Humility and High Blood Pressure...Courtesy of your Teen Daughters

"What the daughter does, the mother did." ~ Jewish proverb

Could that possibly be true? That saying, that proverb?
"What the daughter does, the mother did."
If it is true, then I need to fall on the ground and immediately offer my deepest apologies to my own mother for my teen years.
I feel like it is probably true, you know, especially because it's attributed to being not just any old proverb, but a Jewish proverb. That instantly lends credence to it, don't you think? Much more than if I were to spout something off that I thought was wise. It would just be followed by "German Lutheran proverb" and I don't think it carries as much weight. Unless it's something my Grandma Tillie says, and I always listen to her words of wisdom because that shit is usually SPOT ON.
Anyway, back to my teen daughters...
Right now, I have three of them.
Let that sink in - Three. Teen. Daughters.
Three onsets of puberty. Three sets of drama. Three sets of attitude.
When they were little I would dress them in coordinated Easter dresses and have a professional photographer take adorable photos with real bunnies. My family and friends would ooh and ahh over the photos, then shake their heads knowingly and say, "They're sweet now. Give 'em another 10-12 years."
I secretly thought that this was said by people who didn't know any better. At the very least, they didn't know ME. They didn't know I would parent with a stern but loving hand and my daughters would always look to me for guidance and advice.
Jesus, I must have been totally high.
I had no idea that not only would they openly laugh at helpful suggestions I gave, they would actually perfect their own teenage response to me: Snarl and scoff, followed by an immediate eye roll. This move has been made so efficient it's usually completed in less than a second. And for good measure, sometimes they throw in an extra treat. It's called Mocking. And they love to do it when it's two or three against one (me).
Whatever, I quit worrying what 13 year old girls thought of me once I turned 14.
But as a parent, sometimes their words have the ability to not only humble me, but make my blood pressure skyrocket.
For instance, a few weeks ago I took two of my teen daughters out of town on a weekend away. I was actually driving my 16 year old to spend time with her long distance boyfriend. Pretty cool of me, right? I would think that would earn me some points.
Before we left, I asked what I should pick up from the store.
"Tampons," one replied. "Right," the other one agreed. "And get the slender or regular sized ones for us. We don't have super sized big vaginas like you do."
At that, they both started laughing and my left eye started twitching uncontrollably.
"Oh yeah?" I replied. "Just wait until you have four kids and we'll see what size you need then. And for the last time, it's about absorbency, and NOT the size of your hoo-ha."
"Ok, whatever Mom."
I felt myself getting sucked into a high school argument. "And just so you know, I had a surgery after your brother was born because he was 10 pounds and now it's like brand new down there."
"Ack! Quit talking about your vagina."
"Whatever, you little shits brought it up."
So you see how easy it is to get humbled and mortified by these amazingly beautiful creatures? The same girls who have no problem taking videos on the sly of me dancing or yelling and then sending them out via Snapchat (all to hilarious responses from their friends), are the same sweet and loving creatures I will occasionally get a glimpse of. They'll ask me to play with their hair or they'll lay their head in my lap. Sometimes they're quiet, sometimes they're talkative. Sometimes they show their vulnerability and their fears. Sometimes they ask me questions or confide things to me. Sometimes they just want to hear what I have to say about my thoughts about the scary things going on in the world.
The bombings.
The plight of all those refugees.
The unknown future.
Sometimes I just look at them and am rendered speechless by how beautiful they are, how funny and witty and generous with others they are (just not always with me).
I know I can be witty and sarcastic and when I'm on a roll...I can be pretty damn funny sometimes. I should be happy and proud that I'm raising teen daughters who have no problem saying what's on their minds. This is what we want, right?
"What the daughter does, the mother did."
At this point I should just be eternally grateful they haven't followed my footsteps and thrown such incredibly big high school parties when my parents were gone that I STILL can't believe we didn't all end up in jail.
Sorry, Mom.
And to my daughters with no filters and no fear of offending me, you're lucky me and my super big vagina are so forgiving.

Netflix and chill...

It's not like I'm completely clueless when it comes to figuring out the lingo and accepted behavior of teens and young adults.
I know when to use "on fleek" compared to its first cousin "on point." (Hint... it has to do with eye brows).
I could, if forced, correctly use the phrase "turnt up" properly.
I know I'm supposed to only "like" my kids' statuses and photos on social media. God forbid if I make an actual comment, it mysteriously disappears within a couple minutes.
And if I answer a text like a 13 year old (Chloe: "Mom can we go to Target this weekend?" Me: "YASSS!") she'll most likely roll her eyes but at least she'll have to acknowledge I used the word in the correct context.
But I will admit it took me a bit to catch on to the true meaning of the phrase "Netflix and chill."
I truly thought it meant just that... come over to binge watch some series like "American Horror Story" or "Orange is the New Black", order a pizza and relax on the couch.
I had no idea that everyone under the age of 30 was using it as a code for having sex.
How did I miss that?
And seriously, why you gotta ruin a good thing? A true Netflix and chill date is my idea of a near-perfect evening. Your date comes over with some beer, and you decide on which episode of "House of Cards" to start. Plus, you're most likely wearing yoga pants and you're already in a semi-horizontal position, so if you DO decide to get frisky after a bit, you're already halfway there. It's like the lazy girl's dream date. But there's no ultimate expectation. Maybe you end up doing the horizontal tango, maybe you don't. It's a mystery. But hey, at least you get to watch some good TV.
Another thing that changed in the dating landscape over the last several years is the term "send me a picture." When I first started dating after my divorce, and some guy would ask me to send him a picture, I honestly thought he meant a head and shoulder shot. Like, similar to our senior pictures from the 80s, when we used to give a wallet sized picture to our crush. Now, it usually means "send me a nude."
Whatever. I can usually creatively get through that conversation without sending a close up of my va jay jay. The worst is when the guy does one of the most annoying things out there when you're starting to date: sends an unsolicited dick pic.
Honestly, why???
What am I supposed to say? How am I supposed to react? It's one thing if you asked him to send it...it's quite another if it's from a guy you just shared an appetizer with at TGI Fridays.
I heard someone say once that women usually react to an unsolicited dick pic similar to when some one's cat shows up with a dead mouse at the front door: we murmur "thank you, that's nice", and the second they turn their head, we throw it away.
So maybe that will be the biggest challenge when it comes to my dating life - figuring out what exactly means what. I will need to be clear about what I'm asking. God forbid I text a potential date "Send me a pic" and then, without warning, I get a picture of his "baby arm".
Thank god I have teenagers that usually keep me clued in. And there's always Google and Urban Dictionary. When in doubt, search it out.
Speaking of my kids, I think a good old fashioned horrifying conversation is overdue.
I think I'll tell 'em I can't wait until next weekend so I can Netflix and chill with someone.

Viva la Pubes!

"How do I confront aging? With a wonder and a terror. Yeah, I'll say that. Wonder and terror." ~ Keanu Reeves


It used to be in our 20s and 30s my friends and I would ask each other questions like, "Where'd you get those shoes? That shirt? That purse?"
Now in our 40s, our questions are more singular.
"Your skin looks great. What do you use?"
"Do you get fillers?"
"Jesus, did you get a laser treatment? Your face looks AMAZING."
Who gives a crap if our purse is Coach anymore. Our seasonal clutch can look like it's the finest of leathers, but our faces better not.
It's a funny thing, this aging business. I honestly haven't thought about it much until recently. I've been blessed with good genes and have been using moisturizer for as long as I can remember, but genetics and Olay Regenerist can only carry you so far. The rest is a result of our environment and getting older.
The other day I was at a pool party with my friends and we were talking about sleeping positions. I mentioned I was a side sleeper, but it had a cosmetic drawback.
"Like what?" my friend asked.
I held up three fingers in my cleavage, bending them and pointing toward her. "You know, like you get that pterodactyl claw mark on your chest when you wake up." My friend nodded gravely. She got it. That was never a concern for us a few years ago. And a wrinkled décolletage is about as sexy as Donald Trump in a string bikini.
You know what else wasn't a concern a few years ago? Our eyesight. Now my friends and I will discuss it like we just discovered a new sex position. "Have you gotten cheaters yet? You haven't?? Seriously, you need to. You will love them." They'll nod knowingly and I'll think to myself "No way in HELL am I getting cheaters."
But alas, my arm is no longer long enough to hold something out so I can read the small print. And that's why I found myself shopping one day and looking at a pair of animal print cheaters with rhinestones on the frames. I hurriedly paid for them and shoved them in my purse, vowing to tell no one.
Of course my kids noticed when I put them on to read. "Are you using cheaters now?"
"Yes," I told them. "And it's like a damn miracle. I should have been using these two years ago."
Unfortunately my joy at my new vision was short-lived, however. I came home from work last week and was informed by my oldest daughter that our one-year old dog destroyed a few things when he was left alone. "The dog ate your cheaters."
Great.
You know what else I notice is different when you get older? Pubic hair.
Thank god I didn't fall into the "permanently remove all traces of pubic hair" craze of the mid 2000s. Don't get me wrong... I do get a regular wax. Grown women feel about a bikini wax the same way 6 year olds feel about putting out a plate of cookies for Santa...we're not 100% sure about that upcoming evening's activities, but we really hope something good is going to happen. I just wouldn't do anything drastic like getting EVERYTHING permanently removed.
I remember about 12 years ago one of my co-workers leaned over my cube wall and said, "Hey, they're running a special at one of those laser places. You can get a two-for-one special. So like, you can get your leg hair removed and then they can do your pubic hair too. For free."
I looked at her quizzically. "I don't think that's such a good idea," I told her.
"Why not?" she asked, surprised.
"Because. Just because 'bare-as-a-Barbie-doll' is all the rage now doesn't mean it will be 10 or 20 years from now. We're all going to look like a plucked deli chicken down there when we're in the nursing home. And no one wants to see a 95 year-old's meat curtains."
She remained unconvinced. "Well, I'm getting it done. I'm never going to have to shave or wax my bikini hair again."
Well, good for her. But as you know... the trend for a visible bush is now back in vogue. I believe men (and women who love women) are no longer always interested in seeing something that resembles a toddler. They want a woman who looks like a woman. And for those of us who resisted the urge to permanently remove the bush, now we have options. We can continue to wax or shave and we can even get creative. I've heard there are women who dye it and have crazy shapes waxed into it. So if you want to color it hot pink and wax your lover's initials into it, you go girl.
But even with a trendy patch of pubic hair and blinged out cheaters, there are other signs of aging that can creep up on us. Previously I'd been obsessing over the wrinkles around my eyes. And no amount of eye cream can erase them. So unless I can find a giant clothes pin that I can attach to the back of my head and pull my facial skin super taut, I'm going to have to make peace with those wrinkles. But lately I'm learning to embrace them. They're most pronounced when I smile and laugh. And you know what? I kinda love my laugh lines. They're proof I'm having a good life. I'm finding joy and humor, and that's the best way to spend my days...even if I can't read the ingredients label on my vitamins and I don't look like a billiard ball below the waist.
Viva la laugh lines and pubes!

I Hope You Felt it Enough

They say a mother is hardest on her first born daughter.
Even more so than if a son had been born first. I have no idea why this is. I mean, I have an inkling. We see ourselves in our daughters, and all of our fears and insecurities and dreams and desires are thrust into this wide-eyed 7 pound newborn who enters our lives and turns our world upside down. We are anxious, awed, in love and amazed. We doubt everything we do and those daughters certainly get the brunt of it. By the time the second baby comes along, we are far more relaxed and not nearly as high strung. We suck carpet lint off a pacifier and plop it back into our baby's mouth, while using a fingernail to pick out a rogue booger out of their nose.
I've been planning on writing this blog for my first born daughter Frankie Christine, for close to a year now. She turns 18 in a few weeks and graduates shortly thereafter. This letter to her will be way better than anything I can scribble in a Hallmark card on graduation day, right? It will let her know all my feelings in a creative setting, and I figured this would be as easy as pie.
I was wrong.
Every time I think of this blog entry I tear up. My eyes are filled right now as I type this. And granted, I am a grade-A sap. In fact, my cousin Chanda and I took a quiz in Seventeen Magazine when we were young, titled: "How Emotional Are You?" We both got "Weeping Willows." So, it should be no shocker that I am overwhelmed by all sorts of feelings at this chapter in my daughter's life. But let me write this and finish it, before all my makeup runs off and I am left with a bare face.
And we all know how uncomfortable I am without full hair and makeup.
My sweet baby Frankie,
In a few short weeks you are going to be going through one of the most exhilarating and exciting times of your life. I cannot believe you will be graduating high school and getting ready for college. I don't want to waste one more minute of saying "I am really going to miss you" because it just makes me sad, and I don't want you to feel bad either. That is not my intention.
What is my number one concern is making sure you have felt the intense love and pride I have had for you since the day you were born.
You came into this world a little early and under some scary circumstances, but once you looked at me my heart melted. You were truly the most beautiful thing I had every seen. And once you started smiling, I couldn't help but smile back at you. It was contagious.
Then you grew up, and had to share my attention with two more sisters and a brother. I loved you just as fiercely as before, and I hoped you felt that. I know that you knew it, but I want to make sure you felt it as well.
You grew older and more independent, and your personality started taking on the cool and funny shape that I absolutely adore. I was so proud of the tasks that you tackled and how good you did in school. And that pride thing is continuous and evolving... I'm proud of so many things that you've done. Especially the tasks you tried and decided, "Nope, not for me." At least you tried.
I'm proud that you started being a nanny at 15 and started working at 16 to help pay for your own things. I'm proud that you filled out all of those college admission forms on your own and applied for dozens of scholarships without any prodding from me.
I hope you felt how proud of you I've been all these years.
And you put up with a mother who can be a little over the top, too. I get that. I'm a bit over-protective. While my instinct is to wring someone's neck, I am in awe of your ability to handle situations with far more grace than I. When your prom date last year ended up making out with another girl during the dance, I couldn't even breathe in a regular pattern. If I had known while watching you at the Grand March that a few hours later that kid was going to do that, I would have scrambled down those bleacher steps and punched him right in the wiener. Yeah, I'm referring to you T-Man.
I hope you felt how protective I've been, and how it's always come from a place of love.
When you notice things are needed in the house, and pick up dish soap or toilet paper or laundry detergent, don't think I don't notice. I know I say thank you, but I want you to know how much I appreciate you doing that. Not every teenager picks up on things like you do.
I'm sure you know how much I appreciate those things you do, but I hope you felt it.
Because see, there's a difference in knowing and feeling it. Words are just that - words. Anyone can say complimentary words or profess thanks, but my greatest hope is for you to feel it. Deeply.
The intense love, the fierce pride, the deepest appreciation
I hope you felt it enough. That is my wish for you.
You broke me in as a mother and I am deeply honored to have come this far with you on your life's journey.
I can't wait to see what the future holds in store for you.
Thank you for the joy you have given me.
Love,
Mom