Tag: Teens

what are names?

Recently I had lunch with my oldest son Jamie, and the subject of names came up because a relative recently gave her baby an oddball name, from a character in a popular slasher flick. Then my son told me about a kid he knew in college named Baskin Knight. Naturally I asked if his middle

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I’m The Shell & I’m Cracked Open & Ready When He Needs Me

I’m watching my middle son sleep. That doesn’t sound abnormal, right? Until I tell you my middle son is twenty-two years old and is just visiting for a few days. Yeah. Now it’s creepy. You still don’t think so? Okay imagine for a second… What if my son opened his eyes at four-thirty in the

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Tooth Fairies, Placental Guilt & Dorothy Hamill

My youngest son Nic will sit for his senior portrait tomorrow, and last week he asked me if he could get his haircut a few days before the pictures, because he wanted a chance for his hair to grow, and not look so freshly coiffed. Wow, I thought to myself, he is really growing up.

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Beware of the Frogs

My seventeen year old son Nic walked out to his car a couple of nights ago, and when he came back inside, he said the four words that make me want to head for the hills, or north of I-10; escape the burbs; abandon my comfy little house, and refill my Valium. Every-single-effing-year… The Formosans

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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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I’ll Be Your Son For Chocolate

I’m an auto-pilot parent. Well, sort-of. I mean, I worry and keep track of the kid; but the helicopter parenting days are long gone. And my almost-seventeen-year-old son, Nic, likes to pretend he was hatched from an egg anyway, so he barely gives me the time of day… Until a candy holiday. Mom, am I

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Shut The Elf Up

After your kids grow up, do you wonder what to do with all those Christmas ornaments you bought for them every year? This past Christmas, while decorating the tree, I broke a hollow glass ornament marked “Jamie 2002” (in 2002, my oldest son Jamie was fifteen). When I bent over to pick up the pieces

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