The fruit doesn't fall far from this tre

The Fruit doesn't fall far from this Tree

                                                                               Motherhood





         I, like most women wanted children.  Unfortunately you have to carry them around for 9 months.  I was not one of these women that enjoyed being pregnant.  I'd rather walk through fields of broken glass and jump into a large vat of iodine than to have to endure one pregnancy. During the early months of pregnancy I’d go through the pleasure of being up close and personal with my toilet.  I craved hotdogs with everything on them only to find myself in the bathroom wishing I hadn't, then turn around and do it again.  I was always very large and cumbersome and often looked like I had a stomach goiter.  I know some women enjoyed feeling the baby growing and moving inside but not me I felt like I was doing a scene from "Alien".  I did not experience the 'feminine mystique' like most women do.  I had so many stretch marks my body looked like a road map of Katmandu.  My feet would swell so that my shoes wouldn't fit, I just wanted to go into a cave and hibernate like an old bear but my family still wanted to carry on like things were normal.  They all wanted to do things like go for a nice family walk in the mountains.  I will give you an example: After applying two tubs of lard to each foot so that I could can get my shoes on, I’d manage to waddle over to the car and everyone would laugh because they’d think I was doing the "funky duck", no, actually I was just trying to juggle natures' little gift.  I’d slide into position like someone who just had hemorrhoid surgery.  Aww I made it and we’re off! It actually felt kind of good doing something normal.  But wait!  Mother Nature has come to call and during pregnancy I always felt like I had a full bladder. I’d beg my husband to stop the car so I could go.  I was lucky enough to have a wonderful husband that knew he either pulled over right then and there or he'd be cleaning things up. He would stop the car right alongside the road.  No matter how I tried to be inconspicuous and hope no one saw me, (here is a woman that is huge and she is hoping no one can see her?)  I’d make it down the side of the little hill to do my thing but the only problem would be that if I tried to squat, gravity alone would pull me down and I COULDN’T get back up without help.  So I’d fall right into my own puddle and if that weren’t bad enough, I’d end up hollering for help.  If I were at home no one would hear me but out where my voice can be heard from all 4 directions, the crowds would gather really quickly to see who was yelling for help.  I not only had my family coming to my rescue but dozens of onlookers also.  Already my dignity was slipping away.  I’d get helped up and taken back to the car and after about 30 more stops for an emergency squat and fall we'd make it to the mountain, but the day was almost gone and we’d have to turn around and head back, and once again I had to stop, stop, and stop.  All I really wanted was to get home and put this day behind me.


         Home at last, now to get these shoes off.  Oh no, I am going to need the Jaws of Life for this and I realized that the oil slick my feet were leaving behind was far worse than the Valdez oil spill.


         I'd be so tired from the fun of the afternoon I just wanted to retire.  I would waddle up the stairs to climb into a tub of nice hot water.  I could hardly stay awake; I'd think about how good it felt to get off my feet and go to sleep.  Finally relaxed, clean and happy; I’d make my way to the bed, close my eyes and realize I had company.......... Mr. Insomnia!!!!!!!!!!!  He has decided he was going to stay for the rest of my pregnancy.  Well, I just knew that when the baby came I could sleep then, right?  Now if I was lucky enough to fall asleep, Mother Nature would send her uncle..............Uncle Charley Horse.  My poor husband has been brought out of a deep sleep many a quiet nights by the sound of a shrill shrieking voice coming from my side of the bed.  His first thought is that he was hearing war cries but no, it’s just me getting ready to gnaw my leg off.


         About the only thing I did like about pregnancy is that my chest size increased.  I went from a -32aaa to a +1.  I felt like a playboy bunny but it wasn't long before my stomach would compete in size and win out.  Then if that wasn't bad enough my belly button would turn inside out.  My stomach looked like it was growing a nose. I’d put duct tape on it to hide it, that was ok till I had to take it off.


         During pregnancy the child I was carrying always worked as an insulator.  If I was pregnant during the winter it was good, but during the summer, then it wasn't.  I hated it when people told me I had a glow.  I was suffering from a body temperature of 110 degrees.  Heck, it wasn't a glow, it was heat stroke.


         Finally the big day came, I was so excited to finally meet this little person who I had been carrying for nine months and had made my life a living hell the whole time. The nurse checked me in and I was ready to go. The sleep I so richly deserved was right around the corner.  I wanted to feel every pain, I was going to be a good mother, and I was already sacrificing for this child.  "No I don't want any anesthesia, just a bullet to chew on will do.  The pain really isn't so bad; I could do this standing on my head."  I lay back in my bed and closed my eyes and had just started to relax......................ALL OF A SUDDEN SOMEONE HAD STRAPPED TWO TEAMS OF HORSES TO MY STOMACH AND HAD THEM RUNNING IN OPPOSITE DIRECTIONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!YEEHAW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I’d look for anything that would help me cope with the pain............a gun...........horse tranquilizer....................baseball bat etc.  I would grab the only thing I could find...........my husband!!!!!!!!!!  He'd be sitting there looking at me and wondering why I was thrashing about so much, then he’d feel something clamp hold of his inner thigh with a death grip.  He'd scream, I'd scream....until I finally came away with a souvenir, a nice piece of pliable thigh muscle.


         Then the uncontrollable urge would come over me to push. I felt like I was doing a scene from Rocky,


"Cut me Mick.."-Rocky


"You don't wanna do it kid!"-Mick


"Cut me."


My husband who is ever so observant at the wrong times, would comment on the funny faces I was making and the pretty shades of red my face was changing to.  I thought if I only looked that way nine months ago during romance I might not be going through this right now.  With one final push and the feeling that my head would explode, out popped the bun from the oven.  A baby, oh how cute; Oh how tired I was.  My husband beamed, he could afford to after all it was his fruit I just bore, which by the way felt like a watermelon.  After childbirth I was always looking my worst.  My hair was messed up, I was all sweaty, I’d drool and shake, my false teeth were thrown across the room and I’d be smiling because it was over. 


"Honey you look beautiful." 


He’d say that because that is pretty much the way you looked after a night of passionate lovemaking.  The next sound I’d hear was the sound of my baby crying.  A sound I would hear all too often before it was over.  All my hopes and dreams were compiled into this sweet little child lying in my arms.  Are we ever really prepared?  The day came that we took our little bundle home; Oh boy, our family had finally begun.

















                                              





                   


                                                                                         The first year





         Being home with a newborn is like a fresh start.  Everything is going well for the 1st three days except for fatigue, a few sore spots and the constant succession of well-meaning people.  Everyone wants to come and see the new addition which I didn’t mind; but when they’d bring gifts to the door and toss them into my arms like I was the butler, i.e. strollers, high chairs, playpens and yes, sometimes even the kitchen sink to carry back to my chair while they ran over to grab the baby was all a little too much.  Everyone wanted to know how the labor and delivery went.  How many stitches I got? Like how am I supposed to know that?  Did I have hemorrhoids?  Was there a lot of amniotic fluid and was I going to save the umbilical cord in the baby’s scrap book?


All I really wanted was to relax and get to know my baby.  When all the visitors curiosity had been cured and I was alone again I could sit back and relish the feeling of something so small and helpless needing me.  I studied every little feature; their fingers, toes, eyes, nose, chin, knees, head, and ears.  My eyes would fill with tears. Everything about them was so perfect.  I was on top of the world, I felt content, happy and then IT happened……….My milk came in!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I began to look like something off of a 4-H farm.  I’d wake up at 4 a.m., grab a small stool, a milk bucket and wait patiently.


         The next thing that would creep up on me would be the “Baby Blues”, and I am not talking about singing but total depression and they seemed to arise at the strangest times.  I’d be right in the middle of changing my baby’s diaper, the real messy kind, and the kind that only mothers can change and live through, the kind that needed a sand blaster. Tears would start flowing and I would cry out, “I’m not worthy!” 


My husband who is praying he never has to change a diaper like this has heard me and believing I’m referring to the diaper change replies nervously, “Yes honey, you are.”


         Men have this memory loss that comes with having babies.  They act like the child you carried for nine months and endured 19 hours of pain for was created solely by them.  My husband like so many proud papas would carry a picture of the baby in his wallet next to mine.  “Hey you want to see a picture of my child?”


  Someone might say then, “Nice looking kid.  Then they’d point to a picture of me and ask “Who is the other picture of?”


He would then respond, “Oh her?  She is just the vessel that carried this fine specimen that I created.”


         The months passed and our baby went through many changes.  The sleep I really deserved still hadn’t come; I learned to see the world through foggy eyes.  Babies are constantly learning; they will take in more during their 1st year than any other time in their life.


         During this period of adjustment, I had learned that my body had not nor will it ever, without the help of plastic surgery go back to any semblance of its original state.  The stretch marks were there to stay and every time my husband looked at my nude body, he’d get all dreamy eyed, look out the window and reply, “I hear Katmandu is nice this time of year.”  Some said that gravity had come to call; once I had knockers, I now had knee knockers.  I'd just tell them that parts of me were very relaxed.


         I breastfed all my children, usually I didn't produce a lot of milk so after a short time I would put them on formula.  That depressed me also; I felt that I was distancing my babies from me.  With my last child I didn’t lack for breast milk, so I was able to breastfeed her longer than the others because I had more milk than most dairy cows had.  I could have fed the whole country of Ethiopia. I had the feeling that I was finally doing everything right. I breast fed her for almost 5 months, no sore nipples, good milk supply; she was on a good schedule. One evening after giving her the bath and rubbing her down with lotion and getting her dressed, I sat down to nurse her.  She was so sleepy and relaxed, I felt sleepy and relaxed also. It wasn’t going to be too long before my angel would be asleep.  I always hummed softly and take in this gift of perfection lying in my arms


. All of a sudden I felt teeth clamp down, searing into my flesh, I let out a blood curdling scream, which scared her so bad that she started crying, in trying to comfort her I explained to her that the nipple is not a chew toy, "Honey I don't even let daddy do that."  After that when I tried to nurse her, my breasts would retract out of fear, so it was time to put her on a bottle.


One of my favorite times in my child rearing was bath time, as long as everything went okay.  A warm bath always relaxed my babies.  I’d give them a bath, get them ready for bed, nurse them and they’d be out.  Not every time went so smoothly though.  Sometimes putting them in the tub and letting them play would be my first mistake.  After washing their hair and getting them clean, I’d decide to read while they played.  It was at a few of those times a smell would reach my nose and I would find something smeared all over; in their hair, their bodies, and teeth.  There is nothing like a warm bath to relax the bowels.  I had learned how to maneuver through the manure without getting too much on me.  After spending what seemed like hours retching in the toilet, I’d get them clean again and out of the tub before they decided to relax again. 











                                                         











                                                                                             2 years





         I love children but something happens when they reach 2 yrs. old. It seems it is downhill for the next 16 years.  For the first year my little bundle from heaven had grown and done a lot of things that were cute and I just felt this was how it was going to be always.  I’d spend a lot of energy preparing and training them.  I felt I had set their feet in the path that would make me the most proud. 


Then something happened that I prayed never would.  They discovered they had a brain, which meant..., independent thinking!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It was the end of a beautiful relationship.  My husband and I had to resort to spelling everything because our little trooper, David had learned to talk.  This can cause a lot of problems with miscommunications and fights if you can’t spell.


One night my husband got mad and said, “Damn”, well my little angel, Robbie was lying next to me and she too repeated, “Damn, damn, damn, damn.”  I said to her that she shouldn’t say that because it wasn’t nice.  So she lowered her voice and repeated it again.


“Robbie don’t say that.”  Again in a little whisper she repeated it again.  I just know that when I corrected her she probably laid there and mouthed the word repeatedly.


         The terrible twos are quite an understatement.  Our children had 2 years of being cute to make up for.  They did just the opposite of what we told them, and what’s worse they had perfected the fine art of screaming.  Personally I would rather have paper cuts all over and alcohol poured over me than to have a 2-year-old scream in my ear.


         Next came potty training, boys are harder to train than girls. I had to be more creative.  I’d put objects in the toilet and let my son, David play “sink the Bismarck”.  Soon he got very good with his aim and seemed to like the idea of hitting targets so much that he practiced until he could hit a fly off the wall in a single shot or hit the mole on my cheek at 20 paces.  Many times I could have sworn that I heard the theme song from “The Good the Bad, and the Ugly” playing in the background.  It was at this time that he also realized that he could make things disappear when he flushed the toilet. Many things started disappearing, to him this was very exciting but our cat wasn’t too happy when he tried to flush her. Once I walked in the bathroom and I could hear the faint sound of a kitten meowing.  I couldn’t make out where it was coming from due to the sound of the toilets’ tank filling back up.  When I saw my son standing so close to the toilet handle, I had a pretty good idea what happened.  I lifted the lid and there was that poor kitten drenched and meowing.  My son in his innocence said to me “Kitty bye-bye Momma”.


         When David went through his nudity phase, he’d strip naked and take off outside while I wasn’t looking. Off he’d go running up the street, smiling, waving and blowing kisses to all onlookers.  He seemed to think he was some kind of sex symbol.  Oh, oh here comes mom in hot pursuit.  He thought it was a game of tag and would run faster squealing with delight.  I’d have to run, jump and tackle him.  I’d apologize to the neighbors and assure them that this was not a behavior I condoned. All the way home, I’d be spanking his bare butt, he on the other hand would be winking, blowing kisses and telling everyone, “Catch you on the flip side, babe!”


         Small children can be very scary.  They are into everything and from a very early age everything goes into their mouths.  I had made bubbles for James and Kristie.  Without thinking I set the glass on the edge of the table.  They were having fun blowing the bubbles.  Curtis was only 2 years old at the time, he walked over and seeing the cup believed it was something to drink and guzzled the bubble concoction.  He started spitting and sputtering; every time he tried to cry or cough the only thing that came out were bubbles.  We had bubbles everywhere! 


James and Kristie saw the humor in this and laughed but I was frantic.  I ran Curtis into the bathroom to wash him off but all I got was more bubbles.  “Lawrence Welk where are you?!!!!!!” This kid was like a human bubble machine; thank goodness all ended up ok.


         I’m a firm believer that kids should remain in their cribs until the age of accountability, which is 18 in my book.  I had to learn the hard way.  James would wake up and come into my room and proceed to wake me up by whatever means he could devise that morning.  I had the pleasure of waking up to dirt from my prize Venus Fly Trap being patted on my face as if her were trying to repot my nose; or coming out of a sound sleep with a pencil being jabbed up my nose coming in contact with that part of the brain that senses pain.  I know the pencil was sharp because the pain was.


Robbie and I were joined at the hip for a long time and everywhere that momma went Robbie was sure to follow.  This was fine for the most part; she was a good girl, terribly shy and stayed right by my side.  I was asked to be chorister for our Women’s’ group at church and I said I would do it.  Usually things were fine, Robbie would crawl around on the floor or stand up next to me and hold onto my dress.  For some reason one Sunday while I was in the middle of conducting music and she was playing down around my feet, she decided that it would be a good time to play peek a boo.  Under my dress she crawled and then stood up lifting my dress and showing all the women my business.  The women thought it was funny and once I got over the shock and embarrassment, I continued on with the song.  Thank heavens it was only women. 


         Kids of this age also learn to be sneaky.  I would find finger tracks in the peanut butter, kool whip, butter, and ice cream. When I’d confront James he would tell me the cat did it.  How could I argue with that?


         At this age kids have whining down to a fine science and wouldn’t be happy till I was really angry.  Once James wanted a drink and wanted it now!!!!!!!!  I was in the middle of a conversation and said I would get it in a minute.  He wasn’t happy with that and screamed at me.  So I got up, very controlled and proceeded to get him his water.  When I returned I poured it on his head.  He cried and I smiled and went back to my conversation.  When I was done I got up to get him his drink but by that time he had gotten his own…….right from the toilet.  Again I spent some time in the bathroom retching.                           








                     





                                                                                                          3 years old





David went through an identity crisis early on.  At first it was real cute but soon I became physically disabled due to his identities!  He believed he was a dog; he barked and growled at everyone.  He would sniff people’s legs, hands, and if given the opportunity he’d lick their faces.  If we hit him with a rolled up newspaper he would whimper and whine.  We even caught him eating dog food.  He seemed to prefer Mighty Dog over Ken’l Ration.  It was real cute till he turned on me.  I used to love reading a lot and it was relaxing.  One night while I was reading I suddenly felt teeth clamp down on my ankle and heard growling as flesh was being ripped from the bone on my leg.  For a split second I thought I was being attacked by a Rottweiler, no it was just my rottenson.  We finally put a stop to his behavior when he started tearing up the newspapers and chewing on our shoes.


         With that phase comfortably behind us he could explore and evolve into another phase of his social growth.  He took a real interest in DINOSAURS!  He became a…Tyrannosaurus Rex. He would walk on his tiptoes, curve his middle and index fingers like claws and go on his rampage.  He would screech at people, make kids cry, and needless to say I had to have my groceries brought in because I had been banned from all public places.  I couldn’t even get a babysitter, they were all afraid of him, even if I told them he had just been given his Rabies vaccine.


         When I was finally able to go back to the stores, I found my grocery bill going up.  I kept thinking that inflation had risen to around 400%.  It just so happened that mommy’s’ little helper was doing his own shopping.  I learned not to take him in any stores unless he was properly restrained, such as in a straight jacket.


         It is about this time that he learned to throw real well.  I would be reading, minding my own business when all of a sudden I would see stars all around me, before I passed out I’d get to see the culprit.  David was smiling ever so proudly; he had thrown a golf ball and hit me square in the forehead. “Oh say can you see those Stars and Stripes forever?”  You bet, sign that kid up with the Brooklyn Dodgers.


I loved taking my children to church with me but heaven only knows why.  I really wanted people to believe that I had the best kids on the face of the earth.  I used to fast and pray that their mouths and bodies be bound until church was over.  It never happened especially with David, he was so awful that people would come up to me after church and inquire, “Gee Sister Slater, maybe you ought to look into exorcism.” 


Even though I tried to explain that he was only 3 and it was just a phase, they weren’t buying it.  One Sunday David decided he wanted to sing with the rest of the congregation and even if he didn’t know the words, he would fake everyone out by singing with enough zest and zeal like everyone else. You could hear him loudly singing “Stupid, stupid, stupid” through the entire song.


Jessica could be a strange but cute child and sometimes she did things that I didn’t quite understand.  She had gone into the bathroom and had spent quite a bit of time in there.  I went to check on her and to my horror she had snuck a pair of scissors in the bathroom and gave her bangs a trim all the way up to her scalp. The thoughts of Sinead O’Connor ran through my mind.  You cannot do a comb over on something like that.  Every time I took her out, people would look at me and frown as if I had butchered her hair.  I developed a guilty conscience over something I didn't do.  Oh but isn't that what mother hood does to you?











                                                                                                                        4 years





         My children were fun at this age, they had a pretty good vocabulary, can entertain themselves for quite a while.  They were somewhat independent and by now they had me trained pretty well.  I felt that my time had come to relax somewhat.  That is until David discovered “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” I saw no real danger in it, it seemed harmless enough.  I felt the turtles had pretty good values.  I also loved watching David and Johnny pretend to be Donatello and Michelangelo.  I could have watched them for hours until that fateful night.  They got a little carried away and felt there was a coup in the family and I was the enemy.  I got kicked in the shins and hit in the throat with a large stick by David and my sides getting walloped by homemade nun chucks from Johnny and the shouts of “Cowabunga Dude!” ringing in my ears. It was then that  I realized I had just about enough of sacrificing for these kids.  I could feel my brain began to slip away into the dark abyss of mental instability.


         It was at this time that spankings became less effective with David and we had to find more meaningful ways of getting our point across.  Ours was a cold shower with the clothes on; we didn’t make him stay in there till hypothermia set in.  We didn’t need to; he knew within seconds that this was something he did not like.  He hated it and therefore we knew we were on the right track.  If given a choice between a spanking or cold shower, he would choose a spanking.  Well, I guess you know which one we'd do.  He may not have been happy but at least he was clean.


         One of the most embarrassing things about child rearing is your child’s habits.  When David was old enough to be in his own Sunday school class there were times he'd sing with his class in front of the whole congregation.  Most parents looked forward to that moment, not me.  I just knew that something would go wrong.  Sure enough out of all the kids, mine and only mine would be the one standing in the front picking his nose.


Robbie developed this strange fascination for my breasts, at night she would lay down and fluff up the right one like she was fluffing up her pillow.  She once told me that the right one was her favorite, and then she whispered in kind of an “I’ve got a secret” voice, “When you’re asleep, I pet it.”  I told her to quit it and said play with your own and leave mine alone.  She looked so dejected and sadly responded hers weren’t very big.  Well dog-on-it, they are not toys!


I have always been prone to headaches and sometimes they became migraines.  David wanted to know why I took so much medicine I tried to explain it to him. I wanted to explain it in


a way that he could understand. So I told him, “Mommy has a little man in her head and sometimes he takes a hammer and pounds from the inside and it hurts a lot.  So when I take aspirin the pill becomes these little monsters that chase down the bad man and eat him up.  I got the idea from Pac man games.  Then I don’t have any more headaches.”  He seemed to understand and found a way to show his love and compassion for me. The next time I had a head I was lying on the couch with my eyes closed, trying to relax. David asked me in his innocent way what was wrong and I explained that I had a headache.  It got calm for a second before I felt the fists of justice raining down upon my head.  David had punched me in the forehead.  I yelled “Ow” and asked why he did that, and then he went on to explain that he was trying to kill the man so he couldn’t hurt me anymore.  I will never explain constipation to him.





                                                                                                                          5 yr. Olds





I have found 5 yr. olds to be very affectionate. My sons would say, "I love you, Mommy."  In response I’d say, "I love you too, honey." 5 minutes later


"I love you, mommy."


"I love you too, honey."


So it goes all day until I am saying I love you through clenched teeth and feeling as though I really just want to choke the life out of him, all out of love of course.


Some of my children were very insecure; they didn't want to be left behind with a sitter. David was that way, he’d cling to my legs and go into theatrics and do everything they could to make you feel guilty.


"Mommy, please don't leave me. Let me go with you. I promise I won't call daddy a poo-poo face anymore. Please, I promise I'll be good and quiet. I promise I won't breathe.”  Looking down at my young sons purple face and seeing that he is trying real hard to keep his promise. How could I say no?


"Okay, you can go but you have to keep your promise not to breathe." So we’d head to the car, my son skipping, holding his breath and feeling like all is right with the world. I’d wonder just how long he could really hold his breath.


I used to get so excited when my children learned to ride a bike. It was good seeing Marcus sailing down the road looking so grown up and independent on his Huffy. Then just when he seemed to have found his nirvana and had developed the fine art of riding, something would go wrong.  I’d look up in time to see arms and legs flailing and the once proud metal steed would be sailing over my head and off into the sunset. I’d run over to check on him, crowds would start forming. Kids are pretty resilient and even though I had a good idea that he really was okay, the drama would start.


"Mom, is that really you? Come closer, it's getting dark and cold. I'm failing fast. Bring your face closer so that I may gaze upon your beauty one last time. Tell dad I love him and I don't want you to blame yourself for not buying me a safer bike like the one that I wanted. I know your happiness is more important, this accident was not your fault.


         I am sure you have heard about sibling rivalry and maybe experienced it also whether personally or through your kids.  This is where I was no longer mom but a referee.  I’d be trying to break up a fight between Curtis and Marcus I’d get hurt in the process.  That would usually cause anger from one of them if not both.  This in itself would start another battle with blaming the other for hurting mom.  I have often heard that banging heads together usually puts an end to fighting but can cause brain damage if done too often.  Sometimes a mom has to do what a mom has to do, so weighing the options and considering all the avenues, I figured I could deal with the brain damage at a later date.


         I have a terrible ornery streak and it always comes back to me tenfold.  One day while Robbie and I were watching Animal Planet, We saw a dog that had to have his tale amputated.  She saw this and asked what was happening, so in my infinite wisdom I explained to her… “Well honey something’s are born with tails and sometimes they have to be cut off.  You were born with one but your clothes didn’t fit right so we had to have it cut off.”


         She looked at me and asked if I still had it. I told her I did and it was put safely away.  She then asked to see it, I felt a little frantic as now I had to either admit I lied or find something quick.  So searching around I found a plastic tail from a small toy dinosaur that had been broken off.  I handed it to her and told her it was her tail.  She went and taped into her scrap book and I snickered to myself and somehow forgot all about it.


Starting school can be exciting and traumatic;  exciting for you, but traumatic for the teachers. I tried to help my child prepare for the big day at Kindergarten.  I would help them with what to say and what NOT to say, how to make friends and influence teachers. I always made an extra effort to make them look especially cute.  After all they were representing me as their mother. Each day was a new experience for them and they felt so grown up.  Then the day of Show and Tell came, which for the most part is good for the kids.  One day it was Robbie’s turn to bring something and she decided she wanted to share her tail.  I yelled, “No!”  Then I had to explain to her that I was just joking and that she really wasn’t born with a tale.  She looked at me like she would so many times in the coming years, it was a look of I don’t know if you are joking or not. It was then that I took her fake tail and threw it away; I thought if she ever told anyone, I could deny it, because there wouldn’t be any proof.


On payday weekends we would go to Taco Bell.  Where can you feed a brood like mine as cheap as Taco Bell?  I would buy 20 soft tacos, which we all loved.  When we arrived home we’d all sit down to enjoy our feast.  David really loved soft tacos and for some unknown reason decided to overeat.  I never paid too much attention to how many each person got, so I was not aware that he had hoovered that many till later on.  I noticed that he had this green hue to his face and was not acting right.  I asked him what was wrong and he told me he had a tummy ache.  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why my little garbage disposal was in so much pain.  I asked him how many tacos he ate and he told me he had eaten 11.  I couldn't stand to see him in so much pain so I did the only thing I could do, I started asking him if he wanted more tacos, or maybe some of the greasy taco meat.  It didn't take long before he was in the bathroom getting rid of the excess tacos.  I was so pleased that I could help lighten his burden, I was a good mom.








                                                                                                         6 years old





         I believe that God created creatures for a purpose.  Some were created for companionship, some to eat waste, some for man to eat, and some to make mothers neurotic.  There is nothing like pulling a dead June bug out of my son’s pockets or scraping slug slime off the bottom of his feet.  But I have to honestly say that the all-time worst was when Marcus had opened his footlocker and turned it into a half-way house for wayward garden snakes.  There had to have been around 500 snakes in his footlocker.  They were crawling and slithering all over each other.  I don’t know how long they had been in there but it was definitely long enough to get a good stench going.


         The name calling was another thing that made me crazy.  Jessica and Johnny would start off with names like “You dummy”, then the other would try to outdo that with “You stupid idiotic”, so it would go with the name calling competition until there was nothing left except to become physical.  Once again I’d stop the fight and end up getting hurt in the process. Once that had been stopped they would resort to sticking their tongues out at each other.  It would expand to tattling and then the thud of heads making contact.  Ah quiet at last; I hope they’ll be okay.


You have to love kids at this age, the age of inquisition and I don’t mean the Spanish Inquisition. When Curtis got to this age his questions were “Mom, so why can’t we see air”, “Mom why are my eyes blue?”  “Mom, why don’t you look like those women that daddy looks at?”  It didn’t matter; I never quite got an answer out before the next question was asked.”  So my answers were short and might go like this, “I don’t know, DNA, and I am going to hurt your daddy when he gets home.”  Then it would start………”Mommy why don’t you know?  Mommy what is DNA? 


Mommy why do you want to hurt Daddy?”  It was pretty much at this point I’d give him 10 pieces of gum or a HUGE spoon of peanut butter.  Then I could collect my thoughts and pray he’d forget about the questions.


There were times when I would get the flu or be down with a nasty cold.  Robbie was a nurturing child and loved to play nurse.  She would come, tuck me in bed, bring me water, and she would sit by me and stroke my head.  There were a few times that she got over zealous and even though I was asleep, she would decide it was time for me to eat.  She'd proceed to stuff my mouth with saltines.  I tried to speak but my saliva had been soaked up by the saltines and I was not able to protest.  Crumbs would fall out and she’d pry my mouth open and slam it shut again telling me, “Mommy, swallow!” All I could do was just lie there and hope death might come soon.


If there was trouble to be had, Marc was the one to do it.  He had found a lint roller and asked me what it was.  I told him what it was, then he inquired as to what it was for.  I explained it was to get lint and animal hair off of things.  It wasn't long before I heard our cat making this awful noise, so I went to see what was going on and Marc was trying out the lint roller ON THE CAT!


I yelled, "What are you doing?"  He then explained that I said it was to get animal hair off.


"Well yeah off of furniture and clothes but not the cat!"





David was such a ham, but he could also be an obnoxious little snot.  One Thanksgiving everyone was over, David always picked me to be ornery with.  We used to watch ‘In Living Color’ which was a weekly show at that time and they had a character on there called Fire Marshall Bill.  David had learned to talk and act like him and we all thought he was funny.  So I suggested he do his Fire Marshall Bill impression. He complied and during his performance he started playing with my hair and pretending to choke me.  He was getting a little out of hand when Curtis got up and stuffed a deviled egg in his face.  David went from Fire Marshall Bill to wailing and gnashing of teeth.  We were all laughing and I got up to clean David off and David knew he couldn't do anything to anyone else so I got the brunt of his anger.  He turned on me and I threatened another deviled egg and he settled down.  He sure got egg on his face that time.





                                                                                           7 yrs. Old





         David went from toy cars, army men, and dinosaurs to the most hideous toys that were made available to children.  One so-called ‘toy’ was the Spawn characters.  These were so ugly that they gave me nightmares while they gave him so much delight.  To me they looked as if the toy company had taken a clump of plastic, put 2 eyes on it, long sharp teeth and said it looked like something trying to spawn.  I tried to deter his attention by introducing him to cuter and cuddlier toys such as Pound-Puppies, G.I. Joes, and stuffed animals.  No, he wanted Spawn and the Spawn-mobile.  If it shot bullets all the better, many times I got pelted in the rear-end with hard plastic bullets.


There has always been a strange fascination to my kids over my backside.  They would run up and smack me and then rate it like a seismograph.  The more the jiggle, the higher the rating. “Wow that was a SEVEN!”  Sometimes I would bend over to pick up one of their toys and from across the room, I’d hear, “Hey! You’re blocking the Sun!”  Then shrieks of laughter.


         Another phase of the 7-year-olds life is questions.  One of the worst is, “Where do babies come from?”  Why can't they wait till they are grown up and ask someone else like their wives?  They always had to ask when there were a group of people within ear shot.  I have tried, even if unsuccessful to give off the impression to those around me that I was of a somewhat higher caliber for an individual.  It always seemed that during these times that was exactly when my darling child would ask, “The question”.  It was then that all of a sudden the whole area seemed to get real quiet and as I looked around I realized that everyone’s eyes were upon me. Sweat would break out on my forehead, my pulse would race and knowing that my answer could either make me or break me I’d manage to say the only thing that I could think of to say at that time.  “Well honey, babies come from the baby fairies.”  Little did I know that I had just screwed up my child and had set the pattern for deep psychological counseling later.  The adults would smile and go back to what they were doing.  I never knew if that meant that I had impressed them with my creative genius or just confirmed what they already thought of me.


         In one neighborhood we lived in, we had kids of many colors and they had their own little clique which did not include Curtis and Marcus.  Marcus is younger and was a little braver than Curtis.  Marcus loved the old TV series "Kung Fu" and because of that he believed he knew Karate.  The kids picked on Curtis relentlessly, I got irritated and told him to stand up for himself and then they wouldn't pick on him.  One day Curtis was outside and I could hear a bunch of kids and since he was outside, I took a look.  7 kids had him surrounded and they were picking on him, well you know as an adult you can't go out and strangle the little snots because of the law.  So I called Marcus downstairs and said "Go help your brother."  That was all I needed to say, Marcus ran outside and stood in the circle and yelled, "Hey you leave my brother alone!"  Then he went into these fake Karate moves, it was convincing enough that the kids got scared and scattered. They all started backing away and  saying, ”Ok, OK!”  I about busted a gut laughing.


It was about a week later Curtis was outside riding his new bike and he was going Mach 2 down the street and up onto our front lawn, those same kids were chasing him.  When they got up and had cornered Curtis again, one of the midget thugs was trying to take his bike. An argument ensued; no one knew that the front door was open a little so I could hear everything.  One kid said, "Give me your bike."  Then Curtis said, "No."  It went on like that a couple more times.  The one kid that was tugging on Curtis' bike to get it away and demanding that Curtis give it to him said, "I'll beat up your mom."  Curtis in his most brave voice said, "Go ahead but you can't have my bike." I threw the door open and said rather loudly, "Who are you going to beat up?"  The kids turned and hauled butt out of there.  I spent the next 30 minutes explaining to Curtis that I was happy he was sticking up for himself but not to throw me under the bus in the process.








                                                                                           8 yrs.





         You would think that at 8 yrs. old it would be a whole new era for your child and a fresh start for mother and son.  This is the age of baptism or for you zodiac freaks, the Age of Aquarius.  I’d do all I could to prepare my future missionary for the big day.  I'd tell my children that baptism is a rebirth and all they have done wrong is washed away.  I explained that their souls are like blackboards and when they go down into the waters of baptism and come up they are erasing all the things they have done wrong.  Well, kids love nothing better than messing up any clean area.


         Marcus, Johnny, and David loved to play rough.  They’d grab anything that looked like a sword to them... If they could pick it up and swing it then it was good enough to be a sword.  At times they would dismantle the furniture just to use the legs, sometimes they’d use dolls, bats, 2x4’s, fireplace pokers, and of course the cat.  This did not make the cat happy and she’d protest by squalling.  Unfortunately she had to go to a kitty rest home from boyhood trauma.  The last I heard she was responding well to treatment.


         My boys loved pets, but out of sympathy and respect for the animal kingdom we had to say,” no”.  So being the creative little men that they were they would find their own pets.  It could be a dead mouse, a dead rat, a leaf, a rock or even a slug.  If they could hold it they loved it. I don’t know how I survived boys; to this day I am not sure I did.  So many things they did gave me the willies.  I learned quickly to always keep a bottle of Pepto Bismal and a barf bag close by.


         It is also at this age that “I’m bored” comes into play.  It didn’t matter whether my son had been playing all day and did what he wanted, if he had 5 minutes of doing nothing he would yell, “I’m bored!”,  I hated it.  I would have loved to have 5 minutes to even know what bored was like.  I’d threaten him with work or some other growth promoting activity and that would put an end to his boredom.  All of a sudden he’d remember he already had something to do such as watching a spot on the wall.


         Water fights during the summer were always so much fun around our house.  Indoors it would become a swimming pool, if we had to bring the hose inside to pay someone back, then by golly that is exactly what we did.  We finally had to resort to balloons in order for us to save the house from being water logged.  My children, who were ever so snoopy found some funny looking, individually wrapped balloons in my husbands and my bedroom and decided these would make splendid ammunition.  I didn’t realize how much condoms could hold but I was truly amazed.  The only problem for them was that one person could not carry it alone without dropping it.  I saw my children carrying this huge, HUGE, HUGE water balloon getting ready to throw it on us.  I realized what it was just as they were going to heave this thing.  All of a sudden it busted……….all over them.  I never thought it was possible to see a tsunami in my front room but…… Whoomp der it is!  Anyway they were upset and we laughed.  After that I’d sing “Onward Trojan Soldiers” to them at night.                                                         





                                                                                       9 yrs. Old


         This is the age that was always such a hoot for me.  I felt James was very mature for his age.  He was always such a good boy, and so responsible.  So thinking I knew my son well enough I let him have a BB GUN!!!!!!!  Well, I thought he was responsible and mature.  One day Curtis came in the house complaining that his stomach was hurting.  So I told him to lift up his shirt to investigate what was causing so much grief.  He had little round bruises all over his belly.  I inquired as to what had happened and it seemed that James, ‘Al Capone’ reincarnate had asked Curtis to please hold a target (a plastic kool-whip bowl) directly in front of him so that he could practice shooting.  Well like all younger siblings who are so completely naïve and so trusting, he did as was requested.  I didn’t know who was dumber at that moment, the shooter or the target. The gun disappeared, if that wasn’t enough James soon learned how to use the staple gun.  He did not believe that it could actually shoot out with enough force to stick in someone’s head.  So he tried it and now Marcus doesn’t have to worry about parting his hair, because it is stapled into place.


         It was about this time that my sons would go into the bathroom and stay for an hour.  I always wondered what they could possibly find to do for that long.  I would ask, “What are you doing; keeping a daily log? If you are then leave it in there.”  I’d snicker because I knew what was coming. “Mom!  That is so gross!” 


Curtis was a young Entrepreneur; I thought this kid would grow up to become a millionaire.  He had the creativity to get people to fork over money. He had learned to make key chains out of leather and beads.  They were nice and he was going to sell them for $2.00 each.  He went door to door and this was his sales pitch.  “Hello Ma’am I am Cub Scout Curtis and I am selling these key chains for our troop.”  Who can say no to a cub scout?  Please be advised that he wasn’t a cub scout in fact he wasn't a scout at all.  I didn’t ok this and didn’t find out about it till much later.  I couldn’t figure out where he got the money to buy the Maserati he gave me for Christmas.  I got him straightened out that what he was doing was misrepresentation and illegal, so he quit.  Now he could go into another lucrative career, and that was playing the almost homeless boy.  Curtis would go out and come back later with a brand new pair of shoes on, not just any shoes but nice expensive shoes, sometimes food and sometimes clothes.  I slapped my hand over my forehead like they do in the V8 commercials and said, “Where are you getting this stuff?” and just as I said that, in walked Marcus with new shoes also.  Now not only was he doing it but he had taught his little brother to do it also.  Curtis explained to me that he had told the lady up the street that he wanted a new pair of shoes and that his mom couldn’t afford to buy him any. I was mortified; I called her and told her what he had done.  I don’t think she believed me, she said, she was happy to do it, to please accept them.  I tried again to tell her I could buy those shoes.  I am sure she thought it was my pride getting in the way.  So I told him that he was not to bring any more money or clothes into the house that he swindled out of someone.  Well he didn’t do that anymore, no this time he brought other peoples garbage home.


He would come home with a HUGE garbage bag being either hoisted over his shoulder or being drug behind him.  I said, “What are you doing?!”  He then informed me that some foolish people had thrown away toys.  I looked at the bag and yes you could see some plastic parts protruding from the bag that looked like they might have been part of a toy at one time.  I groaned knowing that someone’s’ garbage bill would be a lot less that month and ours would be a lot higher.  When he looked in the bag, he was so disappointed and the look on his face almost made me laugh and cry.  He was disgruntled and mad that people had thrown out ‘garbage’.  I think sometime after that he got it straight that garbage is garbage and not some hidden treasure to make your mother crazy.


         


                                                                                                  10 yrs. Old





         At this age my children started a whole new way of life; we called it ‘water conservation’.  Something happens that all of a sudden our children would rebel at the thought of having to climb into the dreaded tub.  Bath time was enough to make them a nervous wreck.  I believe in conserving our natural resources as much as the next guy but not at the risk of becoming non-hygienic.  I’d have to force them to bathe (which was usually 3 weeks into their environmental consciousness) they refused to use soap. They would come out of the tub after 30 seconds swearing that they got clean.  I’d check the soap and it would be dry. I think it was just a way of maintaining some kind of control over the situation.  They would not comb their hair, change their clothes or use toilet paper.  It is an awful feeling when you see flies buzzing around the child you are raising to carry on the family name.  Names like “Pigpen” were often used to describe my child, but out of sympathy for the cartoon I’d have to stick up for the Peanuts character and admit even Pigpen was not THAT bad.  Seeing my child cry at this time and tears leaving mud trails down their faces was something I cringed at; a true facial mudslide.  I would have to put netting over their faces to try and salvage what was left of their facial features.  I wanted to comfort them but the thought of getting close was more than I could bear.


         I’d get the broom out and stand across the room and pat them on the back, oh boy you should have seen the dust fly.  I was always amazed when they pondered why people couldn’t accept them for who they were.  Even the socks after days of not being changed were screaming for mercy.  After sleeping in their clothes day after day they began to smell as bad as the garbage.  Many times I’d drag them out at 6 a.m. and leave them by the curb in hopes that the garbage truck would pick them up but not even the garbage men wanted them.  “Sorry Ma’am, they’ll make the garbage smell bad.”  After they had been sitting on the furniture I would be forced to have it all disinfected.  The times I did manage to talk them out of their clothes, the pieces would go into a bag labeled “Caution, hazardous waste”.  Unfortunately this behavior lasted for a few years.


         My kids are avid candy eaters; I must say that is my fault. Candy was a way to get my kids to shut up, to heal their broken hearts, or to say, “I’m sorry”.  So the sweets were a solve-it answer.  Marcus was worse than the others.  He’d actually climb trees to get away from those that he might have to share with.  He was also the one to get hurt, he was my accident waiting to happen.  On one of his upward treks to be alone with his big bag of candy, he fell.  He managed to hit every tree branch and a picket fence before he landed on the ground.  He would have rather risked his life than to lose his candy.  It is far better that one boy should perish than a bag of candy dwindle uneaten.  When we ran outside we found his body mangled but he still had a tight hold of his treats.


         My kids at about this age develop an eating disorder called, “I don’t care what it is, and if I can chew it I want it.”  My grocery bill tripled and the amazing thing was that they never gained weight.  I think I could have done a movie called, “The kid who ate The World”.  I did get a little concerned when they started going through ours and everyone else’s garbage.  The poor raccoons were found lying on the side of the road dying from starvation. I had to do something when the Animal Rights Activists started carrying signs that read, “Unfair to our little woodland creatures, Slater’s’ go home!”  We began putting cement in our kids’ oatmeal as filler.  It helped make them feel fuller but it also made them constipated.  All in all I felt it was a fair trade-off.          








                                                                               11 years old          





I am not sure how I feel about this age; I always felt I had one foot in the insane asylum and the other foot in limbo.


Every year we’d go camping as a family.  I really looked forward to it; I’d get me one of those trashy Victorian era romance novels to read at the campsite while the kids played.  The kids were happy, I was happy, everyone was happy.  At night I'd take a quarter to the showers to wash the day’s mud off.  One night I was doing what I normally did, I had a quarter, clean clothes, soap, shampoo, toothpaste etc.  I looked forward to getting clean and crawling into my sleeping bag cuddling up to my husband and falling asleep to the sounds of the waves and nature..  There was only one shower available, so I took it.  I got undressed and put my clothes down on the bench but stopped in time when I saw jelly fish, they were the tiny clear ones that don’t sting but are slimy.  I scooped them down on the floor and proceeded to take my shower.  There in the drain were more jellyfish.  Being determined to take my shower I stepped over them.  I tried to adjust the water temperature but guess what! More Jelly fish hanging from the handles, faucet, showerhead, in the soap dish, and well basically all over.  Flashes of a plane wreck with these poor jellyfish in their crash positions ran through my mind.  I believe my last count was 50.  I DID take my shower and got out, not feeling any cleaner mind you.  I knew those jelly fish had not walked or swam in there but had been strategically placed by someone’s’ brats.  I stormed back to camp ranting and raving about how kids these days are not disciplined and that the kids that decorated the stall were obviously never taught any better because the parents were probably inbred.  I went on and on that those parents needed to be horsewhipped and I was so glad that my kids were better behaved than that.  I found out 3 years later that it had been Kristie and her friend had done the decorating.  She did not think that I would pick that particular stall.  She knew how mad I was and felt it was better NOT to fess up at that time.  I learned a great lesson that day, “If you think your child is not capable of something, think again!”


         Jessica was a great inflictor of justice. She’d have candy, sometimes suckers and her brothers would bug her relentlessly to share. They would beg and beg for her candy she would finally tell them ok. Off to the bathroom she’d go and unwrap all of her suckers ever so gently, suck and lick on them for a while, then wrap them back up and give each of her brothers one.  Those boys were so pleased with her generosity.  She’d sit back on the couch and smile as she watched those boys eat their suckers.  She made me proud, so far I am the only one who knows and I am not telling. 


                   The old adage, “Children should be seen and not heard” had to have been thought of by a parent that was raising a child at this age.  It is at this time that children learn to perfect their bodily functions, namely burping skills.  I have to admit my dainty little Kristie was better at belching than any boy.  She could let go with the loudest, longest and heartiest burps around.  I thought to myself, “She is really going to win some guys heart someday and it will probably be some drunk.”


         My sons who are ever so quick to compete learned that their sister could burp better but they could cut loose with bodily wind better.  It is amazing to see someone be that crude and yet be so proud.  They’d reply, “Silent but deadly.”  I believe that even the animal kingdom has more scruples than my boys did.  The worse the gas smelled all the better and believe me they had contests against whom were the stinkiest.  It was all the better if a person almost passed out.  When the E.P.A. sent us a letter that said we were going to be fined because our children were eating a huge hole in the ozone.  I gave them the ultimatum to either change their diet or be issued a plug, the changed their diet.


         





                                                                                   12 years old





         Puberty is such an awful time, a difficult transition for any child to go through.  Their bodies go through so many changes, they have to give up toys and become who knows what and that is exactly what they become, a ”you know what.”


         My sons became very affectionate at this age, always wanting a kiss, a hug or an “I love you.”  My daughters would pull away from me.  It is such a messed up time for everyone.  I personally enjoyed this change with my boys because they were showing me for the first time in years how sweet, normal, and cute they could be.  I became my sons love for a little while.


         I used to get a kick out of watching my sons discover they had armpit hair.  They would play with it, twist it and I asked Curtis once if he would like to have them put into dreadlocks for a real fashion statement.  They would run around with their shirts off so they could raise their arms up high in a stretching pose whenever a girl was around.  I don’t know if they really believed that some girl was going to fall at their feet and worship the ground they walked on because NOW they could sweat and stink like a pig.  It was also at this time that my children started taking baths everyday all on their own and sometimes they’d shower two, three times a day, talk about extremes.


When Kristie started shaving her legs she was pretty bad about it.  She had so many cuts that I was afraid she was going to bleed to death.  “Honey, don’t you think you need stitches?”  “No mom, the stitches would just run my nylons.”  She would put little squares of toilet paper on her open gaping wounds and then her nylons on over the conglomeration of cuts and tissue.  She had the appearance of mosaic legs, but hey who was I to question her method of being beautiful?


         When I bought Kristie her first bra, I was amazed that bras had become so streamlined.  When I got my first bra, the cups were so stiff and pointed; I didn’t fill my cup out, no matter how much skin and tissue I tried to force in my bra, there was never quite enough. I didn’t dare let anyone get too close to me; if someone just happened to elbow me it would cause a crater. Everyone would know I was trying to make mountains out of molehills. 


But the bras of today are so cool.  They look more like slingshots.  Modern technology, isn’t it wonderful?  When I did laundry, I’d take her clothes upstairs and stand across the room and shoot her bras at her open dresser drawer to see if I could make it.  If by chance they landed in her drawer then I would jump up and down and yell, “SCORE!!!!!!!!”  My kids thought I was nuts but it didn’t matter; the age of fun underclothing was finally here.  I couldn’t wait for my sons to start wearing jock straps just so I could see what kind of fun I could have with them………maybe an icepack or a nose warmer, the possibilities were endless.


When I was growing up, the 4th of July was not a big deal at our house.  We might get sparklers or snakes but that was it.  My husband on the other hand loved the 4th of July and so he would spend a lot of money on Fireworks and one of the coolest ones that he would get was called a Saturn Missile.  Once lit, it shot 20 small rockets off one at a time in different directions that would whistle and explode.  This was all great but Marcus had this obsession with our lighters.  He loved to sit and flick a Bic; I was always getting on him about not playing with our lighters.  One unforgettable 4th of July afternoon, my husband had come home with a large sack of fireworks and of course a Saturn missile.  I was lying on the couch watching TV, all the other kids were at the kitchen table doing something and Marcus was stationed in a chair behind me watching TV also.  Once again he was sitting and flicking a Bic but this time there was one small difference.  While he was flicking the Bic with his right hand, he was admiring the Saturn missile with his left unbeknownst to me.  All of a sudden, I heard *Ping* Ping* and I jumped up to see where the noise was coming from. Missiles were shooting all over the house, one went toward Kristie and I swear she jumped from a standing position.  Then one came at me!  There was Marcus on the floor holding down this battery of missiles with his bare hands hoping to put them out but you can't smother fireworks. I said the Pledge of Allegiance while James ran over and picked up the box and threw it outside.  I wasn't happy; he knew we didn't light off fireworks till dark.  He had been flicking the lighter not thinking it could ignite the missile battery but a spark hit the fuse and it was all she wrote.  I looked at Marcus' hands and his palms were charred, not even blistered but actually burnt crispy.  I felt bad for him, but couldn't get past being upset.  He had to carry bags of ice for the rest of the night.  Did he quit playing with lighters?  NO!








                                                                                                                13 years old





         There is little worse than having your daughter become boy crazy or my sons becoming girl crazy and me just crazy.  I believe Kristie was worse than my sons.  It was always, “So and so did this” and “so and so did that” and “he is so majorly buff”.  The whole dialect seemed to change overnight.  My kids would say the opposite of what they meant and then get irritated when I didn’t understand.  If they liked something then it was considered bad.  I didn’t know whether to apologize or say “thank you” half the time.  What happened to plain old English like, cool, neat-o, groovy, or far-out?  I understood those words but words like rad, tubular, tweakin’ and the most all-time favorite phrase was it’ll blow your hair back I did not.  I tried to be hip and speak their language but they’d make fun of me even though it is exactly how they sounded.


Kristie got into her hair and makeup phase.  Many times I’d freeze and think the grim reaper had come to claim me, and then I realized it was her.  I’d think to myself, Is this really attractive?  A few years later she learned to put on makeup correctly and fix her hair so that it really was flattering, thank goodness.


         Teenage girls are some of the most difficult creatures you’ll ever have the pleasure(?) of knowing.  They can go from Nurse Jekyll to Mrs. Hyde within a twinkling of an eye.  Everything is a crisis!  During these times of woe, they will let out their battle cries,  “WHAT NO MILK?!!!!!!!!!  I can’t drink water! Kool-aid?  You have to be joking! No ham for sandwiches?  I can’t eat peanut butter!  What is wrong with you guys? Hello!  Didn’t you watch T.V.?  They said on the evening news that the world revolves around ME!!!!!!!!” Then she would run off to her room screaming and crying that life was unfair and no one loved her no matter how hard she tried.  I could do nothing but stand there with my mouth hanging open and wonder if it was too late for that abortion.  It could be as soon as 5 minutes later that she’d come out of her room, smiling sweetly and ask for 50 dollars.  Still completely dumbstruck I’d write her the check.  Ever so grateful she’d bend down and kiss me on the cheek, tell me I was the best and run out the door.  For the next 4 hours I’d sit in shock trying to digest that day’s episode of “As her hormones turn.”


         I kind of liked having Kristie's boyfriends and friends around.  It was about the only time she was on her best behavior.  She would act very mature to impress them. At this tender part of her emotional growth and physical transition, my poor little girl didn’t quite know if she was still a child or a young woman.  So, depending on who was around, that is who she became.  If boys were around, I became, “Mother dear” and if her girlfriends were at the house I was called, “mommy.” 


         I have tried really hard to like my kid’s music but for the most part I could not.  Kristie liked the bubblegum music and James' music sounded like wailing and gnashing of teeth and that the devil himself had a belly ache.  Many times it would be real quiet then they’d turn the volume from their radio up really loud.  I always wondered what the purpose of that was.  Either they were trying to break the sound barrier or they didn’t like being able to hear.  The whole house reacted, windows would vibrate, figurines would jitterbug off the shelves and any creatures we had in the house would pack their bags and move out.  If I yelled to them to turn their music down, they weren’t able to hear me so I'd go up to their rooms and open the door and fight my way through the wall of noise. I’d throw things at them to get their attention.  They’d give me a dirty look, and they’d ask, “Why did you do that?” I’d tell them to keep their music turned down and they’d respond that it helped them think!  I could not understand how it helped unless it vibrated the thoughts and imagery right into their brains so that they didn’t have to think so hard.  Regardless of the reasons I think it jarred some of my teeth loose.


                                                 


         


                                                                                                       14 years old





         Sometime during the teen years my child would learn how to use a phone. When they discovered that the ringing of the phone meant someone was on the other end that is when I no longer was allowed to use it.  I was still allowed to pay the bill and have it in my name but I was not allowed to use it.  It didn’t matter how much I begged or pleaded to use the phone; it just fell on deaf ears. “Mom, be quiet. Can’t you see I am on the phone?  Go next door and call for an ambulance from there.”  If I was lucky enough to use the phone I’d get told not to stay on it for too long as someone was supposed to call.  I don’t think it was anyone in particular it was just that someone, anyone was going to call.  My husband and I became an answering service for Kristie who so thoughtfully bought us a memo pad with explicit instructions to write down who called that day, the time and a short message.  We were also told to tell whomever it was that she’d call them as soon as she was available.  It was heaven when caller ID was invented; it made our job a lot easier.


         Another phase at this time is eating.  My kids can put away a mountain of junk food but no meat!  “I am a vegetarian, don’t you know?”  I tried to explain the french-fries that they loved so much was cooked in animal fat.  I would get this look like I was trying to undermine their social awareness.  I’d wait and pray that this was would soon pass.


         Their clothes became a big deal at this time.  My kids would build shrines around a favorite pair of pants or a shirt.  They’d wear something because some athlete said they should.  “Don’t worry about the cost; let your parents buy it.”  A few weeks later their clothes would fall apart and they'd be screaming that they'd have nothing to wear. I’d suggest on going to K-Mart and it was like I said some awful swear word. “Mom, I can’t go there.  My friends will see me there and they will know I wear K-Mart clothes.”  I kind of wished that neck tourniquets were in style.  I’d hear that they had to wear what everyone else is wearing.  I would ask why and they would respond that they had to be an individual and their own person.  Make sense?  NO!  I’d look at other teens and realize they had all cloned each other in the name of individualism.


         My kids in their early teens had perfected the fine art of teasing their younger siblings to the point of tears………MINE!  It was almost always between David and Marcus. I would get told I was favoring one over the other and so I'd say the only thing I could say, "Yeah I am". Or Marcus would ask me why I always took David’s’ side and knowing this was a no win situation for me, I’d respond, “Because I like hi8m more.”


Marcus and David would fight, and sometimes it got quite physical.  I hated it; I don’t like my kids hitting their siblings.  It seemed that no matter what I said, or how bad I got hurt trying to intervene, the fights wouldn’t stop.  So being a bit smarter than they were, I devised a plan that would make me happy and possibly stop them from fighting.  Every time they fought, I made them hug and tell each other “I love you”. I would not let them leave the spot where the fight took place until they hugged.  It got to a point that they would fight and I would give the command, “Hug or be cast into outer darkness.”  They would get to where they thought it was funny and they would hug.  It either worked, because they quit fighting or they quit fighting because they actually started liking each other.  Either way it was very quiet and peaceful. 





                                                                                                 15 years old





         My poor children didn’t stand a chance with me as their mother. I come from a long line of pranksters and I should have realized it would rub off in one way or another.  I taught my children well, I just didn’t know how well until they turned on me.  They’d hide outside my bedroom door and wait quietly and patiently till I came out just so they could scream and scare the living daylights out of me.  Sometimes they’d smear the toilet seat with Vaseline and listen for a scream and a thud.  I used to smoke, they thought it was funny to put explodes in my cigarettes just to watch the look on my face when they detonated.  I became a nervous wreck that would normally cause me to smoke 3 packs a day but I couldn’t I was too afraid to smoke.


         When they were young I would dance with them all over the house.  They always loved it when I‘d waltz with them while I was carrying them and sometimes we’d Tango and they especially loved it when I’d dip them.  As they got older and their tastes in music changed, so did their way of dancing.  I learned what exactly a “Mosh Pit” was.  I made the mistake of trying to dance with Johnny!  I got slammed, jabbed, punched and knocked down and every time I tried to get up I got knocked down again.  My son was having the time of his life and didn’t realize I was being brutalized.  He thought he had a hip mom and I was feeling like I broke one.  I didn’t feel that it was a positive bonding experience for me.


         It was difficult watching Marcus being so shy and liking a girl but not being able to tell her.  He was always thought of as a brother by the fairer sex, always a bridesmaid never a bride, so he continued to worship them from afar.  Sometimes he would ask his friends to ask a girl if she liked him, most of the time his friends would go out with the girl in question.  He was forced to stand back and watch his trusted and loyal friends make off with the girl they were supposed to set him up with.  I think he should have done what had been done for years and it always seemed to be a tried and true method.  You just write a letter and ask the age old question, “Do you like me?”  Check yes or no.  We never had to have an accomplice.


Curtis decided to start shaving his peach fuzz so that he could tell everyone that he was shaving.  No one ever asked if he needed to, they just assumed he did why else would he shave?  If he nicked himself, my oh my it was a red-letter day because then he had proof.  “Yeah I’m trying out a new razor and I guess my whiskers are way too coarse.”  I suggested putting miracle grow in his face but he didn’t see the humor in that.  After a while he began to grow coarse, fuzzy down on his face, the only thing was that he had very blonde hair and so he tried to color the hair with my mascara but when it rained he looked like Tammy Faye Baker in drag.


         I got a charge out of hairstyles, Marc and Curtis wanted bowl haircuts; this was really odd because when I was younger that was a haircut that parents gave their sons whom they were trying to punish. Girls would shave their heads with just a little tuft of hair left, put on combat boots, green field jackets and lots and lots of black makeup.  All I could think of at that time was that her parents must be so proud.  The look scared me; it reminded me of nightmares I was avoiding.  What was next, barbwire chokers, and rhinestone lips?  I am afraid that body piercing had entered our midst.  Curtis decided that after he moved out that he would pierce his eyebrow, lips, and tongue.  Why? It isn’t pretty or manly in fact I don’t know what it is.  When I see a kid with their nose pierced I want to raise a red cape to see if they will charge.  My other son Johnny got really extreme with his piercings.  He pierced his labret, the bridge of his nose, his nose; his ears had several piercings, his tongue.  Every time I looked at him, I remembered giving birth to him, his little body was so perfect and now he was desecrating his body.  After a while he couldn't drink anything without springing a leak.  He finally downsized his piercings and went into gauging his earlobes.  ARGGG I hate the way it looks but he likes it. One time he took his earrings out and there were humongous holes it.  I could almost fit my whole fist through it.  I suppose they make good peep holes.          





                                                                                             16 years





         Ah yes 16, the age of jobs, driving, dating, and the dreaded curfew.  I tried to be pretty flexible with my kids.  Their curfew was they could go but be back by the time they turned 18 years old.  I never wanted to be “The man trying to keep them down”.


         I am a firm believer in giving my children responsibility, so my kids got chores and that way I knew who to get mad at when I ended up doing them.  When my children got to the ripe old age of consent, I let them know it was time to start preparing for the real world and that meant getting a job.  I wouldn’t take their money and what they earned was theirs to keep.  Fair enough?  I thought so but it was not an incentive to get a job.  Their ideas of looking for work is to look on bathroom walls, study ceilings and maybe ask a friend that didn’t have a clue either.  They just knew that someday a job was going to fall down, bite them in the butts and voila’ employment would be there like magic.  One rule I have always had was that if they wanted to drive they had to have a job.  Well there is a way around that, they’d get girlfriends that could drive and would have access to a car.  What I found amazing was that not only could those girls drive but they also had jobs.  “See mom, not all is lost.”  They had managed to kill 2 birds with one stone and don’t worry about their dignity, it isn’t necessary as it was just a useless characteristic.


         I have met many boyfriends and girlfriends of my children.  I can honestly say some I was impressed with and some I was not.  Some of them I felt I needed to keep a gun close by.  At that time the questions became a little more upfront. “Mom how do you feel about birth control?” or “All the guys carry a condom in their wallets, can I have one too? I promise not to use it.”  I don't know how stupid they thought I was, I was a child of the 60's, and I had heard it all and said the same things.  Trying to explain the pitfalls of sex before marriage is like not trying to get crap on my shoes at a Black Angus ranch.  So I did the only mature thing and that was to avoid it at all costs.  Many times I’d go into a crying fit; I'd hang onto their legs and beg them to “just say no!”  When that didn’t work I’d start talking about the starving children in Somalia.  It seemed at this point they had become so utterly confused that they’d forget what they had asked.  That made me happy, I’d wipe the sweat from my brow and realize I had thwarted the subject a little longer. I would have been happy if I could have done that till they were married.


I always got someone else to teach my kids to drive, I was scared and wasn't ready to meet my maker.  James had not been driving very long and at that time I owned a 9 passenger station wagon, which we had lovingly called the Land Yacht.  There was so much play in the steering wheel that if you barely moved it, it would veer off the road.


James wanted to take it out and drive it, and we said ok but6 just be careful.  His departure was nice, I don't know what happened but he lost control somehow.  An old couple was out in their yard doing yard work minding their own business when the green missile of death went whizzing through their yard and pruned their hedge for them.  I don't think they knew what happened and James didn't stop.  I don't think they should complain as you usually have to pay good money to have your hedge pruned. By the time David was learning to drive, I had lived a full life and was looking forward to meeting my maker so I taught him to drive.  He was so nervous that he did a Fred Flintstone, every time we got close to 5 mph he’d open the driver’s door and put his foot out like that would slow him down.  It was funny cause he would be screaming, "Whoa!"


He has been driving for a few years now and has not gotten a ticket yet nor gotten in a wreck so maybe the Flintstones had the right idea.





             


                                                                                                        17 years


         When Curtis turned 17 he felt he was a man of the world.  When he spoke the heavens would rumble from the voice of experience.  He’d try to warn his younger siblings to not do what he, himself had just done. He felt that he had done and seen it all and ready for life but was life ready for him?  Now that he was quickly approaching his manhood with all of this unbridled experience by his side he could start looking toward the future.  I was so proud; I’m thinking a college, jobs, career, and family.  He's thinking at the same time tattoos, body piercing, growing his hair long, living off his friends and the freedom to go wherever.  As much as I would love grandchildren I’m praying in my heart, “Please don’t let him reproduce.”


         Now I know that kids have to at some point in time break a rule or two and that day would come that they’d test the waters and break curfew.  Not only did this test the waters but also tested my compassion and intelligence.  I could handle having them be a little tardy but not all night long?  When they finally came through the door, they knew I was mad by the look on my face.  They always came up with the dumbest thing possible at that time to say.  “What?  Are you mad?”  Then came the excuses,  “Her car broke down and I just know you wouldn’t want me to walk home that late at night.” Or “Honestly mom, we were playing touch football, I got tackled by some really big guys, and they knocked me unconscious.  I developed amnesia, or I would have called; you know that!”  My most favorite one was, “I’m sorry I just lost track of time.”


James decided he would try his hand at drinking.  I didn’t condone drinking and he knew it.  He had his friend over and they went out for a walk.  I never had any reason to distrust him; he had always been a pretty good kid.  They went out and were gone for quite a while.  I wasn’t too worried and I went to bed.  The next morning, James was really sick; oh boy he did not look well.  He spent a lot of time in the bathroom and not thinking I jokingly said, “What’s wrong? Are you hung over?”  Then he asked for some castor oil, I don’t know if you have tried it or not, but that is some awful stuff.  If you drink it, you never quite get the taste out of your mouth or head.  Well, I had found out later, he gave himself 4 tablespoons of that stuff because yes he had a hangover and was trying to feel better. I couldn’t get mad at him, what he had done to himself was far worse than what I could have done to him.





                             





























         














         





                                                                                                 18 years





         I had finally made it to this time in my child’s life when I would have to say “Goodbye”. I cried over each one leaving the nest and every time the emptiness in the house became a little more overwhelming.  I’d stand by and watch them take the last of their stuff out, their excitement was definitely there.  Now it is their turn to experience all the things that I have talked about in this book. Thoughts ran through my mind, “Will they be ok?” or “I wonder if I did ok as a mother.”  I then realized that nothing will be the same now and that I had just become a ‘has been’.  During the first few weeks, I’d go into their rooms and stand, hoping to catch something in the air that might help me remember something I may have forgotten.  All 18 years flashed through my mind, my thoughts would drift back to the good times and the bad, and I’d wipe the tears away.  It didn’t seem like it had been that long ago when he was just a little boy running through the house screeching with delight or showing me some cool bug he found.  It wasn’t that long ago I was kissing her booboos away or sewing clothes for her or putting her hair in pigtails.  When the phone rang, my heart would beat hard and I would pick up the phone hoping that it was one of the kids but it always seemed to be someone else.  Where had all the time gone?  While exerting energy to help them prepare for their future away from home I had neglected to prepare myself for this moment. The time in my life that I would have to cut the apron strings.


         I realized that my life had been full and busy and how I hardly ever had any time for the things I wanted to do.  All of a sudden, a smile crossed my lips, TIME!!!!!!!!!!!  I finally had time to pursue some of the things I have always wanted to do.  I realized that I didn’t have to get dinner done at a certain time or try to find someone that might want to babysit for me.  I felt joy over this new found freedom, so many avenues I can follow up on. Then the phone would ring and while I was still be in deep thought I’d pick up the phone.  “Mom, can I come over and do my laundry?”  “Of course”, I’d say. Then soon a few more rings and eventually most of my kids would be at the house.  I’d take their laundry into the laundry room and start washing their clothes while they’d be invading the kitchen.  “What do you have to eat?” and at the same time piling food into their mouths, on their plates and in their pockets like it had been forever since they’d eaten last.  I’d lean back against the wall, smile and listen to them chatter on about things in their life. Nothing had really changed, I would always be ‘mom’ and no matter what might happen after that, they would always be children to me and I’d always be needed.  I smiled and knew that the things I wanted to do could wait a little longer.  I knew that I could do my own thing once they were settled down and married.





“Would I do it again?”  You bet and more of it.