Sweet 16

Today I became the mother of a 16-year-old. I realize you may question the accuracy of this statement given that I haven't hit 30 yet myself, but it's true. My son Ian is 16. The big question for me is "How did this happen?" I remember I couldn't wait for the first few years of motherhood to speed up. The baby and toddler years were not my best. Everyone told me that time would fly, but you really have no concept of just how true that is until your child is in high school and preparing to leave the nest in just a couple years.

Today's blog post is dedicated to Ian, who has humored me, frustrated me, impressed me, and driven me crazy. I am blessed beyond measure to call him my son.

16 Reasons to Love Ian

1. He makes people laugh.
2. He has a beautiful singing voice.
3. He has an overwhelming passion for soccer, despite not being a player.
4. He's a loyal friend.
5. He's as quick-witted as anyone I know. The Tonight Show will be his someday.
6. He's super smart.
7. He looks adults in the eye when they make conversation with him.
8. He teaches Sunday school to elementary-age kids who can't wait to see him.
9. I've never known him to be mean.
10. Shockingly, he doesn't mind hanging out with me. No, really!
11. His friends' parents adore him.
12. He's a total smart ass, without being disrespectful.
13. He still gives hugs.
14. He has only run away from home once, albeit in the snow wearing really good shoes. 
15. He's the dictionary example of a "really good kid."
16. He still tells me he loves me. 

This is when he started laying around.

The first time we saw that awesome smile. 

He still makes a mess when he eats, 15 years later.

Early gangsta days.

Abby's already trying to tell him what to do.

He's never eaten black licorice again
since learning it comes with a baby sister.

Young man's best friend.

You mean not every kid sees Jamie Moyer
when visiting Dad at work?

The first and only time
he considered playing football.

First time we discovered he looks great dressed up.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

My Little Girl is Growing Up

On Sunday, Abby turned 13, officially turning me into the mother of two teenagers. So far, so good.

Granted, it's only been 48-hours.

My youngest is pretty amazing. My oldest is, too, though they couldn't be more different. While they're both intelligent and "good" kids, their personalities are delightfully distinct. I'm not exactly sure whom Abby "takes after," but for the most part, it's not me. For example, she's private. You might be surprised to learn that I am not. Not only does Abby not share any juicy details about her life (most teens tell their moms stuff, don't they?), but she locks the door when she uses the bathroom and is fully clothed every time I see her. I don't recall having any such issues with privacy or modesty.

Abby is also rather reserved emotionally and stingy with her displays of affection. She so dislikes feeling sad or upset that we never watched most of the Disney classics because she knew there were some heart wrenching scenes that she just didn't want to put herself through. And as for affection, well, she gives me the top of her head to kiss good night. It's the weirdest thing. She has some major issue with kisses anywhere near her actual face. I suppose I'm lucky that she still takes the time to say goodnight and tell her dad and me that she loves us. I'll be okay with this discomfort with affection if it extends to boys in the coming years.

Then there's Abby's sense of humor. Frankly, it's kinda mean. She mostly enjoys physical humor, as in someone falling down the stairs or slipping on a banana peel. Where I get a kick out of the talking animals in the BBC videos, she's quick to remind me that "animals don't actually talk." She's very literal. The good news (?) is that Abby's increasingly laughing over silly teenage girl things, like goofy sayings she and her friends make up and share with each other as some kind of inside joke. "Whatev."

Academically, Abby is super smart. And good at math, which really confuses both Rob and me (the math itself and our kids' proficiency in it). Recently she's decided she'd like to go to MIT and become a computer programmer or software developer because somewhere along the line she got the impression that you can do those jobs sitting by the pool, just thinking up creative ideas. Given my job in the College of Engineering, I'm determined to (subtly) push her toward a STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, Math) field. There are so few women in these areas that those who go for it can practically write their own ticket to career success. And did I mention that since elementary school, Abby has assured me that wherever she decides to go to college she'll earn a full scholarship so we don't have to worry about paying for it. I wouldn't bet against her on that.

That level of focus and determination is really Abby's hallmark and has been evident in the entrepreneurial spirit she shares with her long-time friend Maddie. You may recall the Sticky Ducks years (duct tape design business). Currently, the dynamic duo is all about baking and cake decorating. I can pass along their business card and portfolio if you're interested.

Because it's not annoying enough to be smart and entrepreneurial, Abby is also an athlete and musician. (She's actually tried playing the clarinet while hula hooping.) Whereas I was required to take remedial gym classes, Abby shines on the soccer and softball fields. She's competitive (we have that in common) and works hard to be the best she can be. For awhile she focused her musical talents on being first chair on the clarinet. Unfortunately, her interest in that instrument has waned (I blame the band director), but I'm pleased to say she's recently picked up the guitar. We literally picked up a nice guitar as her birthday gift and she spends her evenings looking up new cords and strumming classic rock songs. I love her complete commitment to those things she develops a passion for.

Truly, you can't help but love this kid, unless you're trying to outdo her in any way. Happy Birthday, Abby. You couldn't make me prouder to be your mom!

Great Expectations

Earlier this year I became aware of a tween and teenage issue affecting families in what I naively thought was my perfectly insulated and innocent community. It seems "sexting" hit close to home in the families of more than one personal friend. The shock and disappointment was profound and ultimately led to our church organizing a parents' night on the topic of teens and sexuality. And yes, if you know what my church has been going through, you're seeing some irony in this. But that's beside the point.

As my friends and I discussed this disturbing trend in teen behavior, someone mentioned having read about the affects of technology on a teen's desires and proclivities. She reported that the graphic and "advanced" nature of their early exposure to sexuality results in many teens needing "more" in the way of stimulation as they grow toward adulthood. The effects of peeking at Playboy magazine or reading a young adult romance pales in comparison to what our kids are finding online and sharing with one another on their cell phones.  

I'm finding this desire for "more" to be an ongoing theme in this world in which my children live. It may be a byproduct of living in a community where most families have what they need and then some, but it's disturbingly prevalent. No longer is a cell phone acceptable; a smart phone is required (and they still don't answer when you call). A vacation to Colorado is unappreciated because "we've been to that state before." A plain old birthday party at home doesn't suffice when everyone else does something way cooler and more expensive.

Sweet 16 parties and bar/bat mitzvahs are often examples of "more." In many cases, these rite of passage events resemble mini-proms or a wedding reception. I can't speak to the bar/bat mitzvahs of my day because I never attended one until recently, but I did turn 16 a couple nearly three decades ago and these grand affairs were not the norm. I find myself wondering what happened to the good old slumber party. But then again, it's probably safer to gather all of your kids friends in a supervised location where they're less likely to be drinking and photographing their private parts to text to a friend (who then sends it to his friend, and so on). I guess my biggest concern with these first class affairs is that they're setting our kids up for disappointment years from now. What if on their 21st, 30th, and 50th birthdays there's no one to throw them a lavish private party? How can your wedding reception top your bar/bat mitzvah when twenty years earlier it was the talk of the town? If you set the standard so high so early in their lives, can we exceed those expectations for the special moments later in life?

A couple years ago I heard stories of prom date invitations that both amused and concerned me. Boys were arranging elaborate scenarios in which to pop the question, "Will you go to prom with me?" Proposals were staged involving teachers and principals. Banners were hung on the bridge that links the middle and high schools. And a member of the track team recruited his friends to run in sequence wearing specially made t-shirts that read WILL - YOU - GO - TO - PROM, followed by Romeo wearing "WITH ME?" Awe! As in awesome, right? Absolutely. I would have loved to have been proposed to that way. Oops. That's what I was afraid of. To be on the receiving end of that level of sweetness and creativity as a high school senior only sets you up for disappointment when your adult boyfriend proposes marriage by leaning across the couch during a timeout in the football game and opening a little black box. And, he probably belched at some point in this transaction. Trust me, guys get lazy once you've been together awhile. You're rarely going to find romance delivered high school style. (Side note: Rob did not propose to me on the couch during a football game. It was a baseball game. No, but seriously, he proposed to me on the side of the road. It was more romantic than it sounds.)

Lest you think I'm presenting myself as above all this excess, I can assure you that I'm not immune to the temptation to fulfill my kids' desire for more. This Christmas we're heading to Mexico for the week. Unlike Colorado, Ian and Abby haven't been there yet, so they're looking forward to it. (Just hope we can get Abby a passport in time. Damn government shutdown.) And in lieu of a Sweet 16 party, a friend and I made our daughters a deal a year ago, promising them a trip to France instead, assuming they keep up their French studies. I'm sure the party would be much less expensive, but this way I get something out of it, too.

The reality is that many parents, myself included, want to give their children more than they had. Or they want to express their love and pride in their child, regardless of the cost. Sometimes, we go overboard trying to make up for the lack of time we spend together as a family. Our hearts are in the right place when we decide to go big for our kids, I just sometimes wonder whether our heads are in on it too.

Your thoughts?

10 Things I Love about My Son

Ian with the Phanatic 2007ish

Fourteen years ago I gave birth to my son, Ian. It was an unpleasant experience, primarily because I was too stupid clueless to request an epidural. Only recently have the scars on Rob's wrist faded after I dug my claws into him for getting me into that pregnant state in the first place. But this is not about the pain Ian has brought to my life. This is about the joy. I figure the kid's been through enough abuse via this blog that I owe him this:

The Top 10 Things I Love About My Son

1. He's a genuinely nice and particularly likeable kid.
2. He's extremely funny and quick-witted and can be a major goofball.
3. He's sensitive and affectionate.
4. He's smart and engaging.
5. He sings, acts, reads, and enjoys movies (we have lots in common).
6. He shows real concern for others.
7. He's respectful.
8. Other parents and his teachers have nothing but good things to say about him.
9. He's fun to spend time with (as long as there are no electronics within 300 ft.).
10. Every night before bed he tells his father and me that he loves us. 

Ian, I'm sorry I'm not the kind of mother who remembers what time you were born or your first word, but I hope you can take comfort in the fact that I never forget how blessed I am to be your mom.

Happy Birthday, Ian!

A Birthday I'll Never Forget

Yesterday was my birthday. The day started out auspiciously enough. Abby gave me a big beautiful handmade card and a pair of earrings, and Ian asked me what I wanted and suggested I take him out to get it (along with a side trip to GameStop so he could get a little something for himself). On top of that, I was touched to see all the birthday greetings on Facebook and my friend Emily called to make plans to take me to lunch. The day was set to end on a high note with tailgating and the Phillies game with my Freakin' Angels.

Somewhere around 10:00 a.m. it appeared things might take a bit of a turn. That's when the good mother in me (prompted by the good Jewish mother in Emily) called the pediatrician to see if Ian should visit the doctor for the bruising and swelling to his hand that I had ignored assumed was nothing serious. [On Sunday evening, after Delco Idol Jr., Ian decided to chat with his friends on the stage in the Media Theatre. On the stage was fine. It was falling off the stage that didn't work out so well.] We made an appointment for 11:15 a.m. Of course the doctor took one look at him and told us x-rays were required. My lunch date appeared to be in jeopardy.

Once again, however, the fates were smiling on me. The x-ray visit took less than 30 minutes and the orthopedic couldn't see him for his probable finger fracture until 3:30. Lunch with Emily was on and it was delightful, complete with conversation about our imaginary love affairs with Justin Timberlake and Matthew McConaughey.

After lunch I returned home to try to get some work done, but Abby had other plans. And not good plans. She was feeling lousy. As in sweatshirt-in-the-90-degree-heat lousy. She accompanied me to Ian's afternoon appointment and curled up in my lap. By the time we got home after 4:00 p.m., Abby was miserable and wanted me to stay with her. I knew it was bad if I was suddenly more desirable than our babysitter. I told myself she'd be fine with a little Tylenol and I was prepared to see my selfish plans through until she uttered those fateful words, "I think I'm going to throw up." And with that, my evening was shot to hell.

The Freakin' Angels at Cathie's 40th b-day party.
A bit more successful than mine!

I cancelled the babysitter, I called my friends, I shed a small tear, and I settled in at the computer to get some work done while my baby girl slept. And then the doorbell rang. And Freakin' Angel Karen stood there and informed me she wasn't going to the evening's festivities without me. Then the phone rang and the remaining angels said they weren't going either. A short while later I was surrounded by the earth's very best angels with tailgating hoagies, margaritas, chips and salsa in tow. We alternately celebrated my birthday, watched the Phillies game, and nursed Abby through her fever and belly ache.

Though my day didn't turn out exactly as planned, I ended up receiving the best gift ever, a powerful reminder that

Faithful friends are beyond price;
No amount can balance their worth. (Sirach 6:15)

 My friends, I thank you. 

Party On...and Next Year, Off-Site

We almost missed it altogether. Another birthday. Another party. Ian was turning twelve, and with just a week to go, we hadn't planned anything for him. In a moment of brilliance I suggested a camp out in the backyard. We've got the perfect yard for it, including the fire pit, and I figured a group of 12-year-olds were prepared to sleep outside without parental supervision. Of course, I also considered that this wonderful plan would keep them out of my house.

Naturally, Mother Nature didn't cooperate. She turned up the wind machines, dropped the temperature 15 degrees, and the boys ended up on the floor of my newly redecorated living room, the only inhabitable room in the house.

If you've never been the mom of a 12-year-old, let me tell you what to expect at the party:

• The occasional swear word (when they assumed no adult was within hearing range)
• The sulker. The one kid who didn't want to do what the rest of the group was doing (He went off and played on the computer by himself.)
• Intense Nerf gun battles
• A refusal to go to sleep at a reasonable hour because, "We're 12, mom!!!"
• A wake-up call at an ungodly hour. When six 12-year-olds are up, you're up.

[Early on in the evening I remembered distinctly that I swore last year that I would stop having the kids' birthday parties at our house. Damn my 40-year-old memory!]

The most interesting part of the festivities revolved around food. Some highlights:

• The vegetarian who announced at breakfast that bacon has many death-hastening qualities.
• The kid who was never hungry. No dinner. No cake. No breakfast. 
• The smart-ass who requested I try not to burn his next hot dog, since the first one was inedible. "Look, Ian! This one isn't shriveled to less than three times its original size!"
• The kid who boasted that he had eaten horse and whale meat (note to self, don't dine at his house)

The best part of the evening, next to the drinks with Ian's friend's parents, was that I'd left my computer on and was able to immediately set my reminder for April 12, 2011.  The date on which I will reserve a restaurant, arcade, or paintball field for Ian's next birthday party.