Drugs, Part 1: The Conversation

The night started out as a typical, normal night, whatever that means. A sleepover had been arranged and I was driving my oldest son over to his best friend’s house. My mind was full, filled with a personal tragedy that I will likely share some other time. Still, being true to form, I managed to engage with some idle chit chat. Pieces of conversation devoid of meaning creating the illusion of engagement, feigning interest in some part of a video game I could care less about. But then it struck me. I could meld this tragedy and parenting - do something meaningful and make it a teaching moment. And so I naively wandered into a conversation to teach cause and effect, to show the dangers of activities hazardous to his health.

Being only a freshman in high school, I had no idea what his level of exposure is to some of the more common hazardous activities. You know - smoking, drinking, things like that. All those parenting books keep blabbing about how communication is key during these years, so I bluntly asked if he knew anyone that smoked. I was stunned with his reply: “Weed or cigarettes?”

Um, okay. Wow. “Ah, um, well I was asking about cigarettes, but do you know people that smoke weed?”

The answer, of course, was yes to both. I was dazed. I was perplexed about why I would be unprepared and shocked by the response. After all, I know what I did in high school and when I started doing it. Still trying to get a grasp of those three words, I continued to probe, the details of which I can't clearly recall. My brain kept whirling, swirling in an effort to process. And in that moment of fog, that dead zone of parenting when you wish you could push a button and make time stand still to figure out what you are supposed to do or how you are supposed to respond as a "good" parent, the bomb dropped.

“Well mom, have you ever smoked weed?” And, there it was. Twice now, in a period of under five minutes I was stunned again. Again, why did I not see this coming? Again, how could I not be prepared? Of course there is no button to stop time which left me about 500 milliseconds (that's half a second for those of you unaware) to figure out my response. Do I tell the truth? Do I lie? And in that moment I thought of my own youth and how I always disliked my father’s refusal to admit his youthful transgressions, and so I went with the truth.

“Yes, yes I did.”

You’d think that would be enough torture for the night. But no, it had to go on. The hammering had to continue. Cathy needed to be taught a lesson. Heh, the irony of it all. I asked for it by starting this conversation. I was going to "teach" him, remember? Now I've got to ride it out.

“Well, how old were you Mom? Were you in college?”

It was at that moment that I truly failed. Clearly I must have hesitated and, just as clearly, he saw it. Right then he knew. I didn't even need to answer. He's a smart kid, you know.

“You smoked in high school, didn’t you?”

What do they say? Three strikes you're out? I was busted. It was too late. No longer able to deny; no longer able to turn back. There are some things in life where there are no do-overs. The conversation had run its course and I handled it all wrong. I must have forgotten to read that chapter of the manual. Oh wait, they don't come with one.

I dropped him off at his friend’s house, full of misgivings and regret, and sped home as quickly as I could to consult the husband.

I relayed the entire conversation to him, looking for forgiveness or dismissal of my concerns, some sense that I didn’t really screw things up. Husband’s response, “He’s fishin’ for permission.” My heart sank.

Backpacking with the Boy Scouts

I know. It’s been awhile. Where have I been? Well, you can probably guess judging by the title of this post for one. Last weekend I went backpacking with the boy scouts and now, as I write this post, I am sitting on a houseboat on Lake Shasta. I am enjoying summer's finest moments.

Every year the boy scouts do an annual four day, 20+ miler backpacking trip and I go with them, although I'm not quite sure why. I guess it's enjoyable? This year it was hot. It was very, very hot. But it was also very, very beautiful. The mosquitoes were fierce which meant that as soon as dinner was done, everyone retired to the bliss of their tents; behind that wonderful invention called mesh providing the much-needed protection from those nasty little suckers. Tent time provided some writing time (in a journal of course) which I am starting the process of copying over to my blog.

The early retirement also meant that I got to spend some nice one-on-one time with the second son. I failed to bring any games (too much weight to carry as it was!) and so these evenings were made of conversation. On our last night, the second son and I put together our list of superlatives from the trip which I now share with you, from his perspective and mine.

Best of
Mom: The views

Echo Lakes - where it all began.

Lake Aloha

Gilmore Lake

First glimpse of Lake Tahoe in the distance!

Son: Snowball fight, in July, when it's HOT!

Worst of
Mom: Mosquitoes
Son: Mosquitoes

Best Quote
Mom: “Staring at nylon” which is what you do when it’s seven o’clock, still light out and you don’t feel like getting eaten alive.
Son: “C’mon coach. Put me in coach. C’mon, I can do this!”

Scariest
Mom: The thought of bears in the night, especially when you have to pee, by yourself, in the dark.
Son: Slipping on snow, next to a cliff. Yes, that’s right. Mid-July and there’s still a TON of snow in the Sierras.

Best Equipment
Mom: Big Agnus tent, for two.
Son: Deet (bug spray in case you don’t know).

Best Luxury Item
Mom: Wipes
Son: Cheese Whiz, in a spray can.

Best Meal
Mom: Spaghetti with meat, freeze-dried, just add water and wait.
Son: Sheppard’s Pie, freeze-dried, just add water and wait.

Worst Ache or Pain
Mom: My stupid knee. Grrrrr. Uphill, fine. Downhill, not so much.
Son: Back – all that twisting while lifting the backpack to actually get it on your shoulders.

Best Article of Clothing
Mom: Mosquito net hat! Duh!
Son: Same.

Best Moment
Mom: When second son comes and says, “Mom, I think I’m going to sleep with you.”
Son: The tent – and being in it away from the mosquitoes.

Most Impressive
Mom: Seeing two families, with five kids under the age of five, hiking up (and I do mean UP) two miles to the first lake. One lady had a full pack on her back and an infant in a front carrier. Damn, that IS impressive.
Son: Hiking up Dick’s Pass. Two straight miles of steep grade, the view from the saddle – WOW! And, the sense of accomplishment when it was done.

Where Did The Time Go?

Forgive me, but this story is a bit meandering.

I was at the elementary school the other day picking up my six-year-old. When we were walking by his classroom, I noticed that his teacher's room was still open so I popped my head in to say 'hi'. Mrs. C has been the Kindergarten teacher for all three of my boys and she is awesome. A 50-something year old former P.E. teacher, she is loud, active and real. She's the only one I know that will call my kids out in a heartbeat, in front of me, without skipping a beat. She commands respect through adoration.

We chatted briefly and I let her know that I was heading out for my annual trek to Las Vegas. She gave me "the look" which I instantly interpreted as "Cathy what are you doing to me?!" You see, the Husband is great at a lot of things but staying on top of three active boys' schedules is not one of them - and she knows it. Without hesitating she says that I have to do ONE thing for her before I leave. And, without hesitation I said, "I know. I have to get a baby picture of Henry in by tomorrow, or else!"

I got home and started pulling my stuff together and remembered the baby photo. It's part of the open house project - all the kids bring in baby photos and then the class goes around trying to match everyone up. So in keeping with my promise, I ended up rifling through a bunch of old photos. At first I couldn't find any baby pictures of Henry! Yikes! But eventually I did, and it was such a wonderful trip in time. Oh, for days gone past! I cannot believe the time is gone.

As it turned out, I shared that sentiment with a friend of mine and his response was really intriguing to me.

Is the time really gone? I think you use your time wisely, so I wouldn't look at it like that.

Wow. I can't explain why, but this really struck me. It made me think - is the time really gone? Is time "gone" if you use it well? We have fun. We do things as a family. We enjoy life. We create memories, even if it's doing nothing. Instead of being sad or wistful of days gone by, I can celebrate the time we've had - the experiences shared. Getting to know my kids for the people they are becoming. I find this concept to be exciting and liberating. It motivates me to set the chores aside and enjoy myself and my time with the kids. There will always be dishes to wash, laundry to do, dinners to cook. But I will not always have my kids at home with me; to share with me moments to be captured in a photo, or not.

So I think my friend is right. I use my time wisely so the time will never truly be gone.

I Need To Do Better Than This

It's just after 9:00 am on Saturday morning. I'm still in bed, sleeping quite nicely except for the strange dream where I'm holding a meeting - in my underwear. It's not often I get to sleep in and the fact that it's not even Mother's Day or my birthday makes it even more pleasurable. I so rudely get awakened by my cell phone vibrating on the night stand. It's "Home" calling. Okay, that's odd. I think it might be my oldest who often is too lazy to walk across the house to ask me something. No, it's the husband.

I answer, "Hello" with a quizzical, furrowed brow, slightly peeved.

Husband says, "Hey, um....." then silence. A few seconds later, "Did you hear me?"

"No" I reply, now starting to feel even further peeved about my underwear dream getting disrupted. After all, I knew it was a dream and these dreams have a reason, right?

Next, husband says, "...um, ah, someone..." [insert phone rustling sounds here].

Now I'm sitting up, straining to hear what on earth could be so important that husband had to call me and now is trying to communicate so secretively. After a little more time of phone rustling sounds, in hushed whispers I hear "Cath, the tooth fairy. Did he come last night?"

"Oh SHIT!" comes out of my mouth with the associated I-fucked-up rush of adrenaline. Husband says, "You need to do something quick! I have Henry out here with me." I grab a dollar out of my jeans pocket next to my bed. A paper dollar is not quite up to my standards for such a momentous occasions. I would have preferred a sacajawea to make it more special, but time was of the essence. I rush out of my bedroom just in time to see Henry walking out of his, with his tooth in hand.

I put the dollar under his pillow anyway thinking there has to be some way to save this situation. Maybe I can fake him out. He can find the dollar and we can make some excuse as to why the tooth fairy failed to take it. So I say, "Honey, are you sure you didn't see anything?" in my feeble attempt to play this off.

Husband immediately replies, "No, the tooth fairy didn't come. He still has his tooth." Ah yes, you really can't ignore the obvious. Duh. Instead, husband comes up with his own answer, "It must be because you stayed up too late last night Henry." This is true - he was up to almost 11:00 pm - that's late for a six-year-old. I turn and rush back to his room and snag the dollar back. Damn. I am so lame.

I need to do better than this. I keep noticing instances like this. Why? I don't know. I can make a million excuses, but in the end, they are simply excuses. I just need to do better than this.