Posted in Fragile Life, Mid-Life Mama, Milestone Moments, Round Two, Teens

Round Two

Thirteen is… training-wheels adolescence. Fourteen is hardcore, biker adolescence.
~Anne Lamott

Just before the storm (photo: Kelly Salasin)
Almost 14~Just before the storm
(photo: Kelly Salasin)

Parenting a teenager is a lot like New England Weather… Everything is going along nicely… the sky is clear, the birds are singing, the world is right-side up, and then BANG! A storm rolls in. Thunder. Lightning.

Suddenly you’re without power.

Maybe all your connections are zapped.

“Where did that come from!” someone says.

And you say something like: “Polar Vortex.”

Or in our case, “FOURTEEN!”

We’ve arrived. Just yesterday. And as if on cue, the thunder rolled in, the lightning struck, and I was ready to quit. Give up. Move out.

MOTHERHOOD SUCKS.

It took all the maturity and self-restraint cultivated over the past 50 years not to put the power back in my hands. To let my heart lie there, trampled upon, without striking back.

And it took all the self-compassion cultivated since becoming someone’s mother, to walk away, to lick my own wounds, without taking any of it too personally.

There is a scene from a favorite movie of mine: Spanglish. With Adam Sandler. Do you know it? Remember what he says when he finds out that his wife has betrayed him? Something about hearing the universe crack…

My universe, as a mother, cracked twice this week. Once with each of my offspring. And I have to admit that I could barely summon much affection for either of them afterward.

Maybe they deserve it. Maybe I’m being melodramatic. Maybe THIS is parenthood. Or maybe this crack is an opportunity for something new.

I’m on the lookout for what that is. For how it will shape me. And reshape our lives together.

But right now?

I want to move out…
timthumb

Advertisements
Posted in Milestone Moments, Teens

Shhh… Part II, Enjoying Parenting My Teen

Kelly Salasin

A few years back, when my oldest son approached adolescence, I was delighted and terrified to come upon Anne Lamott’s article, My Son the Stranger.

I cringed when she described “13” as “training wheel adolescence,” and I laughed out loud when I she described her son as, “flamboyantly lazy.”  I loved that she put those two seemingly incongruent words together.  It captures the dichotomy of loving my teen as he enters what Lamott calls, “hard core biker adolescence” (aka. age 14.)

My biker was in true form last week when we made the bi-monthly trip to grocery shop at Trader Joes, almost an hour and a half south of us.  It was a Friday night, and he was disappointed not to spend it with a friend, but happy that we were willing to make some special stops just for him.

At the Goodwill, he studied stereo equipment and picked up two shiny tire rims to adorn his bedroom wall while he dreamed of the real thing. His second request was unusual too: the craft store, to look for Henna tattoos. It seemed a harmless interest so we obliged, but we wanted to get the shopping done first.

He didn’t agree with the timing of our stops and as soon as we set foot in the grocery store, he began a litany of complaints that never let up:  “How long will this take?  I really don’t want to be here.  I’m hungry.  I’m starving.  When can we leave?”

I explained to him that no one really wants to grocery shop, but that we all want to eat.  I explained to him that now was a good time for him to choose items that he would enjoy.  I explained to him that the shopping would go much faster if he stopped complaining. I explained to him that we were in a store filled with food so he could buy something and eat it, rather than be hungry.

My explanations failed to make an impact on his sensibilities and he spun himself into the kind of self-absorbed, my life is hell, fury that only a teen can manage (or perhaps a mother in mid-life.)

By the time we loaded the car with the groceries, my husband and I were spent and angry and confused.  We made the painful decision to head home–despite our promise to go to the craft store and despite the fact that we too had wanted to make some other stops while we were here–including some “family fun” time.

Our son was furious.  He kicked the back seat and made disparaging remarks all the way out of town while his younger brother sobbed beside him.  It was one of those “our family sucks” moments where everything seems hopeless. I tried to keep my mouth shut and keep breathing while encouraging my husband to do the same.

When we got to the highway, I offered some gratitude aloud in an attempt to shift my own defeating mentality,  “I’m happy we got this fun food,”  I started.  “I’m thankful the store had good samples.

Typically, I initiate and prod a session of gratitude like this, asking each family member to contribute.  This ritual has grown more challenging with a teen,  but this time, I didn’t have to say a word.  As soon as I finished my list, he initiated his own, without being asked.

I’m thankful for...”  he started.

I can’t even remember what he said because I was so surprised and humbled by his willingness and desire to bridge the divide.

In response to his graceful gesture, I offered my open hand from the front seat to the back, like I had done when he was a boy, knowing that he always refuses it now.  But just I was ready to draw it back, I felt the warmth of his hand in mine.

He held on tightly through the ride, working my fingers with his, until my arm began to tingle and I slowly pulled away.

(To read Part I of Enjoying Parenting my Teen, click here.)

Posted in Teens

Don’t tell, but I’m enjoying parenting my teen…

I’ve been afraid to admit this because it might:  jinx me,  come back to haunt me, mock me (you name the expression), but the truth is that I’m enjoying parenting my teen and I have been… for months.  (Shhh…)

It was last year after I read Anne Lamott’s description of her own teen that I began to tremble in fear.  I shared the article with my son who was a turbulent 13 at the time, and he asked, “Mom, if 13 is ‘training-wheels-adolescence (Anne’s coinage), then how are we going to make it through ‘hard core biker adolescence (Anne’s descriptor of 14)’?”

But we must be a “biker family” without knowing it, because (so far) 14 has been pretty sweet.

I think it helps that my son now towers over me so that he is compelled to use my body as a leaning post.  This pseudo form of affection is warmly welcomed (even if it puts my back out of whack) after the long absence of any bodily contact between us that began at 12.

It’s not that my teen is a Stepford child or anything.  He is still moody, prone to obnoxious outbursts, outstanding demonstrations of selfishness and the occasional multiple personalities.

But he always comes back around.

I have to give credit to our family “practice” of Non-Violent Communication.  It’s given my son the tools he needs to understand and express his burning teen desires and it’s lent a voice that I can hear through my middle-aged ears.  And although he is the first to mock any pride we might take in our family, I’d like to think that he feels heard–and because of that, he’s willing to hear us.  His small, but heroic teen efforts of compassion go a long way toward family harmony.

But here’s my secret.  What I am enjoying most is exploring the frightening topic of his emerging sexuality.

Months ago, I reached out to other mothers of boys to ask, What do I need to teach my son about sex? Only to discover that I hadn’t lived what I most wanted to offer. So now we are learning, side by side (although he doesn’t know that.)

(stay tuned for next week’s post on moms, teens & sex)