Tag: teenagers

i’m not ready…

“Mom, don’t wash any of my clothes. I’m saving up all of my dirty laundry and I’m going to wash it right before I leave on my trip.” Nic is referring to the fourteen hour road trip he has been planning for several months, with three other eighteen year old boys. Over the July Fourth

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Magic 18

My youngest son Nic dropped a bomb on me and Hubs a couple of weeks ago; he said he wanted to attend a gamer’s convention in July, in Austin Texas, with two of his friends. All three of the boys will be eighteen years old by July. And you know. Eighteen. That magic age when

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Yes Sir, That’s My Dobby

Do you ever look for pieces of yourself in your kids? Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I look for resemblances because I had C-sections; I went to sleep pregnant and woke up with a screaming baby and everybody said yeah, he’s yours. And I just believed them. Seventeen year old Nic is my youngest son,

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Two Down, One To Go

Today I had a list. I had a plan. I was going to wake up early, have my usual two cups of coffee, eat breakfast and go to Weirdmart for dinner and paint supplies. Then I planned to come home and throw a roast in the crockpot, and go for a run. Later, I planned

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Ice, Please.


Everybody Else’s Mother Wins Again

I’m not going to win The Mother of the Year Award again this year. That’s twenty-six years in a row I’ve been passed up. I’m starting to feel like Susan Lucci. My twenty-six year old son is currently annoyed with me because I called him too early this morning, and I woke him up to

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Dyeing Is In The Details, Mrs. Magoo

Last week while I was still living in denial and suffering from old-age blindness because of irrational fears, I tried to dye a pair of shorts. I bought the cutest pair of green shorts, wore them once, and splashed a bleach on them. So I decided to be all DIYer, and salvage my shorts by

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Counting Fingers, Toes & Pubes

As I rushed my youngest son Nic out of the door to school this morning, I counted down the minutes and I realized, Motherhood is all about counting. Nic you have fifteen more minutes… Nic you have five more minutes… Seventeen years ago, I started off by counting Nic’s fingers and toes, his ounces of

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