Interesting BBQs With Teenage Boys and Girls

    Like many of you, we visited with friends for Memorial Day. This particular family has been friends with my family for a long time. They married about the same time Hubby and I did, had their first son a year before The Girl was born, and their daughter two years after The Boy came along. Mr. Friend is an Ex-Army Ranger and saw some interesting times during the Gulf War while I had to play around state-side and pout.

The interesting side-effect to having two families interact regularly over the better part of two decades is that the children know each other well. But not too well. They live about a half-hour away now so we live separate lives, really only seeing each other a few times a year on long weekends when we don’t have other family obligations.

When The Girl was about four and their son was five, I recall her chasing him around at a BBQ. His dad took pity on our tiny daughter (she was always a favorite, being a petite thing and he was always tall for his age so they looked more like they were three years apart than one) Mr. Friend pinned his son, not knowing what The Girl had in mind. She promptly walked up to her friend, kissed the resigned child, and declared them married.

All the adults laughed, naturally. The Girl was very proud and her new groom seemed unusually accepting of his fate.

Fast forward twelve years to last night. Do you see what’s coming? Let me set the scene: another BBQ with the families, a petite 16-year-old who only reaches the shoulder (not kidding) of a towering 17-year-old who’s been sporting a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee for a year (I’m serious). The Girl has little interest in video games, the towering 17-year-old has little interest in academics or books, although they’re both a bit nerdy. Thank you, Stan Lee. Maybe.

The Girl has put in her time the last few times the families have met watching her brother and towering 17-year-old/‘soon to be boyfriend in another high school’ competing at insert-some-video-game-here and cheering on her brother’s opponent. Because naturally she wouldn’t cheer on her brother. (He’s her brother. Everyone understands that, it’s nothing weird.)

The kids were all settled on their computers, together and yet in their own little worlds, leaving the adults free to do our own thing. (Except for the youngest — another time.) Hubby, for some reason, had to go grab something from the den where kids were. Here’s where things get interesting.

I should back up and explain something. On Friday, The Girl came bouncing up to me almost crying that it had been too long since she’d seen her ‘soon to be a boyfriend in another high school.’

Naturally, I said, “Talk to your father.”

Hubby said, “You have their number. Call and set something up.”

She did. Then she called her friend from across the street who descended on our house Monday and spent an alarming amount of time ‘making over’ our fresh and innocent daughter into something I would expect to find climbing a pole. I was frantically thinking about my phrasing when The Girl approached me later, in heels, to show me the results. She winked and mouthed “It’s okay,” which I took to mean I was supposed to go along with this for her friend’s sake, so I enthusiastically approved of her overdone make-up and capris with heels. Then I pulled her aside as soon as her friend left and gave her my best WTF look.

“I’m changing, and taking it off,” she said and immediately when back upstairs.

“Why the charade?” I called.

“She wanted to help for my date.”

My date. That was our first clue. Up until that moment, it was a BBQ. Everyone else thought it was a BBQ. I wondered if the ‘the soon to be a boyfriend in another high school’ knew it wasn’t a BBQ.

Now, back to the den. Hubby went to go grab something knowing The Girl, The Boy, and ‘the soon to be a boyfriend in another high school’ were in there. (The extra child was with me killing off humanity. Another time.)

Hubby opens the door and innocently finds The Boy at his computer playing something. The ‘soon to be a boyfriend in another high school’ at his computer, with The Girl on his lap. Her arms are around his neck, he’s got one arm around her tiny waist, and the other on the keyboard. So . . . holding her, but playing his video game. Huh.

Not to embarrass The Girl (that would be dangerous) Hubby just got what he needed and left. Besides, The Boy was there, they were chaperoned. And all three of them knew The Boy would take any opportunity to tattle on his perfect sister.

Upon relating this tale to me later, I pointed out to Hubby that The Boy is bribeable — assuming The Girl thought of it, which she wouldn’t; she is nearly perfect and doesn’t tend toward corruption. ‘Soon to be a boyfriend in another high school,’ however, could very well think of it and, once the idea is floated, The Girl would know how to buy off her little brother.

Hubby and I are sort of laughing, but in the back of our minds, we’re also cringing. When you have a cute little teenage girl, you really don’t like it when life gets interesting.

Homecoming: Part Two (The Revenge of the Shoes!)

Sigh. Homecoming (the first) is over. The Girl survived the dance, the social activity, the . . . heels.  The drama can safely be set aside, but only for two weeks. Remember, she didn’t go to Homecoming at her own school.

Let’s get take a step back to those heels. I’ve mentioned she’s petite. She wears a size four shoe. Kids. There aren’t a lot of dress shoe options there. A helpful saleswoman once told us a kids’ size four is the same as a women’s size six. We picked out a pair of wedges, she tried them, walked in them, life is good. Until later when I caught her stuffing tissue in the toe because they were a size too big.

And why was this not mentioned at the shoe store? Teenage girl. Enough said.

With this in mind, we went shoe shopping again on Thursday. I couldn’t reasonably continue putting it off, even though I really dreaded this activity. Black shoes. That’s all I wanted. Black shoes that fit. Looking. Okay, black shoes that fit and look like they belong with a semi-formal dress not on a five-year-old.

We said a lot of things like “OMG, what were they thinking when they put that bow there?” and “Is that a flower? Why in the name of all that’s holy are there dead flowers on that shoe and why do they look like pom-poms?”

In desperation, I eyed the size sixes. They were largely stilettos and The Girl had only graduated as far as a two inch wedge with tissue in the toe to make it fit. Oh dear. There wasn’t even a simple paten leather black flat or kitten heel. Really? How basic is that? They did have some matte black pumps, but she hated them. And they weren’t dressy at all.

I handed her a shiny black spike heeled shoe. It was still two and a half inches, but hey, I was desperate. And a bad mother.

She glared at me.

“Try it.”

Still glaring, she slid one on, and threatened to fall over. Drama Princess.

“Put the other one on, you’ll balance better.”

She put the other one on, and I coaxed her into tottering down the aisle and back. It wasn’t pretty. We returned to looking at the size fours, then the three and a halves.

The Girl saw a pair of fancy stilettos  - in a size six. Strappy with rhinestones. Suddenly she was willing to give it another shot. Three inch heel. She was near tears.

“Honey, it’s just like walking, only your heel is focused on this little point. The ball of your foot is the same as in a sandal.” It’s pretty true. “Women have been doing this for a long time. You can do it if you put your mind to it. It’s kind of like walking on tip-toes, except you have somewhere to put your heel, so it’s really a lot easier.”  She can tip-toe, any three-year-old can do that!

The pep talk worked. She slid them on and gave it another go. We practiced in the store, then at home. Apparently she’s a kids’ size four or a women’s selective size six. Yeah, I toggle between two sizes too.

The Girl she was very excited because all of a sudden, she could look me in the eye! (I’m three inches taller than her.) She was taller, she had pretty ‘big girl’ shoes. Homecoming wasn’t so bad.

Except of course you have to dance in them. For hours.

She survived. Now let’s get back to that ‘this was at another school’ issue. Now she wants to dress up again and ‘drop in’ on a ‘friend’ who has to work during Homecoming at their school. The girl was quick to explain it wasn’t a date. She’s fifteen and can’t date yet. She’s just dropping by so he can say that he did Homecoming and wouldn’t that be fun?

Fun. Hubby, grab your shotgun, we’ve created a monster.

Homecoming: Part One

How many times have I asked for someone to just shoot me? And yet I’m still here. Fat lot of good you guys are.

I’ve spent three days explaining to The Girl that she’s a girl. I know this may seem self evident, but allow me to explain.

Homecoming. It’s coming up and she doesn’t see the point. I explained the game, the tradition, the dance, but to no avail. Okay . . .  dancing, girls like dancing. Not this one. Fine. Girls like getting all prettied up and making boys’ brains turn to mush. Not this one. Are you sure you’re my daughter? I got glared at for that one and told “You were there!”

I explained the ‘no dating until you’re sixteen’ rule can be put on hiatus in specific cases. I got a shrug. We have a specific case. We’re on the boundary between three high schools (so close that we chose which one she went to because all of them have a bus stop within two blocks). Two doors down, the eldest daughter of Mr. & Mrs. Patience is going to a different high school and has a friend who needs a date, and eyed The Girl appraisingly. Mrs. Patience is chaperoning that dance. The Girl is going whether she wants to or not. For the record, her opinion is not.

Mrs. Patience is living vicariously through her daughters, which she freely admits. I had a social life in high school and college; I don’t need to live through The Girl. I suspect she might have regrets later if she goes through with her ‘forgo all social activities because boys are stupid’ plan. Yes, boys can be stupid, especially the teen variety. She’s desperately looking forward to college. Unfortunately, she’s going to need practice for dating in college, which you get by dating in high school.

So a group date with a neighbor chaperoning? Hell yes she’s going. Besides, she’s got a list of boys already for when she turns sixteen so this will give her a little confidence boost. And Hubby isn’t even reaching for a shotgun or going out of his mind.

This is a win. I hope. I’ll get back to you.

Welcome to Hell, I mean High School

My oldest is in tenth grade. Where I grew up, ninth graders were shoved in with the rest of high school, but not here. Here they’re with seventh and eighth graders, which means they start high school before they’re in high school. The powers that be are rethinking that. It’s a new idea here and slow to catch on. I think the resistance is from overprotective parents not wanting to really admit a fourteen-year-old is a teenager and send them off with all the ‘big kids.’ I have a thirteen year old too. He’s a big kid, dump him in the deep end.

It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that my baby girl (AKA "The Girl" to all of you) is genuinely in high school now by anyone’s definition. She’s not impressed. Although I am hearing a different sort of rant from her nowadays.

First there’s the "don't they know to walk on the right?" Actually, her school is brand new, just rebuilt so it can hold the new ninth graders. So . . . no. Almost a third of the kids there don’t know to walk on the right because they don’t drive. But wait, they grew up in – well the majority of the world that drives on the right, so shouldn’t they have clued in to walk on the right by now? No. Apparently not, we'll leave it at that.

Second, remember I went off a while ago about teenage boys being allergic to soap? It’s not limited to thirteen-year-olds, unfortunately. Enough said. 

Third, she’s not impressed with others of her own gender either. I tuned out as she went on (and on and on) questioning why a girl who wants to play violin would get her nails done and have them so long she can’t actually play. Or why another would take swimming but not realize she might need a swimsuit she can actually swim in without the top coming off. Personally I’m amazed they’re allowing two-piece suits in a co-ed swim class, but hey, what do I know?

Also, she doesn't understand how anyone can find Latin hard. Plus now she can take Honors and AP classes and, again, she’s flummoxed why kids are whining about it being difficult or time consuming.

And she was asked out in her first week of school. By text message. I’m not kidding. Her immediate response was to text back and ask if he really just asked her out via text, then to ask if he breaks up via Facebook. He didn’t get it. Bit of a mixed bag on that one. She’s flattered, yet annoyed. And in giggles because Hubby is having a meltdown.

The Girl’s fifteen, we’re not letting her date yet. In truth, she can handle group dates now, she’s mature enough. Boys her age aren’t though and we need to protect them from her snarky attitude and her father’s growing reach-for-a-rifle paranoia. He needs another year to psych himself up for this. Hubby’s just not ready.