must not be spoken", so he's been simply diminished to "Voldemort".
In the past six months, Voldemort has taken to stalking our daughter. In turn, I have taken to stalking him on Facebook.
Via Facebook, I learned that he was recently discharged from the Marines. That's no shocker to either myself or my husband. We had very little confidence he would make it through four years of taking orders from someone else.
He is back on his regimin of steriods, working out, and tanning. According to his public Facebook page, he is prepping to enter a series of bodybuilding competitions, working as a model (HA!), and applying to colleges.
That's right. He's applying to colleges.
I'll allow you one guess as to which university he's applying to.
Last night at dinner, I told Hubs we need to get our daughter out of there. It's time to transfer.
The Beau Hunk's Back In Town
Do you remember the Beau Hunk? It's been awhile.
The Beau Hunk's back in town.
His name has been banished from our home. We've tired of calling him "the one who's name must not be spoken", so he's been simply diminished to "Voldemort".
In the past six months, Voldemort has taken to stalking our daughter. In turn, I have taken to stalking him on Facebook.
Via Facebook, I learned that he was recently discharged from the Marines. That's no shocker to either myself or my husband. We had very little confidence he would make it through four years of taking orders from someone else.
He is back on his regimin of steriods, working out, and tanning. According to his public Facebook page, he is prepping to enter a series of bodybuilding competitions, working as a model (HA!), and applying to colleges.
That's right. He's applying to colleges.
I'll allow you one guess as to which university he's applying to.
Last night at dinner, I told Hubs we need to get our daughter out of there. It's time to transfer.
The Beau Hunk's back in town.
His name has been banished from our home. We've tired of calling him "the one who's name must not be spoken", so he's been simply diminished to "Voldemort".
In the past six months, Voldemort has taken to stalking our daughter. In turn, I have taken to stalking him on Facebook.
Via Facebook, I learned that he was recently discharged from the Marines. That's no shocker to either myself or my husband. We had very little confidence he would make it through four years of taking orders from someone else.
He is back on his regimin of steriods, working out, and tanning. According to his public Facebook page, he is prepping to enter a series of bodybuilding competitions, working as a model (HA!), and applying to colleges.
That's right. He's applying to colleges.
I'll allow you one guess as to which university he's applying to.
Last night at dinner, I told Hubs we need to get our daughter out of there. It's time to transfer.
Monday, September 30, 2013
The Dish That Broke Me
As a mother, you bust your hiney teaching your kids good manners and healthy habits. By seven, each of our four kids would clear their plates, give them a rinse and stack them in the dishwasher.
Hubs and I were pretty proud of this achievement. Friends and family would marvel as the kids performed this trick as, we, the adults finished dinner or imbibed on another glass of wine around the table.
We considered the war against dishes over.
We were wrong.
Something inexplicable happened.
They turned into teens... and lost their brains.
Apparently, rampant hormones wipe the memory and ability of all teenagers and young adults to accomplish anything more than to beautify and feed themselves on a daily basis.
One would think with two kids living out of the home, the dirty dish stack would diminish, or, at the very least, shorten in height.
Not so.
Our front door is revolving. The Collegiates coming and going... eating as soon as they come in, cooking a "quick and easy meal" and taking food with them as they leave, leaving behind a stack of dishes, glasses, utensils, pots, and pans. To that, add the "littles", our high school junior and 8th grader to the mix, and my sink overfloweth with cruddy dishes.
~Oh, the joy~
Replay this scenario every day. Sometimes, multiple times a day.
~Oh, the effing joy~
One evening last week, after feeding the family, and cleaning the kitchen, I attended a movie with a girlfriend. I came home well past my bedtime, and made a beeline to for bed, passing one Collegiate waiting for her laundry to dry, and High Schooler studying for an exam.
~Oh, to be young and have energy past 10pm!~
In the morning, I stumbled downstairs for coffee, fully expecting to be greeted by my clean and cheery kitchen. Instead, I came face to face with the one dish that broke me.
In a huff, I punched this out...
... and taped it on the window just above the kitchen sink.
High Schooler accused me of being sassy.
8th Grader took his dish and plunked it down per his usual. I yelled him back to the sink, pointing to the sign. He paused to read it, only to suggest, "I didn't even see that there. I think you should laminate that and tape it to the bottom of the sink."
I'm considering it.
Hubs and I were pretty proud of this achievement. Friends and family would marvel as the kids performed this trick as, we, the adults finished dinner or imbibed on another glass of wine around the table.
We considered the war against dishes over.
We were wrong.
Something inexplicable happened.
They turned into teens... and lost their brains.
Apparently, rampant hormones wipe the memory and ability of all teenagers and young adults to accomplish anything more than to beautify and feed themselves on a daily basis.
One would think with two kids living out of the home, the dirty dish stack would diminish, or, at the very least, shorten in height.
Not so.
Our front door is revolving. The Collegiates coming and going... eating as soon as they come in, cooking a "quick and easy meal" and taking food with them as they leave, leaving behind a stack of dishes, glasses, utensils, pots, and pans. To that, add the "littles", our high school junior and 8th grader to the mix, and my sink overfloweth with cruddy dishes.
~Oh, the joy~
Replay this scenario every day. Sometimes, multiple times a day.
~Oh, the effing joy~
One evening last week, after feeding the family, and cleaning the kitchen, I attended a movie with a girlfriend. I came home well past my bedtime, and made a beeline to for bed, passing one Collegiate waiting for her laundry to dry, and High Schooler studying for an exam.
~Oh, to be young and have energy past 10pm!~
In the morning, I stumbled downstairs for coffee, fully expecting to be greeted by my clean and cheery kitchen. Instead, I came face to face with the one dish that broke me.
In a huff, I punched this out...
... and taped it on the window just above the kitchen sink.
High Schooler accused me of being sassy.
8th Grader took his dish and plunked it down per his usual. I yelled him back to the sink, pointing to the sign. He paused to read it, only to suggest, "I didn't even see that there. I think you should laminate that and tape it to the bottom of the sink."
I'm considering it.
Monday, September 23, 2013
Teen Girls: Here Come The Nuns
If you follow me on Twitter, you know, despite illness, I drove a car full of teen girls to a concert Saturday evening.
True to form, the girls were running late. A couple couldn't decide what to wear, one forgot her make-up and another was decompensating over not having the proper shade of metallic, lavender eyeshadow, while others were furiously texting friends who were already at the concert, yelling the latest news throughout the halls of my house.
"EILEEN IS ALREADY THERE, AND SHE SAYS SHE 'RAN INTO' JOEY!!"
"OH, YEAH, RIGHT!"
"OOOOOOOOOO!!!! MATT IS GOING TO GO CRAY-CRAY ON HER!!"
"HOLD ON, I'M GOING TO SNAP CHAT HER AND TELL HER SHE'S SCREWING HERSELF!"
"EXCUSE ME?" I say in a tone which suggests correction is needed.
"Oh, sorry, Mrs. S.... I'M GOING TO SNAP CHAT HER AND TELL HER SHE'S 'MAKING A POOR DECISION!!' "
Decorum. A little decorum.
The finally were ready to head out to the car and as they filed past me, I checked their outfits. The jean cutoff shorts were a little too short for my liking. The tanks tops were a little short, but covered the midriff (for the most part). Their makeup was little heavier than what they wore to school, but not much. It was borderline acceptable. I put away my fashion police badge.
We piled in the car and made our way through traffic to the concert venue.
As we approached the drop off area, concert goers began to appear. They were hopping out of their cars and hoofing it towards the arena.
All the girls had their noses buried in their phones as I muttered, "Oh my GAWD."
The dismay in my voice summoned the girls' attention and their heads all popped up and they looked out the car windows.
There, walking beside us, in front of us, and everywhere we looked we saw girls in fishnets and– their underwear. The tiniest boyfriend cut panties (apparently gold lamé is the all the rage), homemade bedazzled and feathered bras, and make-up jobs intense enough to scare the grim reaper and his sickle back into hiding.
With the girls mouths gaped open, I swung the car into the "passenger drop-off" zone. Quietly, they all grabbed their phones as they opened the car doors.
I reminded my daughter where I'd be picking them up. As hootchie girls walked past her, she stood just outside the car, poking her head inside the car nodding, "Okay."
With that and her "properly" dressed friends now standing with her, my daughter turned away and yelled, "HERE COME THE NUNS, PEOPLE! HERE COME THE NUNS!" as she shut the car door.
...And I laughed as I drove off solo in my car which is adorned with her high school issued license plate frame which reads, "St. Catherine's Saints".
That Catholic education is finally beginning to pay off.
and here...
True to form, the girls were running late. A couple couldn't decide what to wear, one forgot her make-up and another was decompensating over not having the proper shade of metallic, lavender eyeshadow, while others were furiously texting friends who were already at the concert, yelling the latest news throughout the halls of my house.
"EILEEN IS ALREADY THERE, AND SHE SAYS SHE 'RAN INTO' JOEY!!"
"OH, YEAH, RIGHT!"
"OOOOOOOOOO!!!! MATT IS GOING TO GO CRAY-CRAY ON HER!!"
"HOLD ON, I'M GOING TO SNAP CHAT HER AND TELL HER SHE'S SCREWING HERSELF!"
"EXCUSE ME?" I say in a tone which suggests correction is needed.
"Oh, sorry, Mrs. S.... I'M GOING TO SNAP CHAT HER AND TELL HER SHE'S 'MAKING A POOR DECISION!!' "
Decorum. A little decorum.
The finally were ready to head out to the car and as they filed past me, I checked their outfits. The jean cutoff shorts were a little too short for my liking. The tanks tops were a little short, but covered the midriff (for the most part). Their makeup was little heavier than what they wore to school, but not much. It was borderline acceptable. I put away my fashion police badge.
We piled in the car and made our way through traffic to the concert venue.
As we approached the drop off area, concert goers began to appear. They were hopping out of their cars and hoofing it towards the arena.
All the girls had their noses buried in their phones as I muttered, "Oh my GAWD."
The dismay in my voice summoned the girls' attention and their heads all popped up and they looked out the car windows.
There, walking beside us, in front of us, and everywhere we looked we saw girls in fishnets and– their underwear. The tiniest boyfriend cut panties (apparently gold lamé is the all the rage), homemade bedazzled and feathered bras, and make-up jobs intense enough to scare the grim reaper and his sickle back into hiding.
With the girls mouths gaped open, I swung the car into the "passenger drop-off" zone. Quietly, they all grabbed their phones as they opened the car doors.
I reminded my daughter where I'd be picking them up. As hootchie girls walked past her, she stood just outside the car, poking her head inside the car nodding, "Okay."
With that and her "properly" dressed friends now standing with her, my daughter turned away and yelled, "HERE COME THE NUNS, PEOPLE! HERE COME THE NUNS!" as she shut the car door.
...And I laughed as I drove off solo in my car which is adorned with her high school issued license plate frame which reads, "St. Catherine's Saints".
That Catholic education is finally beginning to pay off.
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Friday, September 20, 2013
Tween Tales: Colors
**originally written May 2012**
Our youngest kid, LB, is a twelve year old middle schooler. He is a cute kid and I say this using the number of little girls who have called our home asking for him as my gauge, not the biased mommy meter.
Last night we were on our way home from dinner at our favorite Mexican restaurant and decided to stop at a popular frozen yogurt shop for dessert. This shop is a little out of our neighborhood and we had to drive through a section of town we don't usually frequent.
It was dark, and at one particular intersection we came upon a parked police cruiser with its siren lights on alerting motorist to a closed portion of the roadway. Pedestrians were gathered around.
LB sees the commotion and declares, "LOOK! Crime scene, ahead! Are we in an area known for gang activity?"
I assured him we were not and continue, "LB, all those people are holding candles. They must be holding a candlelight vigil for someone who died right there. The police car is just there to make sure no one gets hit by a car."
"Oh, welllllllll... um... did you know you could get shot for accidentally wearing the wrong color in a gang neighborhood? One gang is blue and the other red."
"Yeah, that's crazy and very scary."
"Yeah, so if I ever have to go to {city known for prolific gang violence and daily gang shootings} I'm going to make sure I'm wearing pink.... or purple."
As I look out the window at the other cars, I envision LB sticking out like a sore thumb in such an environment, with his Justin Bieber hair cut, vans and pink outfit. I smile to myself and tell him, "Great idea, LB, that's good."
...Yeah, pink would most definitely keep him safe.
Our youngest kid, LB, is a twelve year old middle schooler. He is a cute kid and I say this using the number of little girls who have called our home asking for him as my gauge, not the biased mommy meter.
Last night we were on our way home from dinner at our favorite Mexican restaurant and decided to stop at a popular frozen yogurt shop for dessert. This shop is a little out of our neighborhood and we had to drive through a section of town we don't usually frequent.
It was dark, and at one particular intersection we came upon a parked police cruiser with its siren lights on alerting motorist to a closed portion of the roadway. Pedestrians were gathered around.
LB sees the commotion and declares, "LOOK! Crime scene, ahead! Are we in an area known for gang activity?"
I assured him we were not and continue, "LB, all those people are holding candles. They must be holding a candlelight vigil for someone who died right there. The police car is just there to make sure no one gets hit by a car."
"Oh, welllllllll... um... did you know you could get shot for accidentally wearing the wrong color in a gang neighborhood? One gang is blue and the other red."
"Yeah, that's crazy and very scary."
"Yeah, so if I ever have to go to {city known for prolific gang violence and daily gang shootings} I'm going to make sure I'm wearing pink.... or purple."
As I look out the window at the other cars, I envision LB sticking out like a sore thumb in such an environment, with his Justin Bieber hair cut, vans and pink outfit. I smile to myself and tell him, "Great idea, LB, that's good."
...Yeah, pink would most definitely keep him safe.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
A Divorce Tale: When Your Teen Daughter Modifies Her Custody Agreement
Once again, we're in transition. My daughter, D3, has decided to modify her custody agreement by moving home for good. I am over-joyed to say the very, very least! Up to this point, she has lived a shared custody agreement. On paper, it's been 50/50. In reality, it's something else. If you're divorced or a step-parent, you know what I'm talking about.
I am proud of D3. She has found her voice. She has found her strength. I understand all too well how difficult her father can be and how scary it must have been for her to broach the subject with her father. Apparently, after the short conversation, he said nothing. She could tell he was mad (most likely hurt). He immediately dropped her off at my home. That was it.
Years ago, my girlfriends who grew up in divorced families all predicted this would happen. They have lived D3's life and collectively agreed one home in high school was best for both them and the custodial parent. They only had to check in with one parent, and didn't have to consult a custody schedule to make social plans with friends. Moreover, they confessed it was harder to get away with teen nonsense. They found they couldn't play each parent off one another or find a way to "slip through the cracks" to go out with friends when one parent said "no". In hindsight, all my girlfriends agreed one home in high school was for the best.
Years ago, my girlfriends who grew up in divorced families all predicted this would happen. They have lived D3's life and collectively agreed one home in high school was best for both them and the custodial parent. They only had to check in with one parent, and didn't have to consult a custody schedule to make social plans with friends. Moreover, they confessed it was harder to get away with teen nonsense. They found they couldn't play each parent off one another or find a way to "slip through the cracks" to go out with friends when one parent said "no". In hindsight, all my girlfriends agreed one home in high school was for the best.
According to D3, nothing specific has lead to her decision. She simply want all her "stuff" under one roof. She has been living the life a nomad...packing and unpacking...constantly. Who can blame her for wanting to live in one place?
I'm so excited to have her home...all the time!!!
The Beau Hunk Has Left the Building
Catch up on the Beau Hunk.
....Well, actually the state. Even better.
D2 sat at the end of the table with her phone in her lap, just hoping and praying the Beau Hunk would call her one last time before he left for the military. She went to prom with someone else. Apparently, he escorted another girl to a prom as well. The promise ring has been returned. The phone did not ring.
It should be a peaceful summer. The Beau Hunk has left. D2 has just landed her first job. I hope by the end of the summer the Beau Hunk will be a distant memory... for all of us.
....Well, actually the state. Even better.
Our Sunday Mother's Day brunch was fabulous. Fifteen family members and family friends gathered at a large table, eating a lovely brunch, drinking champagne, talking and laughing. Three of our kids were with us (D1 is still away at college) and life was almost perfect. Almost.
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It should be a peaceful summer. The Beau Hunk has left. D2 has just landed her first job. I hope by the end of the summer the Beau Hunk will be a distant memory... for all of us.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Teen Texts
When your home is filled with teens, texting is bound to become your main means of communication. Our older girls indoctrinated us into this new reality and I must say, it is a successful method of communication. They can easily reply to us without alerting their friends and peers that they're talking to mommy and daddy. You remember how uncool that was, right? Yet, when push comes to shove they will relent and dial to make an old fashioned phone call.
This afternoon our high school daughter (#3) took teen texting to a whole new (lower?) level. After arriving home from school and a couple of errands, she went upstairs to her room to start homework. I was downstairs furiously cleaning in anticipation of the in-laws' arrival when my heard my phone vibrating. I answered...
#3: Mumma??
Me: Where are you??
#3: (shy giggle) Upstairs...
Me: Really?! You're calling me on your phone??
#3: Can you please bring up some toilet paper?
Apparently, I missed her text...
This afternoon our high school daughter (#3) took teen texting to a whole new (lower?) level. After arriving home from school and a couple of errands, she went upstairs to her room to start homework. I was downstairs furiously cleaning in anticipation of the in-laws' arrival when my heard my phone vibrating. I answered...
#3: Mumma??
Me: Where are you??
#3: (shy giggle) Upstairs...
Me: Really?! You're calling me on your phone??
#3: Can you please bring up some toilet paper?
Apparently, I missed her text...
Monday, September 2, 2013
The Beau Hunk Update
Sometimes, as a mother of teen girls, you are simply left shaking your head. There are no words, no comfort a parent can offer or give a teen daughter who seems to flourish in her own drama. In your heart, you want to help the pain go away, however any efforts will be deemed as "butting in" and "none of your business". Teens. Gotta love 'em.
So what's a (step)mother to do? Stand aside. Watch from the shadows. Text "love you"s and make small talk to avoid the big, bad, ghostly Beau Hunk who's sitting in the middle of the room.
Event #1: Beau Hunk still has not left for boot camp. He's still here. Here's where the miscommunication took place... Hubs and I were told he was leaving for boot camp. To us. that means a flight directly to the military check-in. Pardon us for misunderstanding. Apparently, in teen language, it means he was flying out to spend a couple of months with his father before boot camp. Our bad.
Event #2: The night before "shipping out" to his father's, father and son had an altercation over the phone. Beau Hunk's father cancelled the airline tickets. No visit. At all. Yeah, he's not winning Father of the Year, but lucky us! We get to enjoy the turmoil Beau Hunk inflicts on D2 for two more whole months. We are all certain it will be a pleasurable 61 days.
Event #3: The young couple is blissfully happy for a brief period.
D2 is hopeful the relationship is once again salvageable. She is still wearing the promise ring. After all, why not go for round 18? Where's the harm in that? It seems to be the cycle of teen drama.
I can't wait for May.
A Family Milestone: The First Job
As previously posted, over Spring Break, D1 ran into a bit of a money crunch. It’s an awful and helpless realization knowing one of your kids is broke. My brother even asked if he could offer her money. Her grandparents wanted to wire her money, but we made our position clear and no one bailed her out.
In high school D1 had a couple of families she would babysit for a few times a month. They paid her well....VERY WELL, sometimes to the tune of over $20 per hour. (Luckily, D2 inherited the jig after D1 left for college. She loves the pay, but hates her little wards call her by D1’s name.) However, D1 never held a “real” job. It wasn’t for lack of trying. She filled out job applications, but with the economy in the dumps, retailers weren’t jumping at the opportunity to hire high school students.
When D1 went off to college and we were trying to decide a monthly allowance for her, Doc H and I were at odds with regards to whether or not D1 should work during her freshman year. I worked my freshman year and, in hindsight, it helped with time management, kept me focused, kept me out of too much trouble and helped with my expenses. Hubs disagreed. He wanted to give D1 everything neither of us had in college; an opportunity to fully concentrate on studies. He did not want her to worry about finances or take time away from the books.
I went along with it despite my gut screaming at me, “She’s going to have too much time during this transition and time of NEW-FOUND FREEDOM!!!” But, what could I do? I’m just the step-mom. If it were D3 (my daughter), I would have lowered the boom and made a job a requirement. But, again, it wasn’t my call.
Now, with no extra money to bail her out and her savings dwindling, D1 took it upon herself to get a job. I am so proud of her! It is a family milestone-- our first kid with a real job! One step closer to independence! She was giddy with excitement when she called with the news she would be working 3 nights a week as a restaurant hostess close to campus.
D1 had a meeting with her academic counselor to review her schedule and declare a major. She mentioned she had just secured a part-time job. Her counselor told her that was fantastic. In fact, he told her college students tend to do better in school when they are working. She shared this information with Hubs.
Imagine my disbelief upon hearing Doc H (Mister "I don't think D1 should have to get a job and worry about money") share all this news with my father, and at the end, tag on, “I think it’ll be really good for her to be working. It will help keep her focused on her studies.”
Somebody help me pick my jaw up off the floor, would ‘ya?Oh, how I wanted to scream, “EXCUSE ME???!!!!! I’ve been saying she should get a job from the moment we shipped her car out there! Where's my credit? Where's my 'You were right!'” However, I sat there and bit my tongue. This one just wasn’t worth it. In the end, it worked out how I thought it should. I know Hubs realizes it. All I really care about is D1’s success.
It would be nice if I heard a “You were right", but I'm not going to hold my breath. Hubs brought me flowers on Thursday just like he does almost every Thursday (I'm spoiled, I know). This week I'm calling them my "you were right" flowers. He just doesn't know it. But, who cares? It works for me!
It would be nice if I heard a “You were right", but I'm not going to hold my breath. Hubs brought me flowers on Thursday just like he does almost every Thursday (I'm spoiled, I know). This week I'm calling them my "you were right" flowers. He just doesn't know it. But, who cares? It works for me!Spring Break Gone BAD
Nothing like getting a phone call almost 10pm telling you she and her roommates decided to leave the state and take a two day drive to a popular college Spring Break destination. And by the way, she's already been there a whole day. Last night the entire wallet was lost along with the car keys at a beach party.
Daughter #1: (After breaking the news) Could you please call the bank and cancel all ATM and credit cards. I lost my car keys, too. Can you FedEx my spare key? Oh, and all forms of identifications are gone also. And, oh, when I left I only had $100 in my bank account so could you send me some money?
Unsanctioned Travel = No Money Honey
So, there I am at 11pm on the phone with the bank canceling cards, making sure there have been no unauthorized charges over the last 24 hour period. In the meantime, after having a rather terse conversation with his ex (D1's bio mom) about the situation at hand, Hubs is doing his best to let it all go so he can concentrate on a very tough case he is performing early in the morning on some poor 81 year old.
Hubs is done bailing out D1. I stand behind him. Doesn't mean I'm not calling everyone asking if they have heard from her or biting all my nails down to the nub. It's tough love on both sides of the coin.
This is just #1. We still have 2, 3, and 4 to go. Sweet Baby Jeezus save me or at least send me down a bottle of Xanex... I don't think the bottle of vino is going to do it tonight.
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