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Vroom vroom vroooooooom

I don’t think I ever posted about taking Chickadee to get her learner’s permit. We did it well ahead of when we let her start driving—much to her chagrin, because we are simply The Worst—and I guess it seemed like sort of a non-event? The most entertaining part was that it was a twofer—our Bonus Kid at the time who was about half a step above being an orphan also came along for permit-ing due to a lack of actual parental units willing to do the honors, and theoretically you have to be a relative to take a minor to the DMV for this stuff, so when asked if said kid was my child, I smiled and lied, claiming to be the aunt. Without batting an eyelash the clerk signed and stamped all the paperwork while the kids tried not to giggle.

We came home, took a dozen pictures of the two of them posing with their permits, and then neither of them actually learned how to drive. Kind of anti-climactic.

It was a good eight months later that we finally allowed Chickadee behind the wheel, and for the first four months of practice, it was slow going. She was terrified, for one thing, and for another, we’re still The Worst, setting up RIDICULOUS and UNFAIR rules like “be caught up on your schoolwork” and “treat family members with respect” and other such nonsense to earn a turn behind the wheel. It wasn’t until a couple months ago when she really started getting her crap together on a consistent basis that we moved to serious training. Nowadays, if we’re headed somewhere? I just toss her the keys and get in the passenger seat. We’ve both just gotten comfortable with this new status quo. (more…)

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Countdown to independence

Chickadee is in the process of deciding which colleges she wants to apply to. This is exciting, but also just plain WEIRD, not to mention a little scary. (I mean, for me. Probably for her, too, but I don’t presume to speak for her.) By this time next year, we’ll know where she’s headed.

That means I have just one year left to teach her how to be a self-regulating semi-adult human being. AHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAOMG. (Hang on while I type the rest of this with my head between my knees.)

Throw in the intrinsic differences between my kids when it comes to some areas of self-awareness and regulation, and I’m flying blind. It’ll all work out, though. I mean, probably. Right? Right. Today at Alpha Mom I’m loosening the reins in preparation, and we’re a little excited and a little nervous.

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Admitting ignorance is the first step

Remember the old saying about how a kid’s parents get dumber and dumber until the kid is an adult and then—magically—the parents start getting smart again? We’re going through that right now, and I always thought it meant that hahaha, the kids would think I was dumb when really I wasn’t, BUT NO, I’ve come to believe that I am truly losing brain cells as they get older. My poor kids, and their dumb ol’ mom who can barely function anymore.

For a while there, Monkey was very fond of declaring, “It’s okay, I’m a doctor!” in response to any sort of doubting of his ability. This morphed into, “It’s okay, I’m a DOG-tor!” (usually while holding a dog, natch), and now it seems like everyone in the family uses it as an all-purpose response. Well. The other day I tried to say “It’s okay, I’m a DOG-tor!” and it came out more like, “It’s okay, I’m a dog door!” and now Chickadee is fond of saying, “It’s okay, Monkey, Mom is a dog door.” I have no idea what any of that means, but there you have it. How dumb am I? I am SO DUMB, I am now a dog door. (May I show you to the run? It’s lovely out there.)

In the meantime, my children only increase in their ingenuity. About a week ago I discovered Chickadee’s watch left on my desk after the kids headed to school, so I sent her a picture of it with the caption, “OH NO!” She replied with this image, and the caption “IT’S OKAY, I GOT THIS.” Because of course.

All of this is a long preface to two things. The first thing is that driver training continues apace even though I am really dumb, and you should go read about it over on Alpha Mom if you are so inclined. The second thing is that we’re thinking of launching an advice column over on Alpha Mom sort of like Amalah’s Advice Smackdown, but for questions specifically about older kids and teens/young adults instead of little kid stuff. Would you read that? Would you ask stuff? Would you ask stuff and read it even if I—clueless and confused much of the time—was the one writing it? Any and all feedback welcome, and if you’d rather just send in a question because you think it’s such a great idea, hit me up at (Have I mentioned lately that you’re my favorite? You totally are.)

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Who says romance is dead?

Exactly eight years ago, right about now I was getting my hair done in preparation for taking another crack at the whole ’til-death-do-us-part thing. That feels simultaneously about a million years ago AND just a few weeks ago. Time is weird like that.

As is his style, Otto swooped into the kitchen this morning with a small flourish and a big, “Happy Familyversary!” and an extremely thoughtful gift for me and a family gift for all of us. He is the BEST. (Did you know that the 8th anniversary is pottery? I got a beautiful piece and we’re all going to a wheel class at a local studio next week to make our own creations, too. Again, I say: HE IS THE BEST.)

Because I suck, I confess that often I don’t get him an anniversary gift at all because I suffer from Gift Anxiety and his presentations to the three of us each year are always so thoughtful and amazing I feel like I cannot possibly compete. But something spoke to me this year, something I think he needs to have at this point in our marriage, and so I actually have a little something for him. Rather… it’s arriving today. Shipping was slow. So:

Me: I have something for you. But you have to wait until tonight.
Him: Oh?
Chickadee: GROSS.
Me: Ha! Not that, something else. It’s arriving tonight.
Him: Oh. [He sounded a little disappointed.]
Me: But hey, THAT TOO, if you want.

It’s actually more romantic when you can squick out the nearest teen. I’m pretty sure that’s a thing.

Happy anniversary, honey! Whaddaya say we go out to dinner tonight and find an innocuous way to mortify both children in public to further cement our love and kick off the next eight years together?

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Breaking Craigslist news

The last time I tried to sell something on Craigslist, I received a slew of weirdo spammy responses about how “I come right now and pay you twice your asking price” followed by “and then you ship item to my little cousin in Upper Slobovia, yes?” and never anything that led even remotely close to an actual sale. I listed my item (a decent Yamaha student trumpet; anybody need a trumpet?) twice and had no luck either time. So when Otto declared he would list our old, peeling patio furniture on Craigslist and handle everything, I may have snickered to myself a bit. He listed it for twice what I thought it was probably worth, and I figured he could deal with the spambots for a while before we donated the set to Goodwill.

He sold it yesterday (less than two days after listing it). Takeaway: in case you were wondering, my husband is made of magic and Craigslist mojo.

We celebrated with cheap Mexican food out on the porch (Cinco de Taco!), wherein I commented only two or three times how much I love the new furniture.

In unrelated news, school is drawing to a close for the year, at which point I will officially have a junior and a senior (ZOMG A SENIOR HURRY PANIC COLLEGE ANGST AAAIIIEEEEE), and because I don’t want to think about what’s coming next, I am parking myself firmly in the current end-of-school-year angst with my youngest. He’s doing a lot better than he thinks, and you can read about it over at Alpha Mom if you’re so inclined.

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All I could get Chickadee to tell me she wanted for her birthday was permission to install Snapchat. (Owing to an unfortunate bending of the house rules a few years ago, that particular app was off the table for a while, because I am a Giant Meaniepants.) I let her go the entire day without mentioning it, then downloaded it to her phone right before she went to bed that night. Then, of course, I had to install it, myself, and it was even more cringetastic than this:

It got me thinking, though, that as inept as I am, it’s always worth it to meet the kids wherever they are in terms of their preferred method(s) of communication. I think Snapchat is dumb, but whatever. It’s working for us.

In fact, quite a few things I never would’ve predicted are working for us right now, so I’m sharing over at Alpha Mom, because maybe you, too, have a teenager daughter who wants you to leave her alone and cuddle with her, simultaneously. It’s not just me, right…?

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Turn down for Flerp

I don’t know if you knew this, but today is a very special holiday. Just in case we all suddenly fell and hit our heads and forgot, my darling daughter made sure to note it on the family calendar pretty much the moment we flipped over to April.


That’s right—Flerp Derp hopes you are all observing International Flerp Day today. (Translation: It’s her birthday. Please to remit candy immediately.) (more…)

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Trick your children into feeding you

I love to cook, you know. I do. I love food, I love trying new recipes, I love nourishing my family. But—and this may come as a shock, I know—sometimes I am just REALLY TIRED and I think to myself, “Aren’t these people old enough to feed themselves??” The answer is “sort of,” because left to their own devices, no one feeds ME, and that is sad.

So when I was offered a review opportunity with the “suggestion” that I turn it into a “get your teens excited about cooking” angle, I was allllllll over it. They said “write about your kids getting excited about meal prep” but I heard “force your children to prepare a lovely meal for you,” but whatever; potato, potahto, I’m in.

If you have your own disgruntled slave labor available—or even if you don’t, but think it would be fun to have fresh, delicious ingredients and recipes delivered to your door—you’re going to want to check out our experience with Blue Apron. (Spoilers: Chickadee wore my Wonder Woman apron, Monkey finally got his picture on the Internet, and dinner was delicious. Also, we have a special promo offer for readers you should go snag.)

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Developmentally (in)appropriate

It may not make sense to those of you with “normal” kids, but we always have to do a little celebration around here whenever we see “typical teen” behavior, given that whole asynchronous-development thing that tends to leave my special snowflakes lagging behind their peers in various ways.

So anyway, I had a touch of food poisoning or something, and Otto went out and bought me some crystallized ginger because he’s sweet, and then Monkey took it upon himself to enhance the label. I tried to get mad when I saw this, because COME ON, really? But on the other hand, it made me laugh, because WAY TO GO TOTALLY NORMAL AND DISGUSTING TEENAGE BOY. Well played.


(There’s nothing like a little orgy to settle your stomach. Apparently.)

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Life lessons abound

I know; I know—we’ve been woefully short on amusing anecdotes here, lately. I’m falling down on the job. It’s pollen season, you see, and so my head is filled with cement and when I am not working or being a terrible, horrible burden on my children (UGH MOM WHY CAN’T I JUST LEAVE ALL MY CLOTHES ON THE FLOOR AND NEVER EAT OR SLEEP, YOU ARE THE WORST) I am doing exciting things like telling my husband that I have a million things to do, but I lack the motivation to get up off the couch.

Anyway! While I set this awesome example of productivity for my offspring, I am also working on helping them figure out when disclosure of their special needs makes sense, and it turns out that’s a much bigger deal than I ever would’ve imagined. But we’re figuring it out (and by “we” I mean “they,” because it’s all them).

Completely unrelated: Someone from Barbados keeps calling my cell phone and hanging up. Is it a wrong number? Someone working up the courage to talk to me (I’m not that scary, I swear)? This is just one of the mysteries I ponder while sitting on the couch blowing my nose. Don’t be jealous.

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