Part II

So it happened.  I met her.  All of the alarms and doink doinks in my head were multiplied by three when she actually came in.  Seriously, Readers – I am much more sarcastic in my head than I am able to verbally express and the thoughts that passed through my mind throughout the night were not so appropriate for a first-time guest.  First, let me help you visualize:  Medium length frizzy hair that is very dark at the ends then turns to medium brown somewhere in the middle, finally ending as blond at her roots.  An interesting choice of hair colors at best.   Deep dark purple eye shadow from the tips of her lids applied heavily and evenly all the way up to her eyebrows.  You know how you might get a funny word stuck in your head throughout a day?  Mine was grapes.  All night long every time I looked at her and those damn purple covered eyelids I would think…grapes.  By the end of the night it was grapey skank but that’s neither here nor there.  It was nice that she was careful enough to make sure she applied her eyeliner in three coats so it would be just perfectly caked but yet amazingly even and un-smudged.  Better yet, was the mascara clumping those eyelashes until I thought she surely must have intended to look like she literally had short daggers protruding from her eyelids.  Whatever – she doesn’t scare me.  The shining trophy was the eyebrow ring.  I mean, really?  She’s CLASSY!!

But I tried.  Clearly, I knew this was going nowhere good.  Still I tried. 

I began asking simple questions.  Ones like, do you live with your parents?  Answer:  Well, I live with my mom but I’ve never met my father so I had a step-father but they divorced when I was nine and now I’m getting a new step-dad.   My head:  this is going to be a long night. 

Question:  So you’re 17, right?  Answer:  Well, not yet.  I’ll be 17 in July.  I’m just 16 now.  My head:  OMG I better check the fucking statutory rape laws!  (yes, he’s safe)

Question:  And how old is your baby?  Answer:  She’s almost one, yeah, almost.  My head:  So you were pregnant at 15 fucking years old.  Sweet!

Question:  Do you have any siblings?  Answer:  (smiling) Yeah, I’m one of 14 kids but I’m my mom’s only child.  The rest of thems my two dads’ kids.   My head:  I need smelling salts quick.

Question:  (to both my son and her)  So we’re not making any new babies are we?  Answer from my son:  Mommmmmm.  Answer from Her:  Oh no – I got on the pill.  My head:  Better hug her ass now, son, ‘cause she just saved your fucking dick from being cut off!

So the conversation went for most of the night as I drank too much alcohol and then they finally left.  I cried.  My husband comforted.  He actually said he was “proud” of me for handling it as well as I did.  Ha!

I have created a calendar for my desk at work as my good friend Hazel assured me today that it would be over in a month and my son would come to his senses.  A month is clearly too long but still there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.  Better yet, after creating my one month calendar I realized that it ends on my birthday.  Sing along with me readers…..Happy Birthday to me…….

Tomorrow will be a better day. 

The New Girlfriend...

Dear Readers:  I have missed you.  BUT – I am getting back on track and of course that means back to incessant writing about nothing.  If you’re entertained – that’s terrific.  If you are not – call my children because they are usually not entertained either.  What is the topic of this blog?  Girlfriends.  I laughed because the last time I blogged I had to write about Kennedy’s first crush.  That is over and done with and she’s now moved past number two and is with number three now.  Long stories that I’m sure you will be filled in on soon, but for now I have to discuss my idiot of a son who is bringing me much pain.  Yes I said Idiot.  Parents out there will know that you can refer to your children as heathen, idiots, the spawn of satan and many more names and still love them.  I love him in a ridiculous way – but….that doesn’t mean he is not making me want to scream at the top of my lungs like I’m at the top of the highest hill of the highest roller coaster and I’m crapping my pants because I do not like roller coasters anyway.  That’s how I feel about the new girlfriend.  If you’re new to my blog let me catch you up.  My husband and I have five kids total; four boys and one girl.  Technically they’re split between us but we do not use words such as “step” or “half” in our house.  We are one family.  The oldest four are all boys and the youngest is of course the only girl.  They range in age from 15 through 29.  We are also grandparents thanks to our oldest who is married with two of his own. 

Now back to the story.  Through the years we have been through some pretty interesting rides with our boys and their choices of dating material.  We loved a few and hated a lot but I think this time we are facing the ultimate challenge.  Wouldn’t it be great if we took our sons to the Girlfriend Closet and hand-picked everyone they dated until it was time for marriage?  Sounds a little “Brave New World” I know, but come on – this one’s a prime candidate for Skank of the Year and I haven’t met her yet!!!!  First let me say that I’m meeting her tonight – which is why this is overwhelmingly on my mind.  Secondly, in our family education is VERY important.  There is no choice.  You will go to college.  If you go and drop out, we will hound you and harass you until you get back in and finish.  No child of our will be left with the inability to support themselves and their future family.  It’s how we roll.  Imagine this if you will:  One of my twenty-something, incredibly smart, handsome young sons calls me and informs me that he’s dating a young lady and he would like for us to meet her!  Hooray!  It’s always great when they bring the girlfriends home because that is yet another sign that we have moved beyond total loathing and are somewhat acceptable in their lives as adults J  Therefore I’m excited.  I ask all the appropriate questions, but don’t go too far because that would be considered “prying” and thus shuts the door of communication for at least a month but we’ve experienced almost 8 weeks before.  They can be brutal.  So I’m delicately asking all the right questions and I get to:  So, what does she do?  Expecting to hear something fantastical, I instead get dead silence.  Hmm.  “Did you hear me honey?” I say.  He says, “Well – nothing right now except take care of her child.”  GOOD GRIEF – the alarms sound off right along with the Law and Order SVU doink doink that I’ve written about before.  But it’s still okay.  See – we’ve been through the “dating a baby-mamma” before and we survived.  We’re soldiers.  We march through anything!!!  So I took a breath and said,  “Oh really?  Does she have plans?”  Hold onto your hats readers because the wind that you’re about to suck in after I tell you his answer will clearly knock you off the seat you’re sitting on.  His reply:  Yeah, she has plans mom.  She’s going to back to school in August and will finish and go from there.   (Did you say big deal?  Just wait!)  I say: Oh great!  What is she studying?  He says:  Oh just general education.  Once she gets her diploma then she’ll think about college. 

Echo.  That’s all I heard.  An echo of the word diploma.  It echoed.,…and echoed.  Then I screamed.  Relax – just inside my head. 

Hmm.  “Uh, Hun?  How old is she?” 

“Oh, she’s 17.”

Echo.  Screaming.  Doink doink.  I look at my wrists.  Does it hurt to cut?

“Mom?  Mom?” 

“Oh yeah – so she’s 17, and not in high school, but has a baby?  Tell me more!”

I tried readers, seriously – but there was no way my voice was going to hide the absolutely 100% disappointment I felt at that moment.  If any of you fit the description of his new girlfriend please do not take offense.  When you’re a parent you understand that people can live hard lives and still come out on top.  I am one of those people.  However – it’s just not what you want for your child. 

So immediately I went into Mom Mode.  I asked if they would like to come to dinner so that I could meet her and her baby.  He lightened up immediately and said:  Sure that would be great.  And so that brings us to the present.  Tonight is the night.  Tonight is the night I will sit across from the 17 year old high school drop out baby mamma that is trying to actually step in on my son and his perfectly good life.  She will sit across from me and she will know.  She will know that I will be watching her.  They all do.  It’s happened many, many times before. 

Obviously this is a two-part post.  God help me tonight.  I will try to behave.  If I am unable, my shins will be bruised from under-the-table kicking, and somewhere my son end up comforting a 17 year old high school drop out baby mamma because his mother was a brutal bitch. 

Lord Have Mercy On ME!!!

The Crush....

For those of you with grown children do you remember what it was like when they had their first crush?  Of course I've been involved with many crushes when it comes to boys liking girls as my husband and I have four of them.  However, our youngest, my baby, is our only girl and now that she is in high school has discovered the opposite sex.  No longer are they nasty and stinky.  Nope - now suddenly she says to me:  It's weird but I really like hanging out with guys better than girls.  I don't know why but I just have a lot more friends that are guys than are girls.  Suddenly I have alarms going off in my head.  They sound like police sirens strangely mixed with the doink doink sound of Law & Order.  Instinctively I say to myself:  "just keep a closer eye on her - it's fine." 
Then comes the call - from her bedroom.  "MOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM" yells Kennedy.  "CAN YOU COME TO MY ROOM?"  For those of you with younger children please note right this minute that an invitation into the bedroom by your teenager is something that you must never turn down.  It's the moment in time where for some reason their disgust for you has become tolerant enough that they believe they want to actually have conversation with you.  I run.  I do not hesitate.  I need not think of why.  I don't care.  I have been invited.  I run up the stairs as fast as I can and into the bedroom across the balcony - of course it's the farthest one from me :)  She's sitting on her bed and I ask calmly (like it's no big deal) "What's up cutie?"  she says kind of shyly, "Well, I guess I should tell you.  You know that thing you said I should always let you know about?"  I'm searching my mind like an un-folded load of laundry that has swallowed your one matching black sock.  Outwardly I stay calm.  "Oh yeah?  What's that?"  Kennedy is smiling sheepishly and I'm seriously beginning to wonder if she's reached a new stage of dork when she lets it drop.  "I'm GOING with a guy" 
Readers - at this point you need to know that my parenting style is one of always always ALWAYS keeping an open line of communication.  It's pretty simple.  If you talk to your children they will talk to you.  If you treat them with respect they will in return respect you.  If you show them your love often, they will eventually treat you with love in return......after the "my parents are retarded" stage is finally over.  That being said - when I hear these words I draw a blank.  I'm seeing snow in my head - I have no words to say - I got nothing.  Tick tock goes the clock.  Kennedy is staring at me and I am wondering why I'm staring at her in return because I am 100% completely blank.  She brings me back.  "Did you hear me?"  I smile and shake my head.  I find my voice.  "Really? Who is it?"
I sit down on her bed and she lets me.  Wow.  This is serious.  From this point on she tells me about the boy.  How dreamy he is - how nice he is and the information comes to me in fragments as I'm only able to wonder what "DAD's" reaction is going to be.  This is another story, Reader, but it will be interesting.  As for now I am only reveling in this moment and in the fact that my daughter has chosen to deem me worthy of conversation.  We chat.  She smiles.  I smile.  I'm very open and frank about reminding her that even though she is in high school, the fact still remains that she is 14.  The age 14 still means: no dating, no "I love you" notes, no hanging on eachother.  None of it.  Of course she says she knows and wouldn't do that anyway.  My inner "me" is laughing her ass off because I know she will at some point.  Hopefully not yet.  Hopefully not for quite a while.  But I know this is where one of the hard parts of parenting comes in.  The part where you have to care - A LOT - because now you're going to be at ALL functions and hanging out with a large group of teenagers until after graduation because that's what it takes to be involved and aware of what's actually going on. 
Football game comes and I meet him.  He's in the marching Band with Kennedy.  I say "Hello" and quickly inform him of the ground rules for hanging around my daughter (I cannot bring myself to say boyfriend/girlfriend yet).  He says yes, ma'am to me multiple times.  He is cute as she says.  Polite as she says.  Manners, talent and a brain.  Okay - I get it.  However, that night at home I remind her that it's more important than ever to stay grounded and realize that all of the teenagers running around saying I LOVE YOU to every boy they date, hanging on eachother, and getting serious when they haven't even figured out what their life is about yet is a very dangerous thing to do and that I would not tolerate this behavior.  She agrees.  WHAT?????  Yes.  She agreed with me and reminded me that I had raised a very level-headed daughter. 
TIME WILL TELL.  I am watching like a hawk.  My house will not be clean for another four years because now it is yet again the "hangout" place for teenagers.  I'm okay with that.  It's the price of being a parent - a good one anyway. 

TO BE CONTINUED........

THE BLACK DRESS

Shopping for what is, in essence, a costume with a teenager is probably listed as one of the top ten reasons you get a migraine.  My adorable, beautiful, stunning, angelic princess Kennedy (stop laughing) is in the choir.  She is a stickler for following “choir” rules which leads me to think that I should name our house “CHOIR” in order to get her to follow my rules at home.  Anyway, to sing in the women’s choir at school you must be adorned in a long sleeve floor length black gown or shirt/skirt combination.  SERIOUSLY?  Where in the world do you find a fashion piece such as that, which is also appropriate for someone under 90 years old?????  I panicked the minute I found out her needs and proceeded to put the shopping trip for this “costume” off until the last minute.  I mean – come on – do you think I seriously WANT to visit hell?  No.  Finally, we’re just 2 days before her first choir concert and she is in serious panic mode about her dress.  Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to put it off so long after all because now I get to shop for this horrid outfit with a teenager who is in the middle of a panic attack while have that monthly visit from Aunt Flo.  Open Hell – Welcome Renae.  We go to the Mall and begin our search.  First Macy’s.  There is a relatively decent gown in their formal department that I secretly believe was made for an 80 year old woman’s last New Year’s Bash but I hold my tongue and look for Kennedy’s response.  I don’t get one.  This is because while I’ve taken the time to actually look at the dress she came, she saw, she immediately walked away.  I dare to say: Kennedy – did you see this one?  She flips her head around – I get the “glare of death” and she continues to walk away.  Simply put – I’m a dumb ass for even asking.  Reader, if you’re unfamiliar with the dumb ass reference, please refer to a previous blog where I explain this in more detail.  Back to the story.  I let go of the dress and follow my daughter who appears to be promptly leaving Macy’s.  They have nothing that would approach tolerance level with her.  We move on.  Next is Forever 21 because apparently she shops their web site and saw a dress.  However, we quickly find out they do not keep that particular gown in the stores as it doesn’t really sell that well.  Go figure.  We leave and I try to cheer up my beloved monster.  “No worries!” I say.  “We’ll find something.”  Kennedy immediately responds, “Mom – please – just – don’t”  She says all of this in broken sentence form without so much as a glance in my direction.  So much for cheering up.  I walk ahead a little bit and begin to guide us to JC Penny’s.  As we get closer I believe my brilliant daughter begins to realize this and says:  “Uh – Mom – stop – where ARE you going?”  I smile and cheerfully say:  JC Penny’s of course!  They always have lots of formal wear.  She stops.  So suddenly the person behind her almost collides with her almost causing an avalanche of mall rats.  She is staring at me like I have horns.  “What?” I innocently say?  Kennedy scowls and informs me viciously, although very quietly, “you are not making me go in that store.”  Another smile from me as I happily reply: “Oh, but yes I am doll – because this is probably the only place that’s going to have what we need.”  I don’t wait for a reply this time.  I might be a dumbass to a 14 year old but certainly not when it comes to mothering.  I head on to the store not daring to glance back and see if she is following.  That would give her reason to believe she has control.  Not anymore.  This bitchy momma has taken the reins and I’m getting this done whether she’s on board or not!!!  Off to JC Penny’s I go heading straight for the formal section.  I arrive and begin looking.  I don’t even look for Kennedy – although I believe she is there because I hear a sniff and some long nasty sighs (yes sighs can be nasty) behind me.  I see something.  It’s a floor-length gown, not too bad, but we’ll have to buy a long-sleeve shoulder jacket to go with it – who cares.  I grab the dress and the first one is Kennedy’s size.  It’s a sign.  I turn around – and yes, she’s there.  She looks at the dress and about knocks me over with her reply:  It’s not so bad.  I go with it.  “Take this and go try it on.  I’ll find some long-sleeve jackets to go with it and see if we can get out of this place!  I grab 5 different jackets and run to the dressing room.  The dress fits perfectly, except for the fact that it shows cleavage which is not allowed.  NO PROBLEM!!!!  I will sew a peace of material in that tear drop and we’re good.  She goes through the jackets and we agree on an acceptable one.  WHEW!!!!  We’re done and it only took an hour – I AM NOT KIDDING!!  We buy our purchase and Kennedy actually spies a coat she likes – SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!!!!!!!!  I get the dress without a nightmarish fight, and actually get to avoid the winter coat war too?  We’re on!!!!!!!!!!  “Throw the coat on the pile!”  I say.  WHAT’S THAT I SEE???  Kennedy is smiling!!!!  OMG – I’m not in Hell – I’m in Heaven.  THANK YOU GOD!!!!

The Pretties....

Dear Reader - I'm so sorry for my absence from the blog.  Literally, I think exhaustion overtook me for a few days.  In addition - there really hasn't been anything going on but the same of everything.  Work, kids, sleep, repeat.  HOWEVER, this past weekend my hubby and I decided to treat ourselves to a weekend away from it all.  Friday we packed up the car after work and headed to the Belterra Casino Resort and Spa for two nights.  Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!  It was awesome.  We had incredible dinners at Jeff Ruby's, great wine and gambling where for ONCE in my life we came out several hundred dollars ahead - Woohooo!!!!!  However, I have to interject at this point that I have another name for BCRS. I call it "House of the Pretties."  Yes - you will see the occasional couple of wealth - the 80 year old sugar daddies with their 25 year old arm candy.  The women who wear fur when it's 85 degrees outside because they can.  But seriously, if you sit at the corner of the main entrance at one of the starbucks tables and pretend to sip your coffee you will get an amazing show of the "pretties".  These are people who range in age from 25 to 95.  Some have no teeth, some have no hair.  Some are so tiny they look like skeletons with a layer of skin and others are so large that they can apparently no longer find shirts that will cover their bellies.  Some have obvious talent with makeup and others - well - there are others who believe their talent with makeup is so worthwhile that all should be able to see them coming from half mile away.  Then there's the hair.  This weekend proved to be very giving of stylish do's.  For instance, it was not unusual at all when the grandmother who was celebrating her 86th birthday at BCRS showed up in style sporting hair that was of three colors, the most vibrant being fuschia and going great with the other stripes of natural gray and black onyx.  A little gel to spike it up and gma was one heck of a hotty at the House of the Pretties.  There were long braids to the knees with stunning butterfly pins poking out here and there.  And while I didn't take the time to ask if the butterfly pins ever stuck her when she sat - I was truly amazed at how well they stood out.    There was a particularly interesting man who decided the hair on his head was better off staying gray but surely his beard needed to be jet black.  And his lovely long blue dress socks really showed off his shapely legs when matched with the red plaid shorts and brown plaid jacket.  Where oh where was his lucky woman??  But alas sitting at Starbucks is not the only place you can see the performance of The Pretties.  Nope - you can pretty much see them anywhere.  We grabbed breakfast at the buffet one morning and while sitting eating a mediocre morning meal the gracious hostess seated a family at the table next to us.  I immediately felt complete sympathy and concern for the mother.  God love her.  I'm not sure WHY stupid WalMart does not understand the needs of the "well-endowed" woman but it was obvious to both my husband and I immediately that she could not shop at WalMart and find a shirt large enough to cover her 16th and 17th roll for they were peeking out underneath her shirt moving and jiggling and assaulting us from 5 feet away.  Clearly WalMart saw the need to provide ample coverage in shirt sizes for her husband and son who were both larger than she.  What was good old Sam thinking when he decided to be so transparent by obviously catering to our largest men but not our largest women? Each time she picked up another kiebalsa sausage with her fingers and finished it off in one bite while being able to chew and lick her fingers at the same time, my heart went out to her.  Obviously this is a wounded soul.  I left breakfast early.  Sometimes The Pretties becomes a very emotional show and a viewing break may become necessary in order to avoid nausea and gagging.  There was definitely a time of learning this visit to BCRS.  I learned that The Pretties come with a wide variety of accessories.  What fun!!!  Everything from canes to self-whittled walking sticks.  They ride in on wheelchairs or use walkers that can convert into seats that give them an excellent view of any table or slot mahcine.  They carry oxygen tanks or attach them to their wheelchairs.  They even use the oxygen tubes to help carry the Rewards Card BCRS offers.  They have bags galore and fill them with the most amazing items.  One lady dropped her diaper as she was moving towards the bathroom.  She wasn't concerned though.  BCRS is a very clean place.  She picked it up and proceed to the bathroom where undoubtedly she put her hidden accessory to good use.  A new trend is to wear clothes with holes.  There was a very stylish man who had at least 3 or 4 good holes in his shirt placing awesome bets at the blackjack table.  He was not winning but the intensity was great.  I completely understood when he turned to me and asked me if by chance I had any cigarettes he could borrow.  Seems they are very expensive at BCRS and he certainly couldn't take any money away from his betting.  I completely understood and dug through my purse but much to my chagrin had to decline when I remembered I no longer smoke.  Sweet sweet man completely understood and just turned his toothless grin to the person on the other side of him.  Awwww - I love The Pretties.  Finally it was time to leave and as we strolled towards the exit I stopped one last time to take a look at my people.  I smiled at the shemale walking by and grinned even bigger when I saw the 23 year old couple with all four of their kids struggling to get to the buffet.  I got a couple of nods from smoking pregnant lady and her apache medicine man.  Goodbye for now my pretties.  I'll see you soon.

Heartache....

Heartaches come in all shapes and sizes.  There’s good heartache and bad.  There’s the smile of my 20 month old grandson that completely breaks my heart in two.  There’s the moment when your son tells you that he no longer wants to hug you goodbye at school.  There’s the moment when you realize your child has lied to you for the first time or the first time they tell you that they can’t stand you because you grounded them.  I’ve sent a kid to military school as punishment and cried for hours and hours after I dropped him off.  I’ve lost my father to an illness that could have been easily prevented and screamed at the chief of surgery because I couldn’t understand the fairness of it all.  I’ve been the victim of domestic violence and survived only to have a Judge tell me that I was required to subject my children to this horrible man twice a month.  I’ve suffered heartache - in small ways and in large ways.  I’ve been told I’m tough though I personally don’t think so.  I know some of my choices were more tough than others. I can look at all of these things and see the ones that were hard and the ones that were not so hard.  However, I cannot compare any of the previous aching that I’ve suffered to what happens to my heart every time I see her smile in my mind or hear her voice in my head.   If you’ve read any of my previous blogs you’ll know that my best friend, Bonnie, was killed in a car accident on August 7^th, 2010.  It’s been almost 2 months now and still I have moments that take my breath away because the heartache is so great.  Two nights ago I went to bed missing her so much I just laid on my husband’s shoulder and cried.  Not a hard cry - just a weepy soft cry.  Then last night I had a terrible nightmare where I was trying to reach her in a crowded room to tell her not to drive her car because there was going to be an accident.  She was across the room being her usual lovely self with friends and people wouldn’t get out of the way so she left and I woke up yelling for her.  It was devastating.  I don’t know quite how to process these moments.  I don’t know what behavior is acceptable.  I’m able to laugh and joke around with friends.  I’m able to kid around with my children and husband.  Then suddenly I find I want to scream to the world that Bonnie is dead and I won’t ever see her again.  Is that normal?  I don’t know.  I am addicted to pictures of her which kind of creeps my husband out.  I have her beautiful smile all over my house now and on my desk at work.  I constantly pull more up on my computer and just remember what we were doing at the time it was taken.  I talk to her on the way to work.  I suffered great loss before, but it was loss I could prepare for.  My grandfather was a great man who collapsed at my house but God still gave me another three weeks to be able to say goodbye to him.  My father became needlessly ill but I was given two months to prepare myself and tell him how much I loved him.  Nothing in the world prepares you for going on vacation with your best friends one week and then losing one of them just five days later.  It’s insane and I’m not sure that I can wrap myself around it yet.  I find myself wondering if she knew how much I loved her.   I can’t remember if I told her how thankful I was for her – although that was standard conversation on our little trips together.  What would I say if I had five more minutes?  I think this is at least part of it:  Bonnie:  You’re beautiful and crazy all at the same time.  You’re the most understanding, attentive, loveable friend I’ve ever had.  I’m so thankful that you’ve been there to give me good advice when it comes to my children.  I’m so thankful that you let me vent and cuss and say things I shouldn’t then you let me tuck it away and act like I never did it.  THANK you for loving me so much that you stood up for me even when you knew I was wrong.  Thank you for not always telling me when I was wrong because I know there have been many.  Thank you for all of the home-made gifts you’ve given me like my FBI badge, the beach ball, the hat, the pictures – gosh you put in a lot of time and effort just being my friend…  Thank you for laughing so much and making me laugh right along with you.  Thank you for coming into my life when you did and blessing me for so long with the type of friendship I never knew existed until I met you.  I love you.  I need you.  Please don’t leave me.  Life without you around will be gray….  

I know there is more to say – my mind just floods and then stops thinking altogether.  Today is not an exceptionally sad day.  I still have friends making me laugh.  But in the background – where I try my best to keep it – is that terrible ache that I’m not sure will ever go away.  It’s the ache that fills the hole in my heart that was once filled with her every day antics.  I miss you sweet girl. 

Dumbass

If you are the mother of a teenager you know why sometimes animals eat their young, right?  Seriously – all joking aside – you know why, right?  It is very evident that my 14 year old thinks I know nothing at all.  It is only because I remember feeling the same way when I was her age that I have not strangled her and roasted her like a pig.  I do realize that some day she’ll think I’m smart enough to come to for advice.  However, this stage where I’m a complete dumbass is a bit irritating to say the least.  I am good for only a few things at this point in her life.  That is paying for her needs, driving her places and fetching whatever she needs if she feels sick.  I am good enough to cook for her, but not to explain to her that when cleaning the kitchen you might want to use an actual cleaner on the counter.  I’m a dumbass.  I’m good enough to turn the temperature down at night, but a complete idiot if I feel the temperature should be higher than 68 during the day.  I’m a dumbass.  I am absolutely excellent at going to the mall and pulling out my bank card, but good grief what was I thinking when I suggested she might look cute in that shirt????????  I’m a dumbass.  What?  You need your hair cut?  Not a problem because I know exactly where the best hair dresser is.  No – I won’t suggest any styles to you because it is obvious I have no taste at all.  I’m a dumbass.  I will be there to cheer you on during your competitions because I ROCK at being supportive, but I had no clue that using your actual name therefore allowing people to know that the mom with the painted face and pompoms is your mom is an outrageous thing to do.  I’m a dumbass.  THANK GOD that I know exactly the right medicine that helps you when you’re in the midst of painful pms but for freaking sake how could I even begin to suggest you take it BEFORE the pms begins to be preventative?  I’m a dumbass.  Telling you that you need to get more sleep in order to not be so tired – how do you put up with the dumbass that’s your mother?  Wanting you to do the laundry before the entire 2^nd floor of the house smells like your dirty socks?  Dumbass.  Suggesting that you shut your bathroom door during your menstrual cycle so I do not have to pull another tampon out of the dogs mouth is proof that once again, I am a complete and total dumbass.  Of course the list could go on from here to eternity but I think, Dear Reader, you are beginning to pick up the frustration that I am so graciously laying at your feet.  Therefore, I’ll stop.  This dumbass mother must wrap up the day and go take my brilliantly smart and wise teenager for her hair appointment and Halloween costume.  Clearly I will try to think of ways not to burden her with my dumbassiveness.