Lego Man in Space

Deb: These are two Scarborough Ontario boys, Mathew Ho and Asad Muhammad, friends from grade school who put this amazing little project together. When Asad came to Canada from India he could not speak any English and Mathew befriended him and involved him in this project some years later. When asked by interviewers how they are going to build on Lego Man in Space, they said, “We are just going to concentrate on good grades and graduating this year and getting into good universities.” Lovely boys with something to tell their grandchildren. 

This is the interview:

This is the whole unedited journey:

A Furry Teen In Our House

Deb: I remember the day she stopped paying attention. It was a week ago Tuesday at 6:21 PM. She was now ten months old. A teen. A friggin furry teen.

I did what I always do when she starts to bark. “Bairn, come!” Works like a charm. Say it only once or the word will cease to mean anything.

Waiting. Waiting.................................................................................................Waiting.

No come. Not a come to be found. Now what?

Can’t say “Bairn, come” again. The trainer told me that. DO NOT SAY IT MORE THAN ONCE.

So now what? Me waiting. She running amuck. Waiting. More amuck. Waitingness. Amuckness.

Me putting on rain boots. Yes, raining. Pouring. Downpour. Monsoon. I knew it would happen like this.

Out I went embittered and soggy. I stand my ground. She circles the pool. I reach for her. She eludes my grasp. I strain my back and curse her. She doesn’t give a flippin damn.

So ... after ten minutes of this Tom Foolery, I cave.

Bairn, come....................Bairn, COOKIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

She comes faster than the speed of light.

And when she crosses the threshold I shout “NO COOKIE. NO COOKIE! You are bad! Bad Bairn! Bad. Bad. Bad. BAD. BAD. No cookie! No friggin cookie because you DID NOT COME. Ha ha. Yeah you think there’s a cookie coming, but there is NO COOKIE.”

I stood there soaked in triumph.

And she looked at me trusting and wide-eyed.

Bairn

Gave her a cookie.

Who’s the asshole now?

Barbara: Oh, Deb! So funny!! This is like me and my teenaged girls. “Girls, pick up your stuff. Girls, pick up your stuff. Girls! Stuff! Pick it UPPPPPP!” Except, wait, they never look at me wide-eyed anymore. And my bribe isn’t “cookies”, it’s chai lattes. Okay, we’re back on track here—I definitely give into those even when stuff isn't picked up. Even un-wide-eyed, these girls sure are cute. Plus I’m a sucker for chai lattes (which in order to get, by the way, requires leaving said stuff-strewn house).


PS: Stay tuned for a wonderful new 3-way on Wednesday!

Teenagers These Days

Barbara: I read this appalling article the other day about a family who came home to their house after a two-week holiday only to find that it had been invaded by a group of teens and used as a party-pad for several days. The kids had destroyed and vandalized the whole house, drinking all the booze and leaving the telltale signs of their sexual escapades in virtually every room. The worst news: the group of teens was known to the family, friends of one of the daughters, each of them receivers of much family favour, from carpooling to pizza-hosting. Apparently, the daughter’s keys had been stolen from her purse and, knowing the family was going to be away, this group of hooligans broke in and wreaked havoc. Oh wait, it gets even worse: despite knowing the names of each kid (the idjits signed their names in a coffee-table book), the police couldn’t press charges because it was too difficult to confirm who had done what. And it’s too expensive for the parents to take any of them to court for nebulous pay-off. And wait, there’s even more: the parents of the kids, despite the fact that the police told them in explicit detail what went down, did absolutely NOTHING. No repercussions (as far as we know) for their children’s heinous actions. And okay, there’s even worse: the teen daughter whose ex-friends perpetrated these crimes? Have all shunned the daughter. Starting a landslide shift away from her at school. She’s the pariah.

Read the article; it’s a fascinating peak into the ugly side of humanity in a horrific car wreck kind of way.

Thing is, I read this article the day I was hosting a houseful of teens myself. My daughter was celebrating her 17^th birthday and had asked for a party and sleepover. Because she asks so rarely, my husband and I were happy to host it. I know a lot of her friends and I like them and trust them. But I have to say, the article put the little demon of doubt in my mind. After all, the events described above happened in my own city. Maybe not far from my own home. How could I not consider the possibility of mayhem in the wake of a houseful of teenagers?

But the party went ahead as planned and it was a resoundingly positive experience. Sure, there were a lot of them. And oh my god, the noise. Even the white noise of so many voices is disarming. Never mind the throbbing music, the laughter, the shrieks of delight (no, I mean, SHRIEKS). But they were adorable. They knocked politely at our bedroom door as they arrived to say hello, adding that they hoped they weren’t being too obnoxious and thanking us profusely (oh, and exercising their newfound skills at ego-boosting: we were the kindest, sweetest, most forthcoming, best cooks, chillest peeps EVER). I mean, it was awesome! And when it was all over (the next morning really because several of them slept over), they cleaned the house and proffered more profuse thanks before they went their adorable merry ways.

Teens these days? Despite the above article, I think they get a tough rap. Sure, there are some bad apples. And their immature followers. But so so many of them are decent, wonderful, thoughtful beings. With a lot on their minds and in their hearts. Remember those days?

Deb: Oh, I do indeed remember those days, Barb. And trust me, we were wild and we could party! But we never ever would think of destroying our friends’ parents’ property in any way. I read that article too and thought, “Wow, was I a teen on another planet?”  We would get drunk, stoned, and silly but we were always careful and respectful of our friends’ homes. Even in the park we had a sense of “this is our neighbourhood” and we would not harm a blade of its grass. Okay, we would puke, sure, but that’s good for the soil. So it was so foreign to me when I read that article.

And yeah, Luke had a party here a month ago and same deal as Michele’s party. Respect, noise, drinking, loud noise, eating, drinking, noise ... and respect.  WAY more good teens than bad on this earth. Not news though, right? 

_SENDING_ Your Love

Luke and Megan

Deb: Recently our wonderful son and his delightful girlfriend celebrated their second-year anniversary––and Facebook was all aTwitter with it! I am not on Facebook, but my husband is and he was telling me about their public outpouring of love for each other and the resulting outpouring of love and support from their friends.

My first thought was, I wonder why they didn’t just email each other privately? These are their deepest most intimate thoughts of love that they are sharing with anyone who has ever friended, poked, or added them. What a funny generation they are, I thought. Nothing is private in their world.

And so I wondered, If love is declared in a forest and there is no one around to hear it, is it still love?

And then I thought about it and how we are always accusing this generation of being distant and removed, of living in a digital world and not touching each other. And I pondered it and realized, this IS their touching.

And more than the technical aspect, truth be told, they are doing what lovers are meant to do. They are proclaiming it loudly for all the cyber-world to hear. Instead of shouting it from the rooftops, they are literally bouncing it off satellites, which in a gorgeous way makes their love out of this world!

Now I know this isn’t for everyone, as some people are very private––which is perfect if it is perfect for their love’s expression. But if you are the type of lover who wants every Tom, Dick and Harry1982 to know your beeswax then why NOT press send when your heart soars?

So I pulled my prude stick out of my arse and thought, Yes, my darling boy, sing love’s praises whenever and wherever you can. Be proud of love in any form! When two hearts love as one, it is so strong it should explode––to infinity and beyond!

Barbara: Ack! “If love is declared in a forest and there is no one around to hear it, is it still love?” LOVE that.

This reminds of when I was first introduced to Facebook (not even a year ago) and noticed there was a “relationship status”. Newly introduced to these public displays of private lives, I worried that all these online teens and young adults were not only having to navigate the fickle seas of love, but also suffering the drama of being added to profiles or not added or, worse, deleted after a break-up. It just brought back all those super-vivid memories of my own adolescent experiences of love, romance, and (agonizing) betrayal, forcing me to imagine them compounded by the piercing gaze of the public forum.

I stuck my nose in too and urged my girls to not have a relationship status unless it was a really, really serious relationship. I mean, how can young people not be drawn to constantly spy on each other’s romantic status (or statii, thanks, Gae!)?! Or at the end of an affair, not wonder in pain how they could be so easily forgotten? Or––as in one friend’s mortified experience––find their profile boldly announce their newly single!!! status, adorned with a floating heart. Newly single?! Her heart had just been ripped unceremoniously from her chest and flung hard against the wall. In her heartbroken despair, she had thought it wise to change her relationship status from “in a relationship” to not, without realizing Facebook would proclaim her availability for any Tom, Dick, or Harry to check out. Yeah, baby.

But I have to say, you make an excellent point, Deb. Being able to proclaim your love is a wonderful and precious thing. Love is a wonderful and precious thing. I have also urged my girls to believe in it wholeheartedly. Even if it only lasts a few months, weeks, days, or even moments. It is a commodity in any shape. And we owe it to our world to have it echo off every forest tree and household wall and orbiting satellite. Shout it from the rooftops, kids. We want to hear you.   


Edited to add: Hey everybody, we placed 3rd in the 2010 Canadian Blogger Awards Personal category. Thank you all sooooo much for supporting us! We are thrilled!

What Kind Of Mother Am I?!

Barbara: Call me crazy, but I’ve finally decided after twenty years of motherhood that there is no sure-fire prescription for parenting. After all these years of being an adult, I can confirm absolutely that kids of unbelievably amazing parents can still stumble and fall (sometimes spectacularly, sometimes heartbreakingly) and kids of terrible, apathetic parents can turn out unbelievably amazing. No great revelation, but still, it seems worth repeating.

They are them. Simple as that.

Why bring this up now? Well, my older daughter just turned 20 yesterday and––while there is no melancholy at all, believe it or not––it did inspire me to reflect on the job I have taken so very seriously for all these years. 

Stefanie at 20

What kind of mother am I? Given that both my daughters are almost grown (the younger one will be 17 in two weeks), I can say with all confidence that I am thrilled with how they turned out. But I am hard-pressed––and this is NOT me being a martyr––to take much of the credit (see above).

Sure, I think I did a pretty good job. But then, as we all do, I committed to the life-lessons I thought were important and worthy and didn’t commit to the ones I thought were incidental and mundane. Clearly, we will all disagree on which is what. My husband and I certainly sometimes did. For the sake of brevity, I’ll just say we always worked it out.

Stefanie at 14

For right or wrong, I’m pretty lenient. Not compared to a lot of parents, but on the sliding scale. Take Stefanie, my now 20-year-old. She is a burgeoning fashion designer. She has always been artistic. When she was a young teen of 14, she decided she wanted to dye her hair pink and pierce her upper lip. I balked. There was no health risk in flamboyant hair and a harmless piercing, so why was I balking? 

Stefanie at 14

Then I realized, I was worried about what people would think. And then I realized I didn’t want my kids to ever EVER make their choices based on what other people thought. Sure, they should understand that people might indeed judge them, but they shouldn't live their lives making choices out of fear. That epiphany shifted my whole parenting mindset.

Stefanie at 15

When Stefanie was rocking this look above, she remembers walking past an older couple and the woman whispering (loudly) to the man: “She looks like she could kill someone and not even care.” My daughter: sweet, peace-loving, fashion-curious, 105 lb-soaking-wet Stefanie.

Stefanie at 16

Stefanie at 16

Stefanie at 17

Stefanie at 17

I also let my kids stay out late. We live in a big city and I grew up in one. The city has taught me one thing: bad things happen at any time of day. So I don’t have a problem with late nights per se. Within reason, of course. Not on a school night. And I must know where they are and that they are with friends. They text or phone with updates. Otherwise, I am a believer in adventures, in exploring, in engaging in the social circle.

I also support their friendships with boys. I know they’ll like who they like and if we give them too hard a time about it, then that critical door would just bang shut between us. I hate “the door” and do everything I can to keep it open, even if I sometimes only manage to keep it slightly ajar.

I’m not preaching to try and convert anyone to this style of parenting. I know what worked for us won’t necessarily work for the next kid (see above) … or their parents. My choices might have been radically different had my children been any different. The trust they’ve received from us is trust they’ve earned.

I don’t regret the fundamental choices I’ve made—maybe I will after they go to therapy––although I do have a roster of dark parenting moments that I deeply regret (clutching my 9-year-old’s hand in angry desperation when she refused to eat her sandwich because it was “gross” during a social brunch for which we paid too much money––when money felt very precarious––and seething at her through gritted teeth to “eat the fucking sandwich.” If you know me at all, you know a) how out-of-character that “fuck” was, particularly directed at my precious––and very young––daughter, and b) I am not given to clutching arms and seething through gritted teeth. It was a dark day that I will never forget. My daughter? Says she has no idea what I’m talking about.)

What do I think I did well? I listened. I listen still. Again, not a martyr––I do it for me as much as I hope it benefits them. Nothing like a long car ride on the way to a soccer game or after a party to hear the best, the worst, the funniest, the strangest, the scariest, the most hopeful parts of their lives. What kind of kids are they? The very best.

Deb: Oh dear God, don’t we all have those moments as parents? The moments of which you are not proud. I still cringe at the memory of my 12-year-old boy asking me gingerly if he could walk to school with his friends …  instead of ME and his friends. Yes, folks, he was 12. Go ahead. Say it. Yes, I deserve your scorn.

And of course my attempt to make learning about sex an open, honest, and healthy discussion between a boy and his parents ended with my darling son cautioning me that he did not need to know quite that much information. Or the time he went to school and attached to his Thomas the Tank Engine sweater courtesy of static cling was my black thong, which the boy told his little friends was “Mummy’s eye patch.” And, ahh yes, the time I was at wits’ ends with him over schoolwork not done, and I pulled the car over, put it in park, turned around and screamed at the boy, “Well, I think it’s time to BUCK UP, ME BUCKOOOOOO!!!” So unaccustomed was I to reprimanding this easygoing child that the phrase just popped up from the old Disney pirate movie section of my brain and out of my mouth. OH, what I would not have given for it to have simply been “Fuck”!!!

And for the record, Barb is a great mom who has a similar general parenting style to mine. Let them be who they will be and allow them their rebellion if it doesn’t hurt them or others. Worked for me and clearly for Barb. We are the proud mistake-makers of three lovely human beings. 

Big Little Dig

Barbara: Yesterday, my husband and I were going out for dinner and my youngest daughter was going to be home alone until the older one came home from work. I went into M’s room to say goodbye and asked her to remember to tell S when she came home that there was dinner in the fridge. Except I preambled that request with, “Don’t ignore your sister like you usually do when she gets home.” M stopped and looked at me sidelong … then wondered aloud why I needed to add the “dig”. And, she wondered, why did “digs” so often have to accompany our parental requests? Couldn’t we just ask her to do something and leave it at that? 

I hedged and stammered and thought and considered––because M ALWAYS wants an answer. And then blurted that I thought the “digs”, as she called them, had something to do with the fact that we so often ask her and her sister to do something—and they so often DON’T do them, even with several reminders, so we resort to “strong-arm tactics”—like the aforementioned “dig”. 

Well, M, in all her old-soul glory, pinned me with one of her eviscerating, penetrating stares and carefully reminded me that she was still going through adolescence and that, while she knew she could often “be a bitch”, these digs hurt her feelings and, more importantly, had a cumulative negative impact. 

Hmmmm. Can’t argue with that, right? 

Left me feeling a little … careless. 

Deb: Nothing worse than a teenager with a good point. Should be against the law.

However, the next time she gives you “eyes on the ceiling” or a sarcastic comment ... you got her, baby!!!!!!!!! 

Barbara: True dat!