It's Tough to be a Teen (ager's Mom)

It's Tough to be a Teen (ager's Mom)

A Story by Shelley Holt-Lowrey

Boys who grow into men, and what they put their mothers through. (OK! It's probably tough on them too.)

I don’t know how difficult it is to be a man truly.  Imagine it 'aint too hard.  The road to getting there sure looks pretty rough though.

I am the keeper of a 13 year old boy who seems to have hit puberty at full gallop, and seems intent on meeting all the attending milestones simultaneously.

My son  has only recently returned from the land of “Mom Sucks” as he struggled to push through the brick wall of masculinity, which required he distance himself from anything remotely feminine.  Sadly, I’m remotely feminine.    At that time, he became closer to his father; a Man.  The same man, I might add, who once left him on the roof of his car in a car seat at the grocery store.  

Though I am gratified that he once again tolerates me, I’m wondering if I wasn’t happier when he and his dad were best buds, and I was the enemy.

My poor boy/man/boy.  His voice cracks, his feet are too big for his legs, his arms no longer fit his torso, and he trips over things like air and vapor all the time.  Some days he wears more Band Aids than clothing.

And he steps on me.  All the time.  At least twice or thrice daily.  How he manages this when one minute he's across the room, the next on my feet is a mystery.  It seems, though that wherever my feet go, his seem to follow close behind.  Waiting.  To mash mine. From the top.  With a really heavy step.   My feet are down-trodden, and quite afraid of him actually.  In fact, my feet and I really look forward to the day he grows into himself.  We will both be happy about that.

Yesterday, he followed me around the grocery store using his cracking voice to try to get me to buy him stuff.  During that short one hour trip, he stepped on my feet no less than five times.  He flat-tired my flip flop twice, and he rammed into me with the shopping cart at least a dozen times.  I look like a battered woman from the waist down.  

Also, he drops stuff.  In preparation for growth I guess, but he drops stuff all the time.  All kinds of stuff.  Expensive stuff, cheap stuff, it doesn’t matter.  He just drops it.  Or it falls to the floor mysteriously.  Sometimes he doesn’t even need to touch something.  Things sometimes just seemingly  hurl themselves to the ground by his mere presence.

Just this morning I was on my way out the door, when I was stopped by the sound of shattering glass.  I sighed, set down my bag and walked into the kitchen to find him staring wide eyed into the fridge, both doors standing wide open, his hands at his sides, and a jar of what was once spaghetti sauce dripping from every surface in a three foot radius.  Broken glass was strewn across the floor - around him, under him, over the entire kitchen floor and well into the family room.  I guess that jar of sauce saw him coming and just threw itself right off the shelf as he opened the door.

As he was barefoot, we gingerly walked him out of the kitchen (him stepping on me only twice) into the bathroom where we could assess the damage, and determine what was blood and what was sauce.  Turns out it was mostly sauce.  One Band Aid did the trick.  I then returned to the kitchen to clean up.  I would have made him do it but truly, I was afraid he would slice an artery.

After donning a pair of shoes, he lumbered back into the kitchen, mashing glass and spreading sauce along the way.  He then did the neatest thing.  He dropped down on one knee (slicing it open with the last stray glass shard of course) and gave me a big ol’ bear hug. Then, in his crackling high/low/boy/man/boy voice he said, “Thanks Mom,  I love you.”

I suppose I can probably put up with squished feet, banged up shins, messy kitchens, flat tire sandals and keeping the Band Aide brand in business for a little while longer.   I mean it’s not like it’s his fault that he’s suddenly morphed into a a big, messy lumbering meat pole.  He’s becoming a man.  The way I see it, it’s kind of a prerequisite anyway.

© 2012 Shelley Holt-Lowrey

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great job, reminds me of my brother :)

Posted 9 Years Ago

A big,messy lumbering meat pole.A prerequisite to man.Oh all we have is this,we used to be able to vote to get what we want ,now it is single white women who rule,Well I tell you she had dimples on her.....But I love her anyway.

Posted 9 Years Ago

This was my first published article (but culled to 400 words)! It was the featured article in the Aiming Low humor publication.

Posted 9 Years Ago

Ugh I love the way you wrote this! It's sassy but caring and loving at the same time. You sound like a wonderful mother and him a sweet kid. Best of luck in keeping him safe as he grows! ;)

Posted 9 Years Ago

1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Shelley Holt-Lowrey

9 Years Ago

Thank you. But I think I'm the one needing to be kept safe until he grows into himself. We laugh a.. read more

9 Years Ago

Ha! That's true. Let me rephrase: Best of luck keeping the entire family safe as he lumbers through .. read more
Shelley Holt-Lowrey

9 Years Ago

LOL - much truth in that. Thanks for coming by :)
Well written. You capture this situaion well.

Posted 9 Years Ago


9 Years Ago

and...this made me laugh the second time too.
this is so funny...well maybe not...but is that what a teenager does or goes through, or and of course Mom along the way...these days...just funny ...sorry

Posted 9 Years Ago

I find this story quite entertaining as I have come to expect from you. I am displeased that you chose to expose Dad's blunder car seat moment and have not come clean yourself. Everyone has made some silly mistake with a child, such as the time I failed to calculate the different clearance as I walked through the doorway with my daughter on my shoulders ... KATHUNK!! She didn't cry, she looked at me with a "You can't be that stupid." look. She cried when she realized that half of her genes came from me. But I digress ... you made me chuckle.

I especially liked ...
"he lumbered back into the kitchen"
"lumbered is a FAB word choice there. You're good!

Posted 10 Years Ago

I know I am not supposed to laugh at the car seat thing but.... BHAAAAAAAA

I am so sorry Shelley, I know I shouldn't laugh

Great poem/story

and we aren't all that bad

Posted 10 Years Ago

LOL My son was so like that! Stepping on people, dropping things... I played catch with him until he got tired of the ball hitting him instead of his glove. Ah the memories. Great write :)

Posted 10 Years Ago

The story is really good.

Posted 10 Years Ago

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20 Reviews
Added on June 13, 2012
Last Updated on June 13, 2012
Tags: sons, moms, teenagers, puberty, humor, satire, flat tires

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