Every year around Paige’s birthday I have a secret celebration all to myself in order to recognize the fact that I have been doing this parenting gig with a modicum of success. I am proud to say that everyone still has all of their fingers and toes, there have been no major accidents or meltdowns (on either side) and Paige has maneuvered through adolescence with not just good, but great, academic and social successes.
During this span of time I have learned to change diapers despite my sensitive gag reflex, survived a period where binge drinking was involved, won one ugly custody battle, maneuvered through an emotionally draining breakup with the wrong guy and suffered through bouts of depression, the unraveling of my first ‘real’ job, the transition from my 20’s to 30’s and the purchase of a house as a single woman. And, those are just some of the highlights. Continue reading ‘Emancipation Reclamation’
It’s Paige’s birthday this Friday and I am hunkering down into serious event planning mode. Last year, we had a low key family event (by her choice) and now she totally wants to make up for it by having me take her and her 5 closest friends to “Fright Fest” - which is a sort of souped up sideshow carnival that got derailed into Halloween-town. This is my version of hell.
She actually asked if I could rent her a limo.
BRAAHAAHAAHAAAHAAA! WE ARE IN AN ECONOMIC DOWNTURN, HONEY.
I blame this delusion of grandeur on that damn show “My Super Sweet 16” and their $300,000 Bat Mitzvahs. It’s a disgusting reflection on American culture. Charlie Brooker from the Guardian explains how I feel about it better than I can:
Teen aged daughters are fickle, fickle creatures. They are. They hate you, but they can’t live without you. They must know your opinion about everything, but then they choose to ignore it. They pretend you don’t have feelings and then proceed to break your heart.
You may think I am paranoid, but I am really beginning to think that she thinks it’s her job to make me feel like an old hag.
Me: Why do you keep doing that when I tell you not to do that?
Paige: Duh. Because it’s my job to make you feel all old and shriveled up inside.
But once in a while, when it’s really late at night and no one is looking, Paige will crawl into bed with me and we will watch vintage Beastie Boys videos on Youtube. And then she’ll say something like,
“Please mommy, tell me that story about the three Jewish guys from New York who formed a rap band again. Pretty please.”
And for one brief second, she actually realizes that it was me who heard the song first, not her. And for one really small moment in time she knows that I know more than she does.
Heartbreak is hearing your daughter sob in the next room because of a boy. I guess the benefits of being the “dumper” goes out the window when your ex-boyfriend turns around and dates your good friend. No amount of mommy love can fix that.
If that happened to me, I would pour myself a shot of bourbon and keep the bottle flowing all night long until I:
(a) passed out while listening to Leonard Cohen songs,
(b) made a belligerent call to one or the both of them telling them what mother-effers they were,
(c) buy myself a ridiculously expensive pair of shoes or
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@avitania dont be embarassed everyone is reading that series. @massdistraction reading them too. i think you'll like her blog check it out! 4 hours ago
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