P.U.berty - It Stinks on So Many Levels.

Warning:
I am a woman. I live with two other smallish women-in-the-making. It is from this perspective that I write. You he-men, macho types reading who wish to avoid any hint of feminine understanding may want to run away now. Or, if you’ve got the moxie, read on and I’ll throw you a bone every once in a while.

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Yes, today’s blog is about that wonderful, exciting, thrilling, unpredictable time in your life called puberty.

Now, because I love my girls so, and because I still want them to claim me in my twilight years, I would never deign to embarrass them. So instead, I’ll be discussing the daughters of a friend. Lets call them, um, Jill and Jane.

Jill and Jane have been going through quite a few changes lately and they haven’t been altogether thrilled.

This stinks.
Deodorant is no longer an option. At all. I know girls in the south are supposed to ‘glisten’ or ‘glow’ but these girls SWEAT! They aren’t happy about the new-found aroma, or the fact that they shower and wash their hair every morning, and it’s oily again by dinner.

Hairy situations.
New hair growing everywhere. Legs like Brillo pads, but mom won’t let them shave. Not fun.

       Men: How 'bout those Vikings? Brett Vavre's back you know!

Gut feelings.
Some days Jill and Jane are ravenous. Others they’re like Gandhi on a mission. They gain a little weight here and there, but it’s starting to settle differently. Their tastes are also evolving. “Mom, this meatloaf is great!” (One week later. . .) “You know I hate meatloaf!!”

Keeping abreast.
Enter the training bra. Jane couldn’t wait to get one. Jill would rather eat dirt. “Why are you so upset about this? You’ve never worn one. It might be comfortable.” (Yes, I lied. Don’t judge me.)
She said, “Once I start wearing one, I can never go back.” Well, she had me there.

       Men: Did you see the hit Eli Manning took last week? What a crusher!        

That thing at the end of a Declarative sentence.
Not even going to go there.

Attitude adjustments.
What really keeps you on your toes, or so my friend says, is waking the girls in the morning to see which personality will be gracing you with it’s presence. Apparently this can range from Mother Teresa to Attila the Hun . It also has the ability to change, without notice or provocation, quicker than a New York minute.
~ Mom, do you need any help? (Sweet)
* Sure. Can you put away the shoes in the living room?
~ Hey! These are mine! Jane, you didn’t even ask! You just took them! (Furious)
* No fighting! Just put them away.
~ She never asks for anything! She always takes my stuff! You always take her side! (Sobbing)
Three total swings of the emotional pendulum.
Total elapsed time: 12 seconds.

I honestly don't know which is worse - going through puberty yourself, or watching your kids go through it. Um, er, I mean my friends kids!

          Men: Gym socks and monster trucks and power tools, Oh my!

It's a scary time for all concerned. My little girls aren't so little anymore. I have to start letting go a bit. I still want to be 'Super-mom' and keep all the pain and evils of the world away from them. I resent the fact that the older they get, the less innocent they are allowed to be. It's not just the body that changes, it's the perception of the world around them. When children's eyes are opened to certain facts of life, they can never be closed again. Frankly, this terrifies me and tests my faith more than anything else imaginable.
How do you prepare them for the world, while still trying to protect them from it? How can they defend against things to which they've never been exposed? How much should we expose them? Just in the last year we've had to discuss virginity, rape, sexual predators, child abuse, homosexuality, alcohol and drug addiction, and prostitution. There's also abortion, racism, war. . .God help us.
It all comes down to faith.
I have faith that God loves my girls even more than I do.
I have faith that God has a plan for their lives.
I have faith that God will help Joey and I raise them with the proper morals and values.
I have faith that when the time is right, God will help me let go.

Nothing to do now but smile and accept that my girls are going
from this:

Mom, can I get just one more?

To this:

              Ohhh, he's hot!

Oh well, at least it's not Justin Bieber.

My "isms"

It has recently been brought to my attention that some of my beliefs are, shall we say, out of the norm.

Those of you who know me best know I'm an open book. That is to say, I've never had a problem voicing my opinion. My family and I have pretty much the same ideas about the big things in life. But apparently it's the small matters that have them wondering if someone took the lid off of my 'crazy'.

The girls call them a 'mommy thing'. Joey says they're 'Angie-isms'. I call them my deep thoughts on shallow things.

 I believe:

    All chip bags should be opened upside-down. Everyone knows the flavor falls to the bottom of the bag!


    Dr. Pepper has medicinal properties.


    Peanut butter and jelly should always be mixed in a bowl before being put on the bread. This keeps jelly globs from squishing out all over the place.


    It is true that you are as old as you feel. It is also true that there should be an age limit for pants with anything like 'juicy', 'hottie', or 'sweet thang' written on the rear.


    The right way to hang TP is always flap-over-the-top!

    You'll feel better and have more fun cleaning if you wear a tiara while working. (I borrow one from my girls - with Tinkerbell on it!) Just remember to take it off before answering the door for the repair guy.

    If you haven't spoken to someone in twenty years or more, you should feel no guilt refusing their brother's wife's cousin's friend request on Face Book.

    It's perfectly acceptable to put bread away by picking up the package, giving it a twirl, and tucking the bag under.

    Sandwiches cut on the diagonal just taste better.

    The thermostat in the house should be set on an even number. Even numbers are better.


There you go. Just a few examples of things that make my family think I'm ready for a padded room. But these are the things that make me me. I'm sure everyone has their own quirks and peccadilloes, but maybe they're smart enough to keep them to themselves.

Oh well. Live and learn.
   
 

   

From this day forward. . .

Yesterday marked the 14th anniversary of one of the sweetest days of my life, the day I said 'I Do' to my best friend.

For Better or For Worse;
 Some days it's, "I love you, Babe." Others it's, "Oh yeah, well let me tell you a thing or two!"

For Richer or For Poorer;
 We've been together from hamburger helper to prime rib, from 'stay-cations' to true vacations in wonderful new places, from the thrift store to the mall.

In Sickness and In Health;
 Praise the Lord we've had mostly health. Though there were a few times - double pneumonia, jaw surgery, west nile virus, and a couple of nasty paper cuts.

To Love and To Cherish;
 Sometimes easier than others, but always constant.

From this Day Forward Until Death Do Us Part;
 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UFas-cB9LG8


**By the way, yesterday was also Joey's birthday.
Now, did he marry me on his b-day because I was the best gift ever, or because that way he would never forget our anniversary? He's explained it both ways. The answer depends on the mood.   ;)

I love you, J!

Diagnosis - Rollrefilus Incomprehendus

This is an all too common malady, though not commonly discused in mixed company.
In layman's terms, Rollrefilus Incomprehendus is the inability and or unwillingness to refill an empty paper roll. Sometimes the results of this condition can be seen in the kitchen with the paper towels. Annoying, yes. But not half as tragic as when it hits you where you really live - with the TP in the bathroom!

The symptoms of RI can easily be seen at a glance. A fresh new roll of toilet paper will be sitting on the counter, dropped on the floor, sitting on the back of the toilet, or balanced precariously on top of the empty dispenser - which will ALWAYS still have the empty roll on the spindle! Who new a hollow tube and spring mechanism could stump some of the brightest minds of our times!

Several times I have brought this 'closet illness' to light with my family. The first step to treatment is admiting the problem, you know. All I get are blank stares and the text book denial, "wasn't me!". And lest you think this only affects children, I say nay, nay. My sweetie pie, who for fourteen years has never failed to put the toilet seat down after use, even he has fallen victim. Who knew it was catchy?

Allow me to enter this statement as evidence ;
I walk into the bathroom and an entire package of TP is sitting on the floor, but the spindle is empty. I find Joey and ask if he saw the package. He says yes. Why didn't he put a roll on the dispenser? He says he got a roll out to use. Why didn't he put the package in the closet? Why didn't you he retorts. Ohhh. Game on.

I went back and put the pack right in front of the toilet where he'd have to 'move it to use it'.
He moved it all right. Kicked it over to the side against the wall.
I moved it back.
Later, kicked against the wall again.
OK. Try this big boy! I put the pack on top of the toilet seat. He'd put it away now for sure. He has to pick it up anyway.
Nay, nay. He put it right back on the floor where it started!
That night, I tried it one more time.
What do I find next morning? All the rolls out of the plastic package and neatly stacked back on the toilet lid.
Touchete, pussycat.
I put the TP in the closet and resigned myself to defeat. He had thrown the plastic wrapping away, though. Maybe that was his idea of a compromise. It's progress, I'll take it.

Now for the good news. I may have stumbled, quite accidentally, on a cure. After our move to MS, I noticed the symptoms vanish completely, at least with the hubby. What's the dif between him and the girls? Say 'Hello' to my little friend!

Imagine that! No screaming, no electroshock treatments, just a simple gadget that can be purchased at any home improvement warehouse. If only all problems were this easily solved.

So, give it up! How many Rollrefilus Incomprehendus sufferers do you have in your home?

*Footnote:

 I should make mention that after reading this post, my husband was quick to tell me to remove the splinter from my own eye. No idea what he means! That's my story and I'm sticking to it.