My 17-year-old stepson, Frizz, is intent on folding 1,000 paper cranes. This means there are paper cranes of all sizes showing up all around the house, increasing in numbers day by day. The first day was cute. He carefully placed a large crane on our dinner table, followed by cranes decreasing in size - like... Continue Reading →
This article publishes in the Press Democrat on August 10th. The kids are visiting their dad this week. As a result, the house is strangely quiet. The TV, which is usually blaring with bright pictures and loud voices from attention seeking sitcoms, has been off for days. And the Internet speed is curiously faster without... Continue Reading →
I was trying to describe my stepson to my counselor the other day in a way he could understand my frustration. "Everything he does is an act of protest," I told him, describing how Frizz hadn't cut his hair in 9 months, played music at ear-splitting levels, preferred his falling-apart shoes over anything new his father bought him, and locked himself in his room rather than joining in with the family. But the counselor wasn't understanding. Each level of defiance I shared was met with a murmur of approval, as if he were impressed with how Frizz chose to fight us.
(read part one HERE) I never thought it was possible to be utterly petrified of a teenager. Not me. I’m the one who has volunteered for years at a summer camp run completely by teens, and a host for our annual pancake breakfast at my kitchen table. I think the teenage years are when a... Continue Reading →