The 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).
It’s my reward for living with two squalling 10 month olds who I swore would always be 10 months old. I could not see the day that I would be standing with the two of them at their first middle school dance.
Middle school dances are also for the adults who volunteered in kindergarten and all through elementary. These same kids that we chaperoned on the apple orchard field trip and to Wood Lake Nature Center are now looking at each other with different eyes. And, if we are lucky enough, we’ll be able to discern who is looking at who.
Antonio showing his ID and getting his bracelet.
Middle school dances are also for adults who volunteered in the community as Cub Scout and Brownie leaders, supervised playdates to Edinborough Park, Children’s museum, and the Children’s theatre. All these places that our children are too old to go to now (almost).
It’s our due to see their faces clean, to watch them carefully choose their clothes even if it’s their favorite black hoodie.
Middle School dances are also for adults who never went to a dance in middle school or high school. You can pretend that you’re supervising the dance floor when really, all you are doing, is checking it out.
Yah, she’s kidding. Crystel loves me at her dance.
If you are a Police Reserve Officer you can roam the halls with the middle-schoolers, duck into the karaoke room, the Wii dance room, the gymnasium with the four different inflatables, or stop and watch the donut eating contest.
Then go back to the dance floor.
Middle school dances aren’t for standing in one place.
They’re for watching, observing, and hanging out.
And, if you’re fortunate like I was, those same Cub Scouts and those same kids you chaperoned will smile and say, “Hi.” And, though you are much older, you’ll remember their name. And, let them use your cell phone to call their grandma to pick them up.
Antonio with friends
And, you’ll be asking your own kids about the kids who didn’t come.
I still have my book. It has di Grazia scrawled in black magic marker on the front cover.
It is my guidebook, rules to live by. I have no intention of ever purging the book or giving it away as I have many parenting books.
Today, I leaf through try and make me!, pages stiff from absorbing moisture in the bathroom. “I’ve seen that book,” Crystel says as I carry it upstairs to write this blog. Indeed she has. For kids from 2 to 12 it says on the front cover. Antonio has just turned 12 and she’ll be 12 in six weeks. She most likely saw me reading on the couch when she was little. I also recall many times when I slipped away from the two toddlers to read a chapter that was happening RIGHT NOW. That’s what I liked about the book. I could relate.
Crystel and Antonio on our visit to see Antonio at Boy Scout Camp
Defiant kids are born or made. Because Antonio and Crystel are adopted, I was constantly trying to determine where their behavior stemmed from. In the end it didn’t matter. It wasn’t a question that was on my mind when my three-year old was jumping up and down in Super Target yelling, “No, no, no.” Instead, I glanced around for a place to sit. Then said, “Let me know when you’re done.” (Thank you to the mothers who acknowledged me and asked if I needed help).
Once, I did ask for help. I asked a security guard at the Mall of America if he would escort me and my child out of the store. He looked like a policeman to the five-year old who immediately glommed on to my legs when he realized what was transpiring. “Do you see what is happening here?” I said. “I can’t walk you to the car alone.”
12-years old
Page 6. Never, Ever Give Up. That was the child’s last fit. It took years of constantly disengaging from his behavior and letting his problem stay his problem.
Four characteristics of defiant children are: control-craving, socially exploitive, blind to their role in a problem, and able to tolerate a great deal of negativity. Beyond these characteristics there is another difficulty that can make a child seem defiant: inflexibility.
To combat these Jody and I keep to a schedule, have rules for the children, and when they don’t follow them there are consequences. Because we have been doing this since they were young, few words need to be spoken. “Dude, you just lost your electronics,” is sufficient. Sometimes, I just purse my lips (so I don’t respond in anger), shake my head back and forth, and say, “You can continue–but there will be a consequence.”
Crystel, Jody, Antonio, Beth
When the children were young I often looked for the root cause of a fit. In reviewing the Mall of America incident, I came to realize that I had broken my promise to my child to take him to the Lego Store. It had gotten late and I could see that he was over-tired (problem). I thought it was more important to eat than to go to the store because all of us were hungry (problem), which led to the broken promise (big problem).
If I had been proactive, I wouldn’t have been at MOA with a screaming flailing kid at my feet, concerned that I was going to be asked for identification. In the days to come, I apologized to my child and told him that we would go on a date to the Lego Store. “We won’t buy anything. We’ll spend up to 45 minutes looking at everything.” And that is what we did.
It was my child’s 12th birthday when I realized how far we’ve come. He was on his fifth day of a weeklong Boy Scout camping trip at Many Point. I promised him that we’d come see him on his birthday even though it was a 10-hour round trip.
Lots to be proud of.
He saw us drive into the parking lot, and ran hollering, “Mama Beth, Mama Jody, Crystel.” Before his long strides reached us I thought of the bugs, the night, and the uncertainty of tent camping and a group of boys cooking outdoors. All those ‘thing’s’ that bothered him as a child. When he was young, to reduce his anxiety we bought a tent trailer, cooked food HE liked (and didn’t let it touch other food on his plate), and I accompanied him on all Cub Scout camping trips. This time he was alone to manage for himself.
I started crying before he even reached me. This child had grown up and was doing just fine. I hugged him hard with the knowing of how far we both had come.
The 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.
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