Category: adolescent

  • I Never Wanted Anything Bad Enough to Camp Overnight for It, But . . .

    I Never Wanted Anything Bad Enough to Camp Overnight for It, But . . .

    Antonio had me at, “You can blog about it.”

    I studied him, then upped the ante, “With photos … of you?”

    To convince a twelve-year-old boy to pose for photos at any time is challenging.

    Antonio pointing to an empty display of Amiibos
    Antonio pointing to an empty display of Amiibos during our ‘dry’ run.

    He nodded.

    That is how I came to be standing in a line at Target on a Friday morning before the store opened.

    Amiibos would be released at 8 am. It was Antonio’s goal to get three of them before they were sold out. But, he had school. Since I had the day off from work, I would be a perfect stand-in.

    The night before the big release, Antonio insisted that we take a practice run. I needed to know the most direct route to the sales counter.

    He would have preferred that I camp overnight outside the store doors. He even offered that he and Crystel would join me. He surmised that the both of them could bring their bikes and leave me first in line when it came time for them to bike to school.

    I actually thought about it. It would be a new and shared experience. But, then again, I thought I should save that opportunity for something other than a fairy-type Pokemon. Concert tickets or ….. I don’t know …. I’ve never wanted anything bad enough to camp overnight for it.

    What we would do for our kids. Antonio certainly wanted these Amiibos. His goal was to collect every one. He has 17.

    I’m not a collector. I’m a purger. It took me awhile to understand that my children were different from me. There were times that I cringed realizing — a little too late — that they were collecting the very items I was purging. The items were already down the road at ARC or the school store or the garbage can.

    IMG_6301That Friday, after dropping Antonio and Crystel off at school I headed over to Target. I was number 8 in line. I looked down the line at my 7 peeps.

    A text message interrupted my thoughts.

    Antonio wanted to know if I was in line, how many were in front of me, and if they were kids.

    All men in their twenties except a young lady sitting next to me, I text back.

    I set down my phone and asked her why she was there. “My brother,” she said. Adding, “He owes me.”

    I stood up. “Hey, I’m writing a blog,” I said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Do you mind if I take your picture?” A thumbs up, a nod of the head, a grunt. “Anyone mind?” I questioned again. No answer, which was my answer.

    At 8 am when the doors opened, I was surprised at the calm.

    My peeps walked single file. No cutting in line. The first guy determined the pace. Three clerks were at the counter waiting for us. Amiibos were stacked behind them. By the time it was my turn, two amiibos were already sold out.

    IMG_6307I can only tell you that I got a Jigglypuff.

    Antonio will learn if I scored any others on his birthday in July.

    Not knowing until then will torment him. I love doing that to an almost 13-year old.

     

  • Signposts

    Signposts

    Hemlock Trail
    Hemlock Trail

    I pointed my cross country skis toward the 3.2 km green striding trail. What’s that …. about 1 ½ miles? I could do that.

    If only I wouldn’t have missed my turn. At each intersection you need to stop, look and think. I did but I still went straight on Memory Lane instead of turning left to stay on Hemlock Trail.

    Hemlock Trail was certainly beautiful with the pines, their branches cradling snow.

    Memory Lane was a straight path to the evening before.

    Last night it was dark outside Indian Mountainhead Resort main lodge. A sharp cold. Not cold enough that I couldn’t stop, gaze at the brilliant stars and marvel at the wonder. I filled with gratitude for this great universe of ours and my life.

    I have a good life.

    February 23, 2015 168I had just left my 12-year old son in the swimming pool without even saying goodbye. He was with other Boy Scouts. Generally, Antonio and I bob heads, nod in acknowledgement to each other, or say a few words before I leave him. This time I didn’t. Not because I couldn’t see him in the fog that rose above the swimming pool, but because it wasn’t needed.

    This was a first.

    There was no signpost saying RITE OF PASSAGE. No moment of THIS IS IT.

    It just happened.

    Memory Lane
    Memory Lane

    The entire weekend was like that. He was independent of his two moms and sister.

    He chose to be with the group of boys even though we were an arm’s length away.

    When I told a parent about this later, she mentioned that it was a bittersweet moment.

    It didn’t feel bitter. There was no sadness. I used to be afraid Antonio would never leave my lap and that kids would make fun of him. Instead of pushing him off because that certainly didn’t feel right, I learned to enjoy his closeness.

    When I reached the River House, I knew I was on the wrong trail. I turned around and went back to the intersection and took a right onto Hemlock.

    February 23, 2015 200Jody was already waiting for me in the warming cabin. She had gone further and faster than me. That’s not unusual.

    The next day, I planned to ski Hemlock Trail again. And this time, I would know the signposts.

  • “You can choose to shave. But you have to brush your teeth.”

    IMG_3147The day came, two weeks ago, when I had his and her electric and regular razors, cream hair remover, his and her shaving cream – foamy and creamy, post shave balm, and aftershave on the bathroom counter.

    His on one side. Hers on the other.

    I let the essentials rest there for a few days, wanting to normalize the fact that, yes, 12-year-olds do grow hair and yes, some 12-year-olds would like it to disappear.

    I had brought up shaving to Antonio a couple of years ago. I am very cognizant that Antonio is the only male in our house so he often is inundated with information before its time. With Crystel, I wait for a cue.

    Our neighbor, Lynda, works at Bella Salon and Spa. It was natural to call and make an appointment for a lip and brow wax for Crystel, brow wax for me, and a lip wax for Jody.

    I mean, if it’s a cue, it’s a cue, right?

    With Antonio away on a school trip, we made it a girls’ night out.

    Antonio had already let me know about how he felt about his mustache. His Uncle Marty was over for a visit, and even though I reminded Antonio a number of times, of what a great opportunity this was (Crystel was away on a school trip), what great timing, how serendipitous, he just couldn’t get a scissors and open the packaging that held his electric shaver and all those cool attachments.

    He just dropped his voice as low as he could. “Nope.”

    We three girls tried our electric shaver first. Crystel found out very quickly that she didn’t enjoy having her hair pulled and cut by a million tweezers. Soon we were on to the razors, each of us with a leg in the bathtub.

    Hmmm. Now, there. There is possibility.

    Her choice.

    But the brushing of teeth? Nope. That’s not a choice. (Said in a Mom’s voice).