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August 28, 2006

Middle School: The Silent Years?

boyWhen my daughter was in late elementary school and early middle school, there was rarely a moment of silence in our home. She cried, yelled, and challenged us on every issue, every day. It began around fourth grade, and it seemed like it would never end. Then when she finally entered her teens, and her hormones and emotions settled down a bit, she returned to being the pleasant girl we remembered, and all was well again. But in the back of my mind, I was scared. Because just as my daughter entered her second year of high school, my youngest child entered his first year of middle school. I braced myself for the conflicts I remembered from a few years before. I didn’t know when the battles would arrive, what they would look like, or how I’d survive it all one more time. But I was sure they were coming.

Now, as my son approaches age 12, I’m still waiting for a hormone-fueled World War III to begin. But you know something? I’m not sure that it’s coming. It has occurred to me that although middle school is not an easy time for many kids, not all of them wear the difficulty of this time on their sleeve. My son, after all, is by nature much quieter than his older sister.

Still, I decided it would be a good idea to be prepared for anything. I read articles, talked to other moms, and had all my own experiences to draw from. Yep, this time, it would be different, because this time, I was ready. Yet my son didn’t want to make things easy for me. He confused me on a daily basis by following my rules, rarely talking back, and having few, if any, yelling matches with anyone in the family. I listened to my friends talk about their own middle-school aged kids, recounting explosive arguments, daily defiance, and even worse behavior. I waited for my time to come, and wondered why my own experiences were so different.

Is it because he’s a boy? Because he’s the youngest child? Because he’s just a laid-back kid? Who knows. I have tried to figure it all out, believe me I’ve tried. But when I couldn’t, I decided it was time for my son and I to have a little one-on-one time, and that’s when I initiated the now-famous (in my family, that is) Wednesday Night Out for the two of us. Perhaps all the turmoil was locked up, deep inside of him. By golly, I was going to get it out of him, no matter what!

“Man, this was going to be great!” I thought to myself. Since my husband and daughter have church-related meetings each Wednesday night, that left me and my son home alone. I decided we’d have dinner at the place of his choosing each week, and we’d just chat up a storm and get to know each other better. I’d unravel the mystery of his confusing little mind (it’s confusing to me, anyway) and I’d just be SO much better at raising a pre-teen this time. Oh yeah, I had it all figured out.

But a glimpse at just one of our nights out, around the middle of the school year, pretty much explains how all of them went. I was sitting across a table from him at our usual restaurant choice, and we just seemed to be looking blankly at each other. Then he took a breath to speak, and I was ready for him to spill it all. “Did you cut your hair, Mom? It looks kinda different,” he said. “No I didn’t, but I did kind of style it differently today! Thanks for noticing! I really wasn’t sure that I liked it…” I trailed off as I noticed he’d begun to watch the big screen TV behind me.

“So how’s school?” I asked. “Good. Fine. Everything’s good,” he said, as he began ripping apart his chicken tenders. “So you’re pretty hungry, huh?” I asked. Oh please let him talk to me. Oh please make this easier. Say something! Please! “Yep, I’m pretty hungry,” he mumbled.

The rest of the evening involved small exchanges of absolutely pointless babble. Well maybe not pointless, because I do appreciate any time I have alone with him. But he never did reveal his feelings on, well, anything. He never did have an outburst and accuse me of ruining his life, like I was so often accused of when my oldest was this age. He just sat back, sipping his root bear, eating his fries, being a perfectly content boy.

So I wait, knowing that it might never happen the way it did with my first child. But I’m ready. Just in case.

Posted by L.C. at 04:20 PM | | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Filed under: Parenting

August 26, 2006

Free Gift With Purchase: A Short Review

bookThere's only one magazine I buy religiously each month--Lucky. So when I read that the magazine's creative director, Jean Godfrey-June, had written a book about her life in beauty magazines, I hit the 1-Click ordering button on Amazon.com faster than I ever have before for any other book.

Free Gift with Purchase: My Improbable Career in Magazines and Makeup is a memoir of the self-proclaimed not-so-glamourous June. It includes plenty of tales about her time at Elle magazine, and even some tips about hair, beauty and fashion.

If you're looking for a brutally honest and funny read, and you love fashion magazines and always wondered what goes on behind the scenes, this book is for you.

Posted by L.C. at 03:35 PM | | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Filed under: Reviews

August 22, 2006

Adventures in Dreamland

I've been having some really funky dreams lately. In one, my husband and his friend were having a wrestling match at church (my dh wrestled in high school) and his friend broke my husband's leg. He was rushed to the hospital, and I found my son curled up in a ball on the floor of the church youth room crying "Brian broke Daddy's leg." Hmm. Not sure what all that meant.

So anyway, today I had a headache and laid down in the middle of the day for a short nap. When the dream began, my mother and I were shopping at a large mall. My mother was not as she is today--old, frail, suffering from Alzheimer's and dementia, unable to communicate, walk, or eat unassisted. She was as I remember her from ten years ago--taller than I am, vibrant red hair, feisty (okay, bitchy) and smart. We shopped for what seemed like hours, and she told me everything I tried on was too long for me, hideously ugly, and too expensive. It was just like old times.

I was enjoying the dream, then, all of the sudden, it started to change. My mother told me she was beginning to get tired, and that we'd have to stop so she could rest. Shortly after that, she told me she could no longer walk, and that I'd have to get her a wheelchair. I did, and began pushing her around the mall, still chatting with her, trying to get her to go back to the way she was earlier in the dream. But the joking and the sarcasm and the complaining about my clothing choices began to fizzle out, until she was finally not speaking at all. Little by little, she slipped down into her wheelchair, almost disappearing bit by bit before my eyes. An accelerated version of what has occurred over the past three years in real life.

When the dream began, I was happy that my subconscious had found a happy place to visit. A place that allowed me to remember what it was like to be the adult daughter of a healthy woman with a big mouth and even bigger opinions. But it ended much like things are for me today: my life as the adult daughter of a woman who is succumbing to a terrible disease. And while I accept that this is the place where we are now, it was nice to visit the past for a little while. Even if it was in my dreams.

Posted by L.C. at 08:00 AM | | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Filed under: Aging Parents | General 40ish | Meaningless Gab

August 15, 2006

Newshound--Interesting Stories to Check Out

Now that school is back in session (can I hear a collective "Yay!"), I've been searching for interesting news stories to bring to you. Let me know what you think of these:

Posted by L.C. at 12:18 PM | | Comments (1) | TrackBack
Filed under: News/Media/Studies | Reviews

August 14, 2006

Sites I'm Diggin'

Looking for some cool sites to visit? Here are my latest faves:

Posted by L.C. at 07:00 PM | | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Filed under: Reviews

August 08, 2006

Where Does Hate Come From?

Years ago, I remember seeing a Dennis Leary PSA on MTV (or VH1 or something) that was designed to promote tolerance and fight racism. He was talking about his young son, and he said something like this: "You know what my son hates? NAPS. End of list." I don't know why I still remember that PSA, I don't even like Dennis Leary, but I've thought of it over the years because the message seemed so simple and decent: We aren't born hating anyone. It's something we learn.

Hate has been on my mind for the past couple of weeks, and I have been wondering where this powerful, destructive emotion comes from. I've been thinking about it mostly because of what is happening in Cuba right now, and the effect it is having on Cubans in the U.S. My parents came to the U.S. in the pre-Castro early 1950s, but many of their friends and relatives lived under Castro's regime. All of my relatives (except for one cousin) not only dislike the man, they hate him, and hold him responsible for the destruction of their homeland. Some had to flee their homeland because of him, some can't return to it because of him. Some lost their homes, their businesses, and were imprisoned.

I don't like to talk about politics on my blog. I don't care if you hate Castro or love him or feel nothing for him at all; I am not trying to make a political statement. But I put this out there because I was born and raised in the U.S., and we are taught (in my country and in my religion) not to hate anyone. Yet, in my family (immediate and extended), hatred of Castro was seen as ok, even expected. I think of my parents, educated and gentle people, and wonder what it would have been like to be them. To watch your family and country of birth ripped apart, and to hate the person (and persons) who did it. I think of it like the whole "even if you'd never kill anyone, you would probably kill someone who was threatening your child's life" concept. Somewhere deep within all of us, whether we admit it or not, I think we have it in us to hate on a level we can't fathom. Not that anyone wants to hate. It's just that sometimes, we have to.

Posted by L.C. at 11:13 AM | | Comments (1) | TrackBack
Filed under: General 40ish

August 04, 2006

My Head Might Explode

Can your brain actually be on overload? I mean, if there's too much on your mind, can your head just explode? Well if that's possible, I think my head is going to go pop at any moment.

Summer vacation is coming to an end, and although I've had two and one-half months to prepare for this, I seem to have been totally caught off guard. My kids have no shoes for school, since they can't wear the flip-flops they've lived in all summer, and both have either outgrown or beaten to death the athletic shoes they have in their closets. Yesterday, I learned that my son has outgrown every pair of jeans he has, and most of his shirts are in pretty bad shape (either too small or too ratty for me to allow him to wear them to school). So next week looks like marathon shopping week for us. Plus, we have to pick up about 500 items from the school supplies list. But who's counting?

My daughter had her wisdom teeth removed the day before yesterday, and she is swollen, in pain, and a general mess right now. As if having a 16-year-old isn't tough enough, this just really stinks for all of us. Not that she's grumpy or anything, but...okay, she's grumpy. Oh man, is she grumpy. She also had to quit her job last week. Long story there, but the sandwich shop where she works was robbed, and her friend had a gun held to his head. Needless to say, the teens that work there were all traumatized, and since some have to work shifts alone from time to time, many of them quit.

In addition, I am looking for some work (freelance or part-time), trying to squeeze in a trip to Florida see my ailing mother, battling some kidney issues, and dealing with the fact that I will be 42 tomorrow. It doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would (the birthday, not the kidney stuff). Perhaps that's one pleasant side effect from having a cluttered mind at the moment.

Posted by L.C. at 01:54 PM | | Comments (4) | TrackBack
Filed under: General 40ish | Health | Meaningless Gab | Parenting