Every mom goes through new phases with their children. The newborn stage, terrible twos, the preschool years. Each round brings its own challenges, its own joys and sorrows, sleepless nights, and an understanding of where you could hide the body. The teenage years are no different. Your teen pushes boundaries, tests limits, dips a toe in the adult pool from time to time. But like any other step in raising children, getting through the teenage years with your sanity, sobriety, and most of your hair intact is a challenge unto itself. So, in honor of his upcoming 15th birthday, and for all of you going through this part of parenthood, I provide you with a glimpse into the last two years of having a teenage son.
Dear Diary, (January 2020)
I have returned home for the second time this week to find that the boy has forgotten to request his test retake from his PE teacher. How does one fail a multiple choice health test about alcohol in 7th grade? Tomorrow I shall journey to the netherworld, also known as his locker, in search of the assignment myself. Wish me luck.
Dear Diary,
This morning, as I dropped the boy at the local detention center, I received permission to speak with the PE teacher to retrieve the now twice forgotten test. Upon speaking with the teacher, I found the test was only 10 questions long, and was so easy that a third grader could have passed it blindfolded, while having it written in French. The boy will have no choice but to complete the assignment this evening. To ensure his success, the favorite child (so named because she is older and has more common sense) will also look over the test and grade the boy’s paper once it is completed. I hope the drama of this trimester ends soon.
Dear Diary,
After working a long day and evening, I returned home to a dim house. A completed test sat innocently upon the kitchen table. My roommate told me that the boy completed it under protest, and that the favorite child caught three mistakes which needed to be corrected. Clearly, this child is either destined to make his way through high school and college without getting caught for making poor decisions related to alcohol consumption, or he is a complete idiot.
Dear Diary,
Today I received yet another email notification about a missing assignment….in band. Clearly, the boy is trying to send me to an early grave. I have counted 5 gray hairs and determined his existence is the reason for their emergence. He and I will have yet another conversation about responsibility when I get home. It may be time to reclaim his rights to the Nintendo Switch. It may also be time to invest in an extra large bottle of wine.
Dear Diary, (March 2020)
Apparently, the entire world is hitting pause for the next two weeks, as everyone is going into lockdown. Some kind of virus or something. I’m sure things will be back to normal soon.
Dear Diary, (2 months later)
Well, that was a miserable way to end the school year. Apparently, the President thinks we should drink bleach, and the world is going to hell. On the bright side, the mild weather has granted me the opportunity to go outside for walks, since I’ve stopped going to the gym. I will, however, need more wine.
Dear Diary,
I refuse to comment on the summer without a margarita machine.
Dear Diary, (August 2020)
The school year will start again, but virtually for both underage residents. This isn’t what anyone wants, but it is the new reality we are living. I’ll even be teaching my own night classes online. Time to invest in a vineyard.
Dear Diary,
The day is not even 30 minutes old, and I’ve caught the boy switching his screen between the science slideshow he should be paying attention to and the Roblox game he is simultaneously playing with his friends. He has expressed his dissatisfaction at being moved to the kitchen table for all future online learning sessions. Do wine bottles come in size XXXL?
Dear Diary, (Spring 2021)
There is hope, as the girl begins attending in-person and can drive herself to and from school while the boy attends in the mornings. The boy is unhappy, as he will need to relearn how to dress himself, and will no longer be able to log off early. I need these squatters back in school to return a sense of normalcy and hide the fact that my daily attire consists of pajamas and slippers.
Dear Diary,
I have been hired to teach remote 1st grade for the remaining 2 months of the year. I’m not sure how effective I will be, but I will do my best to design some enjoyable reading, writing, and math lessons.
Dear Diary, (after 1 week of remote teaching)
Hey Alexa, does Xanax come as an IV drip?
Dear Diary, (last day of remote teaching)
I love these precious little ones, and I’m going to miss them so much. Today we completed the science experiments and art projects I had delivered to their homes. The joy, happiness, and unrestrained laughter coming through my computer screen was heart melting. I can now get back to wearing pajamas and day drinking.
Dear Diary, (May 2021)
Nothing like a drive-in movie theatre for 8th grade graduation. Maybe puberty will visit the boy this summer, so he doesn’t look like he still fits in a locker as he heads off to high school.
Dear Diary, (Summer 2021)
We have entered the phase of adolescence, where the boy now has hair growing out of strange places, and his feet have grown three sizes in two weeks. But full blown puberty, a substantial growth spurt, and a voice change where he sounds trapped somewhere between a full grown man and a baby Chihuahua avoids him like the plague. Our pediatrician has told him to eat more protein on numerous occasions, but he can ferret out the taste of protein powder in any substance, like a dog scenting drugs at an airport. His diet consists of chicken nuggets, rice, chips, and popcorn. If something doesn’t change, he will be doomed to adulthood at 5 foot 2.
Dear Diary,
We have stumbled upon a suitable protein bar from Aldi, which the boy actually likes to eat. Combined with his penchant for packing potato chips, this will become his daily lunch meal. We have also gotten him to eat hot dogs, but only if they are placed within a fresh Hawaiian roll--and not an off brand either. The boy is a snob for name brands and high prices in all food categories, from Jelly Bellies to Oscar Mayer Hot Dogs to Tyson Chicken Nuggets. Jerk.
Dear Diary, (September 2021)
Today, as I was sitting with the boy, attempting to recall the horrors of sophomore year geometry, I was reminded of another right of adolescent passage: deodorant. Apparently Sir Smells-A-Lot has refused to wear deodorant for some time, given the repugnant odor emanating from his general direction. Upon questioning his lack of decorum, he responded that no one else at school has told him he smells bad. My response was that no one could get close enough to him for fear of imminent death. Why is wearing deodorant so difficult for a 14 year old? Is it that hard to rub a gel stick under each arm once a day? Am I doomed to smell this child’s obnoxious odor in every room of my home, regardless of the number of candles burned? When he enters the room, I throw up a little in my mouth. How can he be so cruel to the one who gave him life?
Dear Diary,
It seems the boy cares not for cell phones or the privilege of owning one. While under normal circumstances, I would happily remove the device from his long, thin fingers, it has become necessary for him to communicate with his Uber driver to ensure their schedules align at the end of the day. The Golden Child constantly has to wait and wonder where he is, due to the fact that the boy forgets his phone at home or never has it charged. Therefore, the high kingdom has decreed a new ruling that governs the land. The boy will incur a tax of $10 every time he is unreachable or his phone has a dead battery. He shall also pay his Uber driver $20 if he fails to communicate his after school plans to her, and she is left waiting and wondering where he is. Finally, if the boy has not arrived at the pre-paid parking location, he will be left to fend for himself and find his own way home. I hope peace will be restored to the kingdom, but I fear this is only the beginning. Winter is coming.
Dear Diary, (January 2022)
Tonight it rained in our kitchen. Upon further investigation, we were unable to identify the source. Although the boy was in the tub at the time, the bathroom floor was dry. The boy's wet towel was in his room on the floor, as usual. Unfortunately, the tallest roommate had to poke two holes in the kitchen ceiling, allowing the excess water to drain. Excuse me while I grab another bucket, a rag, and a bottle of wine.
Dear Diary,
For the third time in less than two weeks, our kitchen table endured a nightly shower. Again, the boy was in the tub, and after consultation with our professional handyman, we have determined the cause. Apparently, this idiot child allowed the water level to rise above the overflow valve. He was too busy watching YouTube videos on his iPad, and not as busy paying attention to the amount of water in the tub. He was unceremoniously yanked from his warm bath and made to clean up the mess. Patching and repainting the ceiling are in the near future. It should be further noted that the high command has issued a “no bath” order, and the boy will now shower like the rest of humanity.
Dear Diary,
After barely one month of adhering to shower protocol, the boy resorted back to baths, as showering cramped his ability to watch YouTube videos of 30 year olds playing Grand Theft Auto. This has again resulted in a wet kitchen table, a new ceiling hole, and a death notice placed on the boy’s head should this ever happen again. He will not only pay for the ceiling's forthcoming second repair job, but if he ever takes a bath in my house again, I will dismantle his new gaming computer and hide the pieces in places where even the four horsemen of the apocalypse will never find them.
Dear Diary, (February 2022)
Surprisingly, the boy has returned alive from his participation in a weekend long state speech tournament. Given his propensity for motion sickness, I expected the bus ride to Peoria and back to cause him upset. As far as I know, he has also returned with his phone and wallet. Upon checking our bank mobile app, it seems he used his debit card for two purchases. My informant tells me he ordered a ham and cheese sandwich, removed the cheese, and ate the rest. There is hope yet that the boy will not starve when he goes off on his own. This theory, however, remains up for debate.
Dear Diary,
Upon unpacking the duffle bag from his weekend travel, I have found that out of the 4 days and 3 nights he was gone, the boy changed his underwear once. It is more than I expected.
Dear Diary,
Also upon further review, I found the boy did not eat his vitamin gummies or take his allergy medication for all 4 days of his travels. It is exactly as I expected.
Dear Diary,
Instagram provided photo evidence of the boy participating in group activities while away with the speech team. He was even dressed in an entirely different zombie outfit for his role than previously worn to sectionals and regionals. He informed me that the reason for this change of clothing was because the original zombie outfit smelled so horrid, even the judges commented. I refrained from stating it was likely his own putrid body odor, mixed with a lack of putting those clothes in the wash, which contributed to the stench. I am currently rethinking the three-day drive to Florida we have planned for July, as drinking and driving are frowned upon in all 50 states.
Dear Diary, (March 2022)
The short, skinny one came to me stating his desire to try out for boys volleyball. My internal thought processing center was temporarily stunned, as this child is allergic to nature, exercise, and almost all physical activity requiring more than the movement of his fingers across a keyboard. My joyous thoughts of him playing something other than Roblox were fleeting, however, as his next statement referenced the sports physical he needed--in less than 24 hours--to participate. Thankfully Google, CVS Minute Clinic, and a new bottle of wine were all available to help.
Dear Diary, (two days later)
The boy’s volleyball career was short-lived and not meant to be. As expected, he quit because his “legs are sore” as if one dose of physical activity in the last 3 months isn’t the actual reason for his weariness. I’m not sure how he survived PE in the first semester, nor do I know how he will survive summer school PE for 6 weeks this coming June. Such is the life of a couch potato and the chips he lives on. As for me, I will return to my wine bottle. I don't use glasses anymore, they imply I'll be sharing.
Dear Diary,
In less than a week this boy will turn 15. He will begin driving school and by the summer he will have his permit. His hair is long and hasn't been cut in close to a year, he routinely forgets to change his underwear, put on deodorant, or charge his phone and he's gotten D's on his last two Spanish tests. Yet he is amazing. He is intelligent (though maybe not at foreign languages), creative and funny. He games and laughs with his friends, loves to sing in the school choir, plays more complex board games with his dad and other adults, and has little desire for cars, girls, or wearing his rubber bands. Those closest to us know the hurdles we battled with him when he was little. From his premie birth to his need for therapists and specialized preschool and individualized educational goals. And although we battle with him over chores and eating real food instead of chips and popcorn, I am proud of the young man he is becoming. As I watch him grow and mature over these next few years, I'll likely look back on this time, possibly in an attempt to cherish it. Or drink away the disappointment--sometimes it's a toss up.