WAY.

P: “I thought that only happened in ‘olden’ times.”

We then got on the topic of Communism and China. No one should start talking about China right before bedtime. It’s too much. You can go on endless tangents like – What do you think the factory workers are thinking about when they make those millions of rubber duckies? Do you think that they think Americans have some sort of weird duck fetish? Do they wonder what we do with all those rubber ducks? Or why we keep ordering more each year?

Why? Even I can’t explain why.

I went on to tell her that the government in China used to strongly discourage the practice of any type of religion. Her reaction – “What! What about Buddhism? What about the Dalai Lama? What do they do with him?”

M: “He doesn’t live in China.”
P: “WHHHHAAATTT?”
M: “His home is Tibet, but he doesn’t live there either. He lives in exile in India.”
P: “WHHHHAAATTT?”
M: “Tibet is currently occupied by China. The Chinese government is not fond of the Dalai Lama at all.”
P: “That’s crazy. Who doesn’t like the Dalai Lama?”
M: “That’s a good question.”

Next topic.

P: “Where is Amsterdam? I can’t remember.”
M: “WHHHHHAATTT?”
P: “I heard Amsterdam was a cool place to go.”
M: “Like what kind of cool? Who told you this? Why do you want to go there?”
P: “Geez. I just asked you what country Amsterdam was in.”

Change subjects.

P: “Where’s the happiest place on earth again?”
M: “Denmark.”
P: “Why are they so happy?”
M: “Well, lots of reasons. Free health care. Free education. There is this feeling of equality amongst the Danes. They have a saying ‘Jante-lov’ which means ‘You’re no better then anybody else.”
P: “They probably think the rest of the world is crazy”
M: “I don’t think they even care. But it’s not all great, they do pay a lot of taxes.”
P: “How much?”
M: “Between 40% and 70% of your income.”
P: “WHHHHHAATTT?”
M: “Yep – but they happily do so.”

P: “Mom?”
M: “Yes, Paige?”
P: “Can you please stop talking and leave me alone? I am trying to go to sleep.”

Right? Right?

Wrong.

Well, I would have never wanted to be the “angel” either. It’s too much pressure to be good all of the time. As a teenager, I was always the one to take risks, gravitate towards the edge and jump feet first into new situations – often to my own detriment. To sum it up, I was “trouble.” Or more aptly, I was troubled.

I don’t think I could have raised the teenage “me.” I was a hot mess back then (and sometimes still am). But despite the acting out and rebellion, in the end I’ve tried – Lord knows I’ve tried – to always do the right thing.

Paige, on the other hand, doesn’t even try to be good all of the time. She tries to be good most of the time. She understands the fallibility of the human condition and just tries to do her best. Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn’t and she’s generally at peace with either outcome. She is much more evolved than I was at her age.

So don’t let those devilish horns fool you. She may not be perfect all of the time, but she’s been my angel for the past 15 years.

No I did not fall off the face of the earth. I am being held hostage. By teenagers. Hungry. Emotional. Hormonal. Teenagers.

As you know, there are a variety of reasons why I made the move to Vashon (instead of somewhere else in Seattle) but the biggest factor was moving closer to Paige’s school and friends. It got to the point where Paige was on the island every single weekend and it seemed like I never got to see her. Ever.

So I moved to an island and things are a bit topsy turvy around these parts. But in a good way. Sorta. My old schedule has been thrown under the bus and I haven’t gotten into a good rhythm yet. Plus, Paige has been around a lot these days – she hasn’t spent the night at anyone else’s house all month. In fact, she actually hasn’t been anywhere all month. SHE IS AT HOME ALL OF THE TIME.

Don’t get me wrong, I love our new family dynamic. But it also means that I am constantly in Mommy mode. And it is exhausting. As much as I missed having Paige around when we lived in Seattle – I did appreciate that from time to time I could come home wasted and anticipate a hangover while Paige was at a sleepover. Not that I did that all of the time, but it’s always a good thing to have in your pocket when you are contemplating that third or sixth beer.

Plus, it hasn’t been just her around here. In the last few weeks, every single one of her girlfriends has spent the night at our house. Or been over for dinner. Or for study dates. Or for no reason at all. Herds of them. I half expect that a teenager will pop up from behind the couch at any given moment shouting, “I’M HUNGRY! FEED ME!”

Here’s an example of the volume of food that’s running through our house on the weekend – 9 kids over for dinner and 4 girls spending the night:

4 large pizzas
18 cans of soda
2 quarts of juice
2 jumbo bags of potato chips
1 gallon of ice cream
1 – 12 inch round birthday cake
1 dozen chocolate cupcakes
1 dozen blueberry muffins
1 pound of bacon

Yeah, it was a birthday party but they really do eat this much on other nights.

So lately, when I come home it’s like I am punching in for the 2nd shift – kitchen duty. When it was just Paige and I, I could give her a fruit roll up and some Goldfish crackers and pass that off as dinner. But heaven help us if we don’t have a balanced meal when we have company over! God forbid that there are any outside witnesses to those eight o’clock dinners over the sink! We eat home cooked meals every night of the week now.

I know. I know. I shouldn’t worry about it. It’s just that it’s early in the game and I don’t know anyone here and I definitely don’t want to be known as that single mother whose got a frozen pizza in the oven as she sips on bourbon and cokes while watching The Real Housewives (Bethenny is engaged!) on Bravo. This is a small island, after all. (Okay, maybe I don’t watch TRH, but the other two are true.)

But enough is enough. I am determined to get back to writing and blogging on a regular basis (really! I promise!) and back to the old exercise routine. And the dieting. And sending my kid off to other people’s houses.

But for now, in this moment in time, we are living the life that we always wished for and things are exactly how they should to be.

Last Friday I met my friends Andrew, Eden and Katharine for happy hour before watching the movie Julie & Julia (you know, the “Cinderella” movie for bloggers). As happy hour coordinator I had to choose a place that was (a) close the the movie theater (b) close to Capitol Hill (c) on the busline and (d) had frou frou happy hour drinks. After assessing about half a dozen restaurants, I decided on a place that I vowed NEVER EVER to step foot in again. After all, I was in a rush, it met all the criteria, I couldn’t think of anywhere else and so on.

Bad things happen when you break vows.

Let’s step back for one grand second. Why did I vow never to walk through the doors of the aforementioned restaurant in the first place?

Because I used to work there in the late 90′s.

Because it was my very last restaurant job ever.

Because it was the place that made me say,”I WILL NEVER EFFING WORK IN A RESTAURANT AGAIN.”

Because I was still in my twenties and making vows were second nature – I vow never get a perm again! I vow to never eat meat! I vow to only eat meat! I vow never to date musicians!

Eight years later I never looked back. Until last Friday, that is. We ate cheap Asian happy hour food and washed them down with some Lemongrass Lime Rickeys. Oh so wrong.

About three quarters of the way in to Julie & Julia I started to get a pang and a grumble. No problem, right? Just a little indigestion from the food. Mental note: Take an antacid when I get home. Another hour later the ‘pang and grumble’ turned into a grumble, a burn and a stab. I knew this was headed to nowhere good so I rushed home in hopes of falling asleep before the onset of something worse.

FUTILE. Around 2 am I wake up to the fact that I (BRACE YOURSELVES) have the “Big D” a.k.a. ‘Rhea a.k.a. you know what I mean.

Let’s take another step back. I might have mentioned that Paige and I live in some tight quarters – 800 sq foot house on a 6000 sq foot lot. I’ve had apartments bigger than our house. Our bathroom is so small that if you are on the toilet, you cannot open the door. There’s very little privacy here – our bedrooms and bathroom open up to the living room. There is no hall to sneak down. Ever.

With that in mind, having the “Big D” might have been tenable if it were just Paige and I at home. HOWEVER, that would be considered good luck and if you are wondering how my luck has been, reread sentence # 2 of this post. Paige’s friend Beatrice was at the house for a sleepover. And they were still up at 2 am because that’s what teenagers do – they have friends over and stay up till the movie they are watching lulls them to sleep.

OH. MY. GOD.

Between the hours of 2 am and 9:30 am I was rushing back and forth from the bedroom and bathroom. As you can imagine, my own mortification was wholly surpassed by my own daughter’s mortification over her mother pooping while her friend was over. This is terrible! UNFORGIVABLE!  And ever more tragic, I wasn’t JUST pooping, I had the “Big D” – which I would be remiss not to mention that this was no less than SOCIAL SUICIDE for a certain 14 year old. I can already hear the stories now, “Uhmygawd! When I was at Paige’s house, her mom pooped! While I was in the next room! AND I HEARD IT!”

None of my attempts to run the faucet full throttle or burn through an entire bag of votive candles from IKEA helped to cover up the situation. I am now a pariah and am officially banned from ever pooping again.

This is how things are going right now.

PS.  I vow never to break another vow again.

When I look at Paige I see all the things that I love about America.

Strong. Modern. Youthful. Irreverent. Complex. Optimistic. Positive. Headstrong.

She is the grandchild of Korean immigrants.

She is the product of a parent who wants a better life for their kid.

She is the best version of myself.

I love her.

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