Chester and Spike

In just two months Baby Girl will be turning 15 . . . 15!  I don't know how that happened.  Time is a funny thing; it all depends upon how you look at it.  From one angle, fifteen years seems like a lifetime.  I can barely remember a time when this world did not have a Zoe Webster in it.  From another angle, it seems like these past fifteen years have flashed by, and I have to stop and give my head a shake; yes, Krista, you are the mom of an almost fifteen year old daughter.  When did that happen?

One of the cruelties of teenage-hood is that parents see their time quickly coming to an end, and they want to cling onto their teenager, relishing in the last few years, where they will all live cozily under one roof together, but the teenager is already moving on.  They have one foot in the door and one foot out.  They are ready to grab hold of the world and make their impression on it, but the parent is begging them to come back in, to curl up on the couch, and to snuggle with them just one last time.
The other distressing thing about teenage-hood, is they become so dang interesting and fun to be with, but they don't want to be with you!  Inevitably what follows is an episode of Spike and Chester from Bugs Bunny, where the parent is Spike and the teenager is Chester.  Initially in the relationship, the teenager, like Chester the terrier, bounces along behind the fearless and all-knowing Spike, the Bulldog, who in our scenario is the parent, asking:  "What are we going to do today, Spike?  Huh? Huh? Huh?".  Poor little Chester would do anything to spend just a moment with Spike, but Spike is too busy.  He's got too much on the go.  Then after a series of events, or in our case fourteen years, the roles reverse.  Chester is now the fearless one with a purpose, and Spike, is reduced to bouncing behind Chester, begging to be acknowledged by him.  I always enjoyed these cartoons, and it sums up exactly how I have been feeling lately.  I am flitting around Zoe, trying my darnedest to get noticed, and she hauls off a backhand shouting:
 "AHHHHHH . . .SH-UUUUT - UUUUP", and then I turn to the television audience, or my blogging audience, and swoon over the fact that I am Zoe's mom and ramble on about how awesome she is . . . tee hee!  Right?  It totally works.  (Okay, so she never hits me, but she does tell me to shut up, in the most kind and non-disrespectful way.)

Anyhoo . . . .

I nearly died a little while back, when Chester (Zoe) asked me, Spike, to teach her how to sew.

What?  You can see me?  You are asking if I can TEACH you something?

Rather than coming back with a snippy little comment like the ones above, I kept my mouth shut out of fear she would change her mind, and nonchalantly said: "Sure!"; meanwhile, I tried to contain the bouncy dog inside me, who was starting to wiggle and dance, and who may just pee on the floor because she is so gosh-darn excited! This can't be happening!

I really feared it may be some fleeting, teenage whim, but the other night, Zoe announced it was time for us to get started, and so, being the mom who is always anxiously awaiting for even the tiniest sliver of acknowledgement that her teenage daughter can manage to muster up, I dropped everything and ran to get my sewing kit.

EEEEEEEEEEEEK!  We are going to have so much fun!

Then I froze.  I saw the slightest flicker of her eye beginning to roll in disapproval, and I cringed.

Too much?  Should I tone it down?

YES!

Okey-dokey! 

Phew!  That was a close one.

We pulled out her pattern, her material, and my sewing kit and got to work.  We have spent three nights so far working on this project together, and they have been so dear to me.  If I was smart, I would stretch this project out a little longer just to make it last.  Working alongside Baby Girl, marvelling at how skilled she is and how grown up she has become, and laughing at all of our blunders together, has rejuvenated this weary mom's soul.  No matter how big she gets, or how independent she becomes, Chester will always need her Spike.  They just belong together.

Happy Wednesday!

Like Putty in your Hands . . .

I have unlocked the mystery to a teenager's heart.

No kidding!

And the best part is that it is super easy and super cheap!

Sure, teenagers are known for their external crustiness, their uncontrolled mood swings, their flippant facial expressions, and my personal favourite, their tear-your-heart-out-and-stomp-on-it put downs, BUT all of these vile side effects of a hormone-enraged body simply melt away with my secret weapon.  And for one brief moment, you will see that precious little spirit you gave birth to so many years ago reemerge, and you will even, I kid you not, hear these most sacred words fall out of their mouths like drops of manna from Heaven: "Mom, you are the best!".

I know!

This is powerful stuff, folks, and it must be treated with the utmost respect and reverence. 

Are you ready for it?

one . . .

two . . .

three . . .

Ta da!



Now, I warn you.  As you are approaching the drive-thru, your teenager will revolt and say something like, "Ugh!  NOT Rotten Ronnie's".  It's almost as if they can feel the power of the McDonald's Happy Meal already at work peeling away their crusty exterior piece by piece, and the closer you get to the order window the louder their wailing and whining will become.  You know, they work very hard to build this shell of contempt and they will stop at nothing to protect it:  "Are you trying to make me fat?  Have you seen that movie?  HE NEARLY DIED!  Oh, so you are trying to kill me, is that it?  When I'm a parent, my children will NEVER be allowed to eat this junk, and so on and so on.  Finally, all of your orders will be placed, and you will look at your teenager in one final act of kindness and ask: "Would you like anything, sweetheart?", to which they will roll their eyes and cry out in resignation: "FINE!  Just give me a chicken nugget Happy Meal".  Then do not say a word.  Hand the Happy Meal box, and it has to be the box because the bag pales in comparison to the supremacy of the almighty box, over to your teenager and allow the magic to happen. 

Voila!  Their defenses are weakened . . .

and you only have a twenty second window of opportunity to grab your camera to document this rare and fleeting moment of teenage contentment. Godspeed, my fellow parents!  Godspeed!

tee hee!