I love my Friday mornings, I get to sleep in, send The Husband off to work, wake the kids up and take them to school. Then, at last, I get two uninterrupted hours of coffee and blog time to myself before I head to work. Most, which is used on Facebook, because I don’t do time management well (so now you all know the reason for the low-quality blog I run here).
But, I am not blogging about my blog this beautiful crisp autumn morning, I want to address a more concerning matter. One I noticed this morning as I was dropping my preteen son off at school, as I gave him a nurturing motherly kiss atop his greasy, musty mop head, and watched him run off in his broken down, stinky sneakers.
which, I swear I just bought him a month ago (so please don’t pity him for his parents who don’t care enough to get him new shoes, I am just refusing to buy a new pair every freaking month because he can’t keep at least one freaking pair of shoes in good condition, and he doesn’t care enough to get with the program).
He ran off in his sneakers, barely brushed teeth, ill-fitting t-shirt, and sweat pants, because apparently now he doesn’t like the feeling of all the nice jeans I got him this school year. I promise, people, I don’t nag him half as much as I complain on here.
But it hit me, at that point, nothing can prepare you for the prepubescent stank the follows every child from the age of ten and beyond. The filth, the smells, the illogicality, and their utter lack of caring.
I really thought I would be able to handle this age, I am not a clean freak, and am quite lackadaisical when it comes to sanitary qualities but these kids really have one over me. I mean how does one spill a cup of pickle juice in their room?
Oh, OK, it was a melted pickle pop you made from the leftover pickle juice that melted while you guys were playing video games. Well then, the food ban is back on, no food in your rooms, nowhere but the kitchen will there be food allowed!
I can guarantee the cease fire only lasts a day or two before they start smuggling food back in their rooms like the couple of dirty little rodents they are.
Side note: do you know what pickle juice soaked dirty carpet in an eleven-year-old boys room starts to smell like after a while? A lot like him armpits I frequently have to remind him to deodorize, or as he so cleverly coined the phrase, “Deo the B.O.”.
I really thought I would be able to handle this because I knew his father as a teenager. The boy I sat next to in math class, the boy who once told me he was going to see how long he could go with-out showering… somewhere in my teenage girl subconscious, I thought “hey, he seems like a catch, this guy is going places” I was right, though, he was and still is a catch and I love him still with all the smells.
I ended up telling him “Dude, you stink, go take a shower tonight” he was about a week in. This is also the guy that had a turtle living in a kiddie pool in his bedroom, and I won’t go into what was under his bed. Stinky, illogical, teenagers. His mother is a wonderful, strong woman.
I am hoping to have half her strength as I raise my teenagers, because the daughter isn’t any better! When cleaning her room this summer, we found half eaten melted candy from last Halloween and Christmas. I swear she is the only kid who doesn’t candy (she prefers the pickle pops). The mice must have liked it, though, because we also found a nest, in an old shoe, hidden away in the corner of her bedroom. Unfortunately, the baby mice did not survive the wreckage and wrath of a ten-year old girls bedroom.
Rest in peace, little rodents.
…the mice, not the kids, guys!
They even find ways to be gross while sleeping. I am usually out the door before my house is awake, so I get to kiss my sleeping angel’s goodbye every morning (except for my blogging Fridays, of course). Before my coffee, way too early in the morning, and before my stomach has nerved up for the day.
I have learned to keep my nose closed during these farewells. I don’t know what kind of gasses and oral bacteria’s grow while they sleep but it’s all hot boxed in their thousands of messy layers of blankets (because of course they aren’t going to make a bed, I am lucky they keep a bottom sheet on the mattress), mouths wide open, their hair all wet and unwashed, smelling of old church basements and wet dog. Half the time still wearing the clothes they have worn for two days now (only on the weekends, my friends).
So, this is the best I can paint the image of raising preteens. And I swear, like I said before, as much as I complain on here, I just go with it most of the time. The best advice I can give anyone coming up on these amazing years of parenting is steel yourself, because if you thought those diapers and vomit were bad, you’re in for a treat. Relax and remember it will pass, they don’t stay in junior high forever. Dear Lord, I at least hope not.
Lastly and mostly, keep a sense of humor, because if you can’t laugh at your kids, you guys won’t survive, and more importantly they might not either.