My motto is, “There is always room for “more”!” That means more of everything and more of anything; from family and friends, to time, to work, to fun, to fabulous finds to life experiences. More is More and I am the one to provide it because, I am the More is More Mom®.
So, here I am, at my perch at Starbucks, while my daughter is getting her hair done at the Fabulous and Fancy Hair Salon (you are no doubt aware that maintaining the golden hue of your youth is a life long commitment, even if your life has only extended to the 8th grade thus far, and you are enjoying a few foils around your face). I am contemplating my very first blog entry……..
In essence, I am a professional mother. I’ve held this position longer than just about any, other than wife. I once had a job for two days. My friend Lisa was a totally awesome waitress at Bakers Square, so I thought, “How hard could that be?” Uh, really hard. First they wanted me to take off my signature red nail polish, and then they thought nude panty hose would be swell with the green polyester uniform and sensible shoes. Yuck! Then, these people, I think they were called customers, expected that I remember what they wanted to eat and drink and actually deliver it to them in a timely fashion. Hello !?! Did they not realize I was still getting over the tragedy of the red nail polish thing? It was then that I became more attuned to my academic pursuits and decided that taking another class that semester would be way more productive (and so much easier) than being a waitress.
Isn’t life ironic? It’s funny when I think about it now, because sometimes being a mother is not unlike being a waitress. You are on your feet all day, you wear a uniform (you know……. denim, white, black, tan and the occasional splash of color, though it is our fabulous shoes that separates us from the pack), are covered in food, work for peanuts and are constantly at the mercy of your clientele meeting the unreasonable demands of cranky customers.
Well, today began as just about every other Saturday (we are people of routine and our dog loves it!). We were up before 8. Amanda, our competitive gymnast, ate her chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast, as she does every morning. I make a batch from scratch at the beginning of the week and she warms them up every morning before school. My husband Chuck drove her to the gym and upon his return happened to notice that our sons car (and by our sons car I mean the one that we purchased for him to provide him with transportation largely for our own selfish convenience) had a not so wonderful dent in the front quarter panel. Hmmm. How and when did that happen? The last time our Nicholas drove the car was Wednesday night to hockey practice. Yes. I must admit it. We are one of those hockey families. Being a Hockey Mom is just about the first and last thing that Sarah Palin and I have in common, though I have been known to go “rogue” at TJ Maxx. Unable to wait until noon, the natural wake up time of the American teenager, we decided that we needed answers immediately!
Up the stairs and down the hall we marched, with our 94 lb Chocolate Labrador Retriever, Wrigley (named for the Friendly Confines, not the gum), in hot pursuit. Please note that I did not refer to him here as our dog, as he would be hurt and insulted. He is our hairy son, the one that did not dent the car (though on another occasion he did eat the arm rest off the door of a different car down to the metal stud, but that’s a story for another day). Nick was slightly startled as we roused him from a sound sleep with a barrage of questions about what on Earth happened to his car. Who was parked next to him at the rink we asked. Had he not noticed the dent we asked. No. No. He had no knowledge. It appeared to be a mystery, until I happened to glance at his text messages (as he is aware that I do from time to time, frequently in front of him. Monitoring his behavior is my job as his mother. It’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it) and I saw that at 8:38am he received a text from his hockey friend that said, “Don’t tell anyone about the accident.” “NICHOLAS,” I screamed, as I went completely ape shit, “WHAT ACCIDENT?” Oh yeah. Now it was coming back to him. Apparently, he was driving away from hockey practice at 11 o’clock at night and pulled over in the parking lot to chat with two of his buddies. One of his pals hopped in his car because it was cold, and the other proceeded to pack his things in his parent’s car, which he was driving for the evening. This pal decided that it was time to leave and thought he could sneak out of his parking place by going up over the curb and ride a little bit on to the sidewalk, all while making a clean get away. It was not meant to be, as it would appear, when his car did not make it over the curb on his first attempt. As we understand it, he put the car in reverse and bumped in to Nick’s car. Being relatively inexperienced drivers, as Junior’s in High School, they did not seem to notice the fairly large dent in Nick’s car. Thinking all was good, no harm no foul, they merrily went on their separate ways. Mystery solved, albeit $982.40 later. The funniest thing about the whole story is that our hockey friend was not even referring to this incident in the parking lot in his text, but an accident another boy they know was in. Do they call that poetic justice? Either way, the end result is Nick getting grounded.
It was a fun morning, to say the least. Though believe me, I do realize that if this is my biggest problem (it’s not), I’m doing pretty well.
Family strife: Part Two. No one in my family is terminally ill (though two years ago Chuck completely severed his thumb from his hand and I had to pick it up, put it on ice and drive him to the emergency room, but the fabulous doctor’s were nice enough to put it back on, so again, no harm no foul, wink, wink) or unemployed, so I do enjoy a healthy dose of reality and perspective, but on the other hand; what is wrong with these people?
I think I am a fairly nice mom. I understand the plight of the teenager and their desire to fit in. I make sure my pals wear clothes and shoes that are hip and happening. If they want it, we get it. Amanda has been enjoying the benefits of getting her hair cut at the Fabulous and Fancy Hair Salon since she was a toddler, and she always looks great. I know you understand the differences between mothers and daughters. You can do whatever you want, as long as it’s what I want. That would appear to be simple enough to understand. Well, as you can imagine, someone had a problem with that. My gal is beautiful and getting older and more responsible, but I am resistant (actually dead set in my tracks) to allowing her to get side bangs. Please understand that I am not one of these controlling mothers (HA!! I am a completely controlling mother. I think they have a name for it other than crazy; helicopter parenting, because I “hover” constantly like a helicopter. I am hardly kidding when I say I will go with Nick to college, and since he won’t wake up to an alarm clock, I think he’s okay with that. Or, he can attend school downtown Chicago so my mom, his Nana, can go to his dorm room every morning and wake him up. Gosh the mornings are fun!). Amanda thinks side bangs will change her life, but I know that side bangs are a pain in the ass like nobody’s business. In order to live with side bangs, one must style their hair everyday. I’m sorry. What student athlete that trains at the gym 20 hours per week has the time, or inclination, to style their hair everyday? It is so overrated. With the side bangs, when you put your hair in a pony, you need like a thousand ugly clips to hold it in place, and what is the point if you are just going to put your hair up in a pony anyway?!?
So, recently I am looking at Amanda as she puts her hair in a clip on the side and I notice these stray hairs sticking straight out!! What ?!? If your hair is all one length, the way it is supposed to be, then why is there hair sticking out? Oh, well it appears that would be because you, the child that has not been to beauty school, HAS CUT HER OWN HAIR! I’m sorry, but those are fighting words. Now as a parent, you are of course stark raving mad, as you say the absolutely most ridiculous and stupid thing that someone might say to a person that is 13 years and 11/12ths, “You are grounded from your phone if you ever cut your hair again!” Ah…..now we’re getting somewhere. She loves her phone. I was completely unaware that I had a bargaining tool. Perhaps, if I were smart instead of completely irrational, I would save that for something that really mattered someday, like boys. Not hair. It grows back.
We go to the Fabulous and Fancy Hair Salon and Amanda receives a great haircut, one that we both can live with. She looks beautiful. All is right with the world……..for now.