I Prefer to Think of It as Applied Psychology.

Pass the Zantec and the Xanax.  It is not getting through to them, that I am unable to go with them every place they go.  I am unable to stamp the foreheads of the people they will meet with “safe” or “toxic”.  I can’t use their common sense for them.  I am more than willing to clarify whatever their conscience alludes to…


Modern Psychology would have me think that my teens cannot make moral judgements.  Neurologically, they are changing so fast that blah, blah, blah.

If this were true, and it is  not, how do you explain people who just simply never ever get into these situations.

I didn’t.

It seems that the pattern is that my children make extraordinarily dumb moves and somehow, some way, there is always another child nearby who is responsible but not them.



Last night, I will admit.  I yelled.  I wasn’t going to yell.  I was going to keep my own counsel and let these little operators reap what they sowed.  But one said, “What’s wrong with you?”  Not to be left out of the impending nuclear holocaust, her sister followed with, “What are you mad about?”

I told them I wasn’t going to talk about it.

They are still pretty young, America.  It did not occur to them to think, “Good for me.”  Instead, they seem to have thought, “We need to help mom realize she has no reason to be mad. After all, we are perfect as far as she knows, that should make her life nirvana.”

A comment slipped out.

The perceptive one who usually gets when to keep a low profile, blurted out, “Oh the [Friend’s Name] thing.”

As distinct from what other things I don’t know about yet?

“I apologized.”


Well, at this point her sister had some other minimizing comment and I saw red.

Suffice to say, I lost my voice last night.

Ugly as hell sin.

While I yelled, I made the Monday evening spaghetti sauce that I am way too proud of.  I got down in startled faces, and ran back into the kitchen to arrange pepperoni on top of the simmering skillet and topped the whole mess with shredded mozzerella and a domed lid.  I made garlic toast on bakery sandwich rolls. (And Type A got it, that even though I am chewing your ass rear right on off, I love you and want to bless you.  Ya little beast.)

While my daughters tried to finneagle a reason that the problem is mine.  Not theirs.

The.  Hell.  It.  Is.

They are big enough and “neurologically able” to know when they are taking the side of wrong.  They chose the mean girl over the nice girl, watched the mean girl twist the knife, and hoped to get to the grave without me finding out.

What they have is misplaced fear.  We all fear something.  The Bible says the fear of God is the beginning of wisdom.  In this case, they preferred to fear the small bitch with the big mouth.  Rather than God, me, or that this little girl WOULD hurt them the way she hurt their friend.

I have been checking around with moms, and uniformly, they admit they were afraid of the repercussions if their parent should find out they had misbehaved at school.  We were afraid of the principal of the school, our parents and God.  In that order.  As far as my peers were concerned, I took an “every man for himself” approach.

After deep analysis, one of the girls came to the point of getting what the problem was.  Maybe.

One of the girls slipped out the house and went to “Bible Study”.  She came home with tales of cute boys and greetings from their old buddy Nate.  She is currently giving me the “perky good student” massage. She is living on borrowed time.

I, on the other hand, talked to a mom this morning who told me she has seen so much growth in my girls since school started.  Puh.  Yeah.  Because we are going to the mat every several days on NO-THE-CRAP-YOU-AREN’T-GOING-TO-BEHAVE-LIKE-THIS-IS-A-REAL-LIFE-PRODUCATION-OF-LORD-OF-THE-FRACKING-FLIES!!!!  They are maturing because they have no choice.

I had been silently, well, and in one case openly, freaking out a little that the “drama with boys” was taking up so much of my thought life.  These boys are going to go off to college and see thrifty-whillion gals and forget there was ever any such thing as the Type A and Her Sister.  And I am old.

*cold chill*

How I would like to return to the halcyon days of last week.  Where all I had on my mind was keeping Joe Friday away from my daughters for another 21 months.*

Today, we are down to the real life business of growing up and choosing yourself over the evil business of allowing a mean bitch girl to hurt others.  And themselves.  They haven’t told me what was in it for them.  Every time they are together (I find out now), she says nasty things about adoption and me and *wonders* if the girls want to search for their birth parents.

The Divas are required stay away from her and don’t give me the excuse that she came over to them.

I think it is pretty clear, at this point, but I thought that when we covered texting boys with my phone.  And I also thought it was clear when I covered texting boys with other people’s phones, writing what that person tells you until the number gets blocked and then she says it was you.  That what they need to see before their eyes when they need to make a decision is not WWJD?  But WHWMFO?  What Happens When Mama Finds Out?

Embarrassment?  You should have thought of that before you took your stand on the side of wrong.

I prefer to think of it as applied psychology.

 *Til he goes off to college. Rumor is he’s playing Type A per the warnings. He sang “Baby” to her Friday.  She said, “{Name}stop it.  I hate Justin Bieber.”  I can’t believe how perfectly she played it.  Senior girl said that everyone else has giggled and batted their eyes. (And he has sung it to everyone else) Shame he’s an amateur ‘playa’ and will ‘play’ hell heck getting anywhere near my daughter next semester. He wouldn’t make eye contact with Mickey at the concert.  He’s still bitching. Oh, God.  Totally another post.


  1. This is why parents have grey hair….and drink. Age 14 was better than 13 but still. Don't let them get away with nothing. It'll be worth it in another couple years.

    I say this as I pop open something. *cheers*

  2. 14 was the worst year of my life.

  3. The teenage years are both impossible and wonderful. I try so hard to remember exactly what I was like. It makes it easier to not get mad 🙂

  4. You can lift a glass because your twins are boys.

  5. Mom? You have a blog?


    Girlfriend, as much as I love your guts, I do NOT envy you or anyone with kids. I love'em. Don't get me wrong, but don't have the strength or wisdom to raise'em.

    I drove my parents insane. I'm talking the minute they thought they had me cornered, they found out I wasn't even in the same room.

    But I got my ass busted and grounded many times. As a matter of fact, I think I'm still grounded for something. And I'm 42.

    But you're doing right.

    Momma always told me regardless of who YOU are, you will be judged by those you surround yourself with. And that is the freaking gospel. It still rings true today at my age. At my job. In my personal life.

    They have plenty of friends. What they need is a momma. And if they DON'T like you at times…you're doing your job.


  6. I was absolutely terrible in my teens. Truly, I was a horror. My mother struggled with me daily. I grew out of it eventually though, and we laugh about it now…. but I was really a piece of work!

  7. What happens when Mama finds out is my new favorite line, and is totally what kept me on the side of right when I was there age. I could have been tempted to do a lot of things, but I was too scared of getting caught to ever give them a try.

I love it when you sass me. Please leave a comment.

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