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 →
If I were queen
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.
The wicked stepmother, part 2
(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 →
The wicked stepmother, part 1
Frizz, my (future) stepson, milled around the kitchen putting his lunch together for the school day. We were both moving around each other, doing our best not to disturb the other in the dance we did every morning. He moved like I wasn’t even there. I just tried to stay out of his way. Neither... Continue Reading →