Bonfire of the Vanities
So, the Offspring (male type) got back from football camp last night. Offspring (demon type) had to pick him up, as I am still ensconced in my new cubicle with my colleagues, dealing with our recent relocation. Wholenuther meaning to "close quarters". I thought one colleague was readying to give me a lap dance, but she just wanted to use the printer.
I put my dollar away.
As we used to say in the Army, "Tighten up the ranks and make your buddy smile,"
Anyway, my daughter picks up Running Back Lite from the school. Now, he'd told me, via phone, that he had a "surprise" for us once he got back. I was curious, as he could not be persuaded to spill the beanage. So, I'm in my new cubiclet, when my cell phone rings:
Annoying Ring! Annoying Ring!
Me: Hello?
Teen Chickie: Hi! Is ____ there!?
Me: No, I'm still at work, he's not with me.
Teen Chickie: Oh. Wait! OK! Can you please tell him that Teen Chickie said, "Ohmygod, I sooo can't believe you got a Mohawk!"
Me: ......(A Mohawk?!)...... Sure. I certainly will. Thanks for calling, Teen Chickie.
Teen Chickie: OK!! Bye!!
Oh, this was going to be fun. I live for these times. Doesn't quite make up for the stretchmarks, but hey, what can, really?
I pick up the phone:
RB Lite: Hello?
Me: You got a Mohawk?
RB Lite: ......
Me: Mmm-hmm. That's right. You can run, but you can't hide.
RB Lite: How do you ...
Me: Those eyes in the back of my head? Yeah. Maybe think about that next time. When were you going to tell me about this little styling adventure?
RB Lite: That was the surprise! That's what I was going to show you! Who told you? Did TeenDemon call you? Man! I can't believe she to--
Me: She didn't tell me.
RB Lite: But ... you're still at work! How do you kn--
Me: How I know doesn't concern you.
RB Lite: Did Coach call you!? Crap! Coach didn't call you did h--
Me: I can't believe you did this. You're grounded.
RB Lite: What?!? But, why -- grounded?! Are you serious?! But ... it's my hair! What about the beach bonfire tonight? You said I could go! It's my hai--
Me: I gotta go, things are crazy here.
RB Lite: What? No! Wait, I need to --
Me: *click*
Of course, later he claimed he knew I was joking all along. Hey, whatever you have to tell yourself to get through, right?
So, I end up chaperoning the Beach Bonfire. RB Lite and New Girlfriend were there with a goodly portion of the "graduating" 8th grade class. The idea is to burn the last vestiges of Middle School in a blaze of glory before moving on to the vaunted halls of High School.
Kind of an adolescent cleansing ritual involving fire, marshmallows, and illegal fireworks.
All week I'd been trying to get the lowdown on this bonfire business. I thought he called from camp because he missed me. Or at least because he knew I'd miss him. (Fool!) He called to ask permission to attend a Beach Bonfire the eve of his return from camp. I, of course, had questions about an event involving darkness, fire, graduation, hormones, high tide and a bunch of boys fresh from football camp, pumped up on adrenalin and testosterone. (This was before I even knew about the fireworks.) I had questions like,
- Who's sponsoring the bonfire? (I don't know)
- Is it a school event? (I don't think so)
- Well, is it a city event, or just a private party? (I don't know)
- What time does it end? (Um, probably after it gets dark?)
- Who will be there? (My friends)
- Do your friends have names? (You know. Just my friends)
- Who is supervising? Are parents going? (Probably. I don't know)
New Girlfriend wasn't digging the Mohawk so much at first. The son stuck to his guns, though. He calls it his 'Frohawk. (yeah. pretty witty kid, there.) She came around. Especially when all the other kids dubbed it "awesome". Especially when her future mother-in-law says, "Hey, what do you think you'd say if RB Lite tried to tell you how to wear your hair?" New Girlfriend is not about being controlled. She saw the point.
The 'Frohawk includes the school initials carved on either side of his head as well as the actual 'Frohawk itself. School spirit with a twist. It's all about teamwork at football camp, apparently.
ThankGawd for the parental front. I saw one firework go off a few inches from someone's hand. I saw a kid throw a firework into the fire, and then (get this) reach into the fire pit with his bare hand to retrieve it when it didn't go off. I saw another kid balance on the edge of the fire pit on one foot, while he kicked some logs around with his other foot to "rearrange things". I saw kids pushing each other while precariously bent over to roast marshmallows with what looked like a toothpick.
One kid shot a firework through a buddy's legs. Hello! I mean, seriously, I'm all for fun, but do they not know they could lose a hand? Or an equally useful appendage?
At least they weren't spraying Silly String into the fire, which can ignite the string and blow up the can, just like the warning on the side of the can says. (That, apparently, was well on the way to occuring when another parent foolishly left the room during a birthday party. Amazing what tidbits of information surface when parents compare notes.)
The fact that there aren't more grown men walking around with eye patches and bionic parts amazes me. I didn't see a single girl doing these things. A little testosterone is a dangerous thing, people.
RB Lite missed all these pyromaniacal goings on, as he and New Girlfriend were sitting on a piece of driftwood, watching the sunset. Well, they would've been, had the sun been visible. They were actually sitting on a piece of driftwood watching the various and sundry shades of grey swirl around. Pacific Northwest, people. I was actually proud -- ok, fine, maybe a bit smug -- that he didn't get sucked into the frenzied drama.
All in all, it was a good week for the son. And tomorrow is Friday, so only one more day in Office Lite for me.
16 prescriptions:
Mmmmmmmmm. Tater tots! with Ketchup? Yummmmmmy!
You are one kick ass mom. Seriously. Not only do you keep a watchful eye and a guiding prescence in your kid's lives, you actually allow them to express themselves, and give them room to grow and make decisions on their own.
We should have all been so lucky to be loved, guided, and given a strong foundation.
Hope you actually get the dance next time, and hope work is getting better.
Hilarious. You ARE "Cool Mommy"!!
Totally happy for offspring (male type) and his Frohawk. That's the time to do crazy shit that will grow back (he didn't get the school name tattooed on his ass, did he?) before he's gotta be all grown-up and crap. Just sayin'.
And yes, teenagery is the time for boys to be crazy and girls to be sane. Not sure those roles ever reverse, but I'm sure some men would disagree.
Hey tater tot, I say ditto about "more cowbell" too. She is the best mom I have ever known, hands down, and if I'd had kids she would be the one I would go to for advice. She has always practiced what I call "conscious parenting" and I seriously think she should write a book. The woman has Ph.D. level understanding of raising children.
Amazing, funny, wonderful post! I love the whole pagan/tribal thing that's going on.
I do wonder, though, if the lack of common sense exhibited by boys is still found in girls, just on a different level? Sure, maybe I...I mean, a friend of mine may have thought it was cool to toss a can of deodorant into the bonfire at Boy Scout camp to see it explode, not thinking that he basically just made a grenade and only because God looks out for fools did no one go to the emergency room. Girls, though, tend to develop eating disorders during their teen years and even other equally dangerous, if somewhat less...er, explosive, problems seeking social acceptance.
So, if an occasional Frohawk is as bad as it gets, then you are one hell of a parent, imho.
Holy laughing my 'thank-god-I-don't-have-children-or-I-would-be-a-neurotic-mess' ass off!
...an equally useful appendage
heh heh, oh dear. You are so awesome.
Aww -- in the words of my hero, Emily Saliers, "Thanks, y'all!"
Teenagers ain't for sissies, that's for goddamn sure.
Well, I tell you, the little darlings sure didn't think any of us were cool moms. "Why do the parents think they need to come? That's just dumb, man. What do they think we're going to do? It's not like we're 8," Whatever. Like that means beans to me.
And for the Frohawk, it's the first time that wide-eyed white kids can run up and say, "Ohmygod, can I touch your hair?! It's sooo cool," and it doesn't annoy the shit out him.
and QJ: on the manifestations by gender, I agree. 'Nuff said on that one.
Hat: you sound like most of my friends. It occurred to me a few years back that none of my close friends have kids. Many of them don't even like kids. Not sure why that is. (why we're friends, i mean, not why they don't like kids.)
PS Tater -- I actually did think about you when zapping the little tots. Can't remember the last time I had those. Teen Demon brought them home. Oh, and on the package? They're not called Tater Tots, they're actually Tater Treats. (anyone ever called you that? Just asking.) And ketchup, absolutely. Otherwise, what's the point?
I was called tater tot by many, and tater treat by a few...Ah fuck who am I kidding..a lot of deserving and discriminating menses, and tater trollop by a couple of prissy queens. What can I say, when you are shaped like a cylinder, crispy and hot, and tasty and moist on the inside, it's hard NOT to spread the love around.
GoodGawd, man, now why did you have to go and put those kind of thoughts in my head? Whilst bastilled away in my cubiclet, no less! Cylinder? Are you trying to make me swoon?
Puts me in mind of days in the former eastern bloc, and a certain bald Scorpio with a hoop earring in each ear and a sexy mind to go along with the---
---Damn you, Tater Tease!
So, what other monikers have been assigned you? A guessing game, shall we? Tater Toy? Tater Tart? Tickle Me Tater? DickTater? Mr. PoTater Head? Tricky Tater? How 'bout Tater Top?
Why am I hungry for mechanically pressed potato niblets? Hmmm...
LOL! I especially like Tickle Me Tator, and Tater Tart, but you shame me, they are all so good... When I was young and invincible I was mostly a Baked PoTater, and when I really really have to pee I'm a FloTater, and when and if I go to grad school I will become a MasterTater...
Ditto to the awesome mother comments, yo. And kudos on the post. Quite entertaining.
Perfect post. There was more wit in here than, well, something that has a whole lot of wit. Nothing is really springing to mind right now. Maybe I should come back later when the tablets wear off.
Hey RB's mom, you should be giving courses in parenting skills. What a wonderful post.
We want more (pounding his knife and fork on the table)
We want more
We want more
"The fact that there aren't more grown men walking around with eye patches and bionic parts amazes me. I didn't see a single girl doing these things. A little testosterone is a dangerous thing, people."...LOL!
Ever see the movie,"Lord of the Flies?"..It's like that.
Very fun and funny post MC. :)
heh. i don't know how you do it. i just read it and i'm exhausted. i have the greatest admiration for people taking good care of kids. yay for you.
and this, from tater: I say, when you are shaped like a cylinder, crispy and hot, and tasty and moist on the inside, it's hard NOT to spread the love around. too funny. moist?? tater said moist???
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