teenagers

Totally. Overwhelmed.

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It’s back-to-school time, or should be what would normally be back-to-school time, in a normal world, in a normal Fall, during a normal September, which it (let’s face it) is anything BUT. Both my kids have physically grown, grown, GROWN during COVID-19, and consequently NOTHING fits. Not the runners, dress shoes, shirts, pants or cleats. (that is to say IF some form of organized sports in-school gets the green light.) Nothing. Fits. $$$…….

Super-excited to drive to Metrotown, where (thanks, everyone wearing one) 90% of those wandering around are wearing masks, save a few 10% – and this is me being SUPER-judge-y – I would hazard a guess that 50% of the mask-less are just ignorant, Wreck-Beach-attending assholes. (Save your commentary – I know there are a number of individuals who, for completely legit medical reasons cannot wear a mask)

Metrotown is thankfully very organized – spaced out line-ups for the popular stores, security working the lines, and mercifully, (MERCIFULLY!) wicked good sales on shoes and shirts and service. My 13-year old officially has a year for every shoe size, and as a result, if they do have it in his size, it is likely a perfect fit and/or heavily discounted. (YAY!)

***MOMENT OF MATERNAL PRIDE/CONFUSION: I sat in Footlocker listening to the 13-year old and the 20-something year old discuss shoe models, and I was completely and immediately set adrift into “Boomer-era” ignorance. Sigh……..*** 180? 240? 270?

Back to shopping…..for the most part, we achieved success. We were able to tick boxes, fulfill needs, and not completely break the bank. I am lucky. I know we are all lucky. Lucky isn’t the word. We work very hard for what we have, and as essential workers during COVID, we have NOT stopped at any point. We have worked for what we have and we are able to fulfill the needs of our kids. I KNOW there are many, many families out there with no new school clothes, ill-fitting clothes, no school supplies and food insecurity. And that’s before COVID.

On a personal note, and frankly, the raison d’etre of my blog – I, I am overwhelmed. I came home stressed, tense, angry and frustrated, and that was not from the credit card bills. I found the whole experience, exercise, moment, exhausting. Mentally draining, upsetting, sad, mourning what should have been, what could have been, what wasn’t.

What isn’t. What isn’t going to be normal for a fuck of a long time. Sure, I will still drive the kids to school, and oversee lunches, and meal-plan, and delegate, and help with homework, but it still. isn’t. normal.

My kids are exhibiting the cracks of the stress, strain and anxiety of going back to school. I am exhibiting the cracks of the stress, strain and anxiety of going back to school.

Side note – I asked my eldest to water the garden before said shopping trip, and he left the hose on, subsequently flooding the back yard and breaking the hose fitting. I countered with this assignment:

Water:  The consequences of waste

Water covers 70% of our planet, and it is easy to think that it will always be plentiful. However, freshwater—the stuff we drink, bathe in, irrigate our farm fields with—is incredibly rare. Only 3% of the world’s water is fresh water, and two-thirds of that is tucked away in frozen glaciers or otherwise unavailable for our use.

As a result, some 1.1 billion people worldwide lack access to water, and a total of 2.7 billion find water scarce for at least one month of the year. Inadequate sanitation is also a problem for 2.4 billion people—they are exposed to diseases, such as cholera and typhoid fever, and other water-borne illnesses. Two million people, mostly children, die each year from diarrheal diseases alone.  –https://www.worldwildlife.org/threats/water-scarcity

Your consequence for wasting water and subsequently breaking the water hose attachment is to write a 1000 word essay on water, the precious nature of it, the scarcity of it, the global water shortage, and the consequences of unsafe water sources for people.  

Your essay is to be well written, well thought-out and you must utilize the HAMBURGER model of Topic Sentence/Paragraph, Body 1 (vivids) Body 2 (vivids)  Body 3 (vivids and a well-composed concluding paragraph.  Copying and pasting google searches will NOT be accepted.  This must be RESEARCHED and IN YOUR OWN WORDS.   Remember:  QUOTE YOUR SOURCES!

Your phone will be returned to you once you successfully turn in your assignment.

I could cry with frustration right now, and it’s not because I just realized I killed a box of wine in 3.2 days. Okay, if we are honest, I bought it Monday. Currently writing this Wednesday night. I could kill for some normal, and honestly don’t understand how many more mines I have to go deep. O.M.G.

(On another side note, I feel my consequence was clever. )

On yet another side note, I am tired of counting the lines under my eyes as I look in the rear-view mirror.

As a final note, dear reader, I thank you for listening to me and for being here for me.

Totally. Overwhelmed.

The cruel irony of healing

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There is a cruel irony we are experiencing as A continues to heal, grow and thrive on a strict gluten-free diet. Pre-diagnosis, and even the days and months that followed diagnosis, his reaction to getting ‘glutened’ was so swift and furious, it left him physically shattered and left me an emotional wreck from my failure to protect my child.

In a way, his swift physical rejection of gluten was a good teacher: it solidified gluten ingestion as a bad thing, which helped psychologically when he was tempted with things like pizza with his buddies, or sharing in a celebratory birthday cake. And boy, was it swift.

Later, as his gut healed and he lost the inflammation, we saw his physical reactions diminish. A would still physically react to getting “glutened” with gastro distress, mood swings and malais, but sometimes it took longer.

Sometimes it took so long to react, we found it nearly impossible to track back exactly what was the source of the gluten. Ironically, this was bad, because while a diminished reaction in the short term did mean he was not quite so acute quite so quickly, it did not diminish the long term internal damage he was exposing himself to.

Ironic, right?

And so now we move forward with a gentler, more subtle reminder to maintain his dietary vigilance, to stay gluten-free. I am trying to not go down the rabbit hole of over-thinking cross-contamination and being less symptomatic, and what it means to him. I am trying to not overthink what subtle “glutenings” will mean for his increased risk of cancers and other auto-immune diseases.

Instead, I will focus on the irony of what a healthy gut brings.

The cruel irony of healing

And so it begins.

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We are here. The end of Summer break, the end of vacation, and the start of something new. I love the Fall, with its’ crisp mornings and cozy sweater weather. I got married in September: fifteen years ago, on a day where it rained around the majority of the city, but miraculously, not on our waterfront slice of heaven.

On the cusp of Labour Day we turn our attention as a family to the coming weeks: football practice, swimming lessons, ultimate and more importantly, homework. We are working together as a family to set everyone up for success: nutritious meal planning, grab-and-go (GF)meal prep, and successful studies.

It’s going to be a full term. Our September calendar is already full, handled expertly by the good people at Google. It will be busy but fun, and full of new friends, new sports and new communities.

We are ready. Clothes are cleaned and re-stocked, the uniform is named, new shoes sitting at the door. We are blessed to be able to do this; I know many families are not able to approach back to school with the same shiny newness.

I look forward to the coming months, and all the new adventure that it will bring our family. I will also consciously remember to breathe deeply through the anxiety, take a minute to reflect and just enjoy the moment.

And so it begins.

And so it begins.

It’s complicated…

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I think I have mentioned before that parenting is like a slow water drip against the forehead, a quiet and incessant silent scream.  It is also a “V” for VICTORY, and a communal shout among us of winning a round: whether discipline, dietary, or watching our kids make the RIGHT choices at the RIGHT time.

We are hitting the Teen Years no harder nor softer than most:  for all the ten FUCKING AMAZING RIGHT DECISIONS my child makes, he makes two radical face-palm-what-were-you-thinking-wait-I-guess-you-weren’t decisions.

Sigh.

We are lucky, we really are.  So far, he still talks to me, and so far, I have a pretty good estimate of what is going on in his head/day/month/year/life.  More so than most.  I want to still believe we are close.

The stuff that matters, he is there.  He is with me.  He lets me in.  I live in terror of him growing silent and withdrawing.  I know from experience.  Silence is the worst.  Silence means you have lost them.  I went silent.  Then it went kinda sideways.

The stupid, inane, annoying, “please just listen to me and respect the rules ‘cause they are there for your protection” stuff is the stuff that he pushes boundaries on.    I should be thankful, but it still annoys the fuck out of me.  I have the latest tech.  I can shut down his phone.  I can block him from wifi.  I don’t want to, but I am a little bit at the end of my rope.

I just want him to understand that as parents go, I (like to think) I’m pretty cool.  Easygoing even,  as ‘cool’ is not a ‘cool’ word for parents to use any more.  I understand.  I really do.  I remember my earlier years vividly, and swore a personal promise to myself a long, long time ago to never ever end up like my parents.

That these stupid “boundaries-for-your-protection” things are annoying, but if we all play by the rules, then we get less and less and less boundaries.

Looking around at the peer group, I really, really am thankful.  There is no illegal, harming or habit-forming behaviours going on with him.  I am thankful.

But it’s complicated.

So tonight, off we go to bed, trying to right the wrongs of the fucked-up parenting decisions that came before us, wrestling with our own demons and previously well-laid paths,  aiming to stay tuned in to our kids, giving them an open dialogue and a platform to be them, all the while blocking the wifi signal, confiscating the TV, and threatening the Worst. Possible. Teenaged. Threat:

The flip-phone.

It’s complicated…