I think by know everyone knows there is no instruction manual that comes with a freshly birthed baby. There are loads of books, but you have to pick and choose and try different things before you find one that works for your family. You hold your baby’s hand as they learn to walk, wincing as they wobble and applauding when they succeed. You teach your child how to navigate the world of cliques and bffs and finding themselves. You teach them how to make the choice that’s appropriate for *them* - which isn’t always the popular one.
And then they hit The Teen Years. It’s been documented that their brain has teh dumb. And yet this is when we expect them to choose a school track, learn how to manage a checkbook and McJob, learn how to drive a car and navigate the adult world. “They” tell you to talk to your teen about drugs, alcohol, and to Just Say No.
Do you know what’s missing from all the stuff “They” say?
How, exactly, are you “supposed” to handle it when your teen says “YES!!! There were drugs and alcohol and I had a *fine* time!!! Now come get me because I’m too effed up to drive.”
Do you flip your shit and slap them into rehab? Waggle your finger and say “Don’t you EVAR do that again”? Start researching boot camps, military schools, and wilderness programs?
What are you “supposed” to do when your teen says “Screw the rules. I can couchsurf if I have to. I have plenty of friends that’ll let me stay with them.”
Do you show them the door, bidding them good luck? Install bars on the windows and an alarm system so you’ll know when/if they try to get out?
What are you “supposed” to do when your teen calls two hours after curfew and says “Uh. Not comin’ home tonight. Not tellin’ you where I am. You don’t need to know who I’m with. Now stop CALLING me, you’re STRESSING me OUT!!!”
Do you call the police and ask for help? (And furthermore, what do you do when they can’t/won’t help?) Get in your car and start cruising the city? Enable the GPS on their cellphone?
I have friends who had babies at 14 and 15 (respectively). Their lives are good now, but were incredibly difficult then. How are you “supposed” to handle it when you try to talk to your teen about sex and they refuse to talk about it?
What are you “supposed” to do?
Once upon a time, in a horridly ugly alternate universe, there lived a Scary Webpage. Although the images weren’t indexed by the Wayback Machine, thanks to a friend, I can show you it.
Click the image if you want to biggie-size it. Also? A different friend sent the image to me as-is and the artist’s signature is not legible. If you recognize the artwork, holla - I’d love to give credit where credit is due.
Unfortunately, this was not my first webpage.
This was. Well, sort-of. I’m not sure if this is Tig’s creation or mine and he’s not available to ask. (More than likely I coded a page and then he went back and “fixed” it.) I’m fairly sure that both of these pages were created in Dreamweaver.
On the blogging side of things, I can tell you that somewhere around April of 2004 I moved from Moveable Type (please dear gawd don’t ask me what version) to WordPress 1.0.2 and haven’t looked back once.
Between the generation of that first webpage (2002) and my conversion to WordPress (2004) I realized that I am Not A Coder. Ask me a question, I can find an answer for you. Ask me to code something for you and my brain will explode (and not in the shimmery pretty fireworks kinda way either).
Like much of the rest of my life, I’m sure coding would prove to be easy if I Would Just Apply Myself a Bit More but nah. I’d rather let Matt and The Developers handle that side of things. Why reinvent the wheel, after all?
This post is my response to Lorelle, kickin’ my bloggin’ ass.
The Challenge: A picture of your Horrid Hair Past, a picture of a Really Good Hair Day, and where you stand today.
I decided to limit the pictures of my Horrid Hair Past to styles I am responsible for, and to stuff that I have digitally already. Y’all know how I am - I’ll sit down in front of the box of photos trying to find something, and end up spending the next 48 hours organizing and scanning and further organizing…it’s really something best left for later. So, without further ado:
This is from April of 2000, and I’m rockin’ The Bun. The Bun being held by a scrunchy. Good lawd.
March, 2001. Ignore the fact that I’m vastly pregnant, and look at that spiffy blue Goody’s hairband/comb thing holding all the hair away from my face. It was South Florida, it was hot, I was pregnant, and could not stand hair.on.my.face. Also notice the ends are significantly lighter than the roots. Now would be a good time to mention that I haven’t seen my “natural” haircolor in years (with the exception of this next photo)
May of 2002. Good lawd if that hair isn’t a depressed cry for help, I don’t know what is. I was still afraid to color my hair and by that point Tig was telling me lovely things like “I don’t care what you look like. I love you for your brain.” (which we all know means “Daaaaamn girl you UGLY”)
I showed this picture to my friend Jami and she made fun of my pseudo-mullet. I think I actually like the red tips and black roots. It’s very emo-ish. Or something.
Definitely something.
December 2003. Speaking of depressed cries for help….
Just look at the baby, okay? LOOK AT THE BABY!!!!
(and I was so proud of having hair down to my waist. No, I really don’t know what I was thinking.)
June 2004 brings us the Revenge of the Goody’s Hair Comb Headband thingy. At least this time it matches my too-dark haircolor. The good news is that by this point I’d clipped ten inches from my hair, bringing it back up to just below shoulder length.
January 2005 and can we get any more ho-hum? I mean, really. At least by this point I’d found a decent color (though still too dark). I also didn’t realize there were toddler fingerprints on the camera lens - hence the foggy look to the photo.
Not really. Sometimes I prefer myself a little blurry.
January 2007 (sssh we’re not speaking to 2006. Let’s just say there were no changes. Move on, nothing to see here.)
I’d finally made it out to see my stylist and had lots of spiffy layers to bring out the curl. Except for that one spike of bangs that’s threatening to take out my eye. Good thing I was wearing glasses for protection *nods wisely*
Due to the demise of my beloved laptop (and the fact that I have to be at work in 20 minutes), I’m picking this one as my “good hair pic”
PS - Hair Thursday is in on this gig too.
You sure have come a long way in the last few years, huh? Listen, thanks for not exploding when my blood pressure took off. Hell, thanks for not exploding during that last month of pregnancy. It really means a lot to me that you were able to keep it together through all that neglect. And I know, I know - I need to start taking vitamins again. But can I have props for at least remembering to take our daily meds?
I want you to know that I really don’t expect you to look a certain way anymore (although I really wish that I had THIS attitude back when a quarter could bounce off our ass and make change). I know that the off-the-shelf clothes don’t really fit properly, and I’m sorry about that. Clothing manufacturers have to hit a sort of size range, and well….with a waist that is 7 inches smaller than your hips, nothing is really going to really work.
The way I see it, there are only a few things we need to work on. That whole not-sleeping thing we’ve got going on? Yeah, we need to fix that the rest of the way. It’s time to wrap the brain around a bathing suit - we promised the kids we’d go to the beach this year. And really, truly - it’ll be OK if we leave the majority of the books in the van instead of carrying them around all.day.long. Also? How about if we work on that whole “priorities” thing? You know - schoolwork THEN the google reader.
One last thing: You were a huge asshole when you were fourteen. Your daughter is a huge asshole now that she’s fourteen. You got over it (for the most part), so will she. A panic attack every time she pitches a fit really is overkill.
This is my contribution to BlogHer’s Letter to my Body campaign.
