To Be the Mom of a Fifteen-Year-Old

I don't really remember my fifteenth year that much, but I do remember being a teenager. I had this God-awful perm that was all the rage back then, and I tried to feather my bangs using tons of Aqua Net or whatever knock-off brand I could find. My clothes matched each year's fad, too--big, hoop, neon earrings; balloon dresses; shiny blouses; black, velvety, stirrup pants. Yes, I was quite the fashion plate, which is the reason why I have not saved a single clothing item or piece of jewelry from this era. (Pictures are scarce, too.)  Combine these awesome fashion choices with a pimply face, large nose (my nose grew faster than my face), and a tall frame that was always hunched over, and boys were lined up to invite me to the prom--NOT!

I choose to forget this timeframe for obvious reasons, and yet, here's my son going through this same awkward phase. The phase when friends adore you in private but ignore you in public; when you think you know everything--from high fashion to honors biology--but come up short; when friends' opinions matter but parents know nothing; and when life seems to be a boring drag because you're too young to be an independent adult but too old to enjoy all the things you loved as a child.

I'm trying to navigate this period as carefully as I can... A part of me wants to say, "I was a teenager, too, and it sucked. In just a few more years, trust me, you will find yourself, and all the things you didn't care about or pretended not to care about will matter. Your school education will matter; the news and what's going on in the world will matter, your parents' valuable life experiences will matter, and even the vacations and family outings we make you go on against your will, will matter."

For now, because history repeats itself, and teenagers will be teenagers (even if they are Gen Z), here are some of my favorite and not-so-favorite musings about raising my teenage son.

Cologne - In the summer, one of Lewie's friends started ordering Dr. Squatch soap. (I think it was advertised on TikTok.) Before long, Lewie was begging me to buy the soap, too. His favorite scent: Coconut Castaway. (I'll admit--these soaps do smell like a dream.) Eventually, the soap led to a favorite cologne--Fireside Bourbon. 

The cologne story doesn't stop there. His friend LOVES smelling good so much that he asked for a variety of colognes as Christmas gifts, and he loves going to the mall just to test out new fragrances. Now, Lewie is rocking "Afnan 9 PM" (a cologne he begged me to buy him), but he puts on way too much. I advise him to wear less every day, but since I don't know what I'm talking about, I'm going to see if Daddy Lew can run interference.

The Mint-Green Sweatshirt - In September, Lewie and I went to Boston with his best friend and best friend's mom. We had a delightful time exploring the city, especially eating at Quincy Market. On our way to the Duck Tour, Lewie pulled me over because he saw a sweatshirt he liked. I was taken aback. Lewie interested in clothes? This was a first. He pointed to a mint-green, Boston hoodie hanging on a vendor cart. I was surprised by the color but didn't want to critique the very first clothing item my son had ever picked out for himself. "Can he try it on?" I asked the woman working at the cart. She had all sizes, so he proudly left with a large, Boston, mint-green sweatshirt that day.

As I bought the $40 shirt, I did wonder if I would be wasting my money. Maybe he was just buying something because he saw his friend buy a few things...That worry, however, is way in the past now. Since that fateful moment, Lewie has worn his sweatshirt EVERY DAY. Since he hates wearing coats, he proudly wears his hoodie instead, and I mean, PROUDLY. On more than one occasion, he's told me his sweatshirt is perfect because the color complements all of his clothes. I've reminded him that he has other hoodies, sweaters, and long-sleeved shirts, but they haven't been touched. On occasion, he might wear another navy blue sweatshirt that he designed himself, but this mint-green hoodie travels with him everywhere. 

Fast forward six months, and this hoodie is starting to pill as it's seen better days, but I can't convince him to wear anything else. At this point, only the promise of warmer weather may get him to part from his favorite clothing article of all time.

Ski Club - The answer to my prayers came in the form of Ski Club. At the beginning of high school, I was begging, even pleading, for my son to get involved in something.  I know by now my son's interests are in everything related to computers and computer applications--coding, AI, graphic design, and music production, to name a few; however, I kept telling him that colleges want to see a "well-rounded student."  They look at sports, volunteerism, clubs, and activities just as seriously as they look at grades. He'd listen to my request, promise to consider getting involved, and then put it on the back burner.

In January, out of nowhere, Lewie gave me a form to fill out for Ski Club. Say what?! "Yeah, my friends are going to do it, so I want to sign up." I was shocked. I knew he had friends that liked skiing, but anytime I proposed the idea of taking lessons, he wasn't interested. Now he was joining the high school club. After some further investigation, I learned that meets were on Thursdays from 3 p.m. to 7 p.m. at a nearby ski place, and I could pay for him to have lessons. He wasn't thrilled about them. "My friends can just teach me," he responded, but I pleaded that he take them, and when that didn't sink in, I let the club advisors know I wanted him to take the lessons, too.

Fast forward to March, and Ski Club is over. On the positive side, he LOVES skiing, and he is definitely joining again next year. On the hesitant side, during Lewie's last day of ski club, he went down a black diamond and plowed into the ski patrol building--no exaggeration.  The ski patrol heard the thud and immediately came out to examine him for any signs of a concussion or broken bones. (His classmates, witnessing him going airborne, made him into a rockstar.) He was super fortunate that he walked away from it with just a few bruised muscles, but as a neurotic mom, I will be after him to take more lessons and get more practice before he decides to go down a black diamond again.

High School - High school is continuing to be a beast. Lewie is taking mostly honors classes this year, and his three hardest subjects are Honors Biology, Honors Geometry, and Honors Spanish II. (He's only a freshman.) I had no idea that some of the material would be so advanced, and even I, at times, catch myself saying, "Why does he need to know this?" Unfortunately, I have to keep my opinions to myself because Lewie asks this question every day. Just yesterday, my son commented, "I'm going to work with computers; why do I need to know about DNA synthesis?"  

Biology definitely seems to be the hardest; in my high school and even college biology classes, we were dissecting frogs and learning about the body's eleven organ systems. Now it's learning about the cell cycle, DNA replication, and cancer and genetic mutations (to name a few). When I try to help him study, I have to learn all of this from PowerPoint slides with the hope that I know enough to be able to quiz him. A part of me wants to say, "Yeah, Lewie, don't worry about this. You're not going to need to know this level of detail unless you go into this field," but then I have to stop myself. With college looming around the corner, he has to prove he understands everything in order to be accepted and, even further, to receive some type of academic scholarship. I wish I could say I wasn't counting down the days until Lewie's summer vacation, but I would be lying.

Driving - Lewie is not able to get his driver's permit yet, but one of his friends turned 16 in December, and two are turning 16 in March. I'm not ready for this stage and am happy I don't have to think about it until August. Still, it's fun to listen to his friends talk about it. One friend has created some type of acronym to remember that the gas pedal is on the right and the brake is on the left. Another is now examining his own parents' driving habits: "Yeah, my mom is a terrible driver; she's always texting." (I know this mom. Should I be worried?!) 

Yes, to say I'm not acclimated to the life of raising a teenager is putting it mildly. It terrifies me, and yet, it also makes me laugh and see how this incredibly awkward stage is all a necessary evil. How can Lewie turn into a young man if he doesn't test the waters? How can he learn to be an individual without being free to make some of his own choices (good, bad, or indifferent)?  How can he learn how to make his own friends and learn what good friends are if Mom and Dad are always trying to protect him? in the meantime, I'll keep forcing him to participate in mandatory family fun, knowing one day, when he's all grown up, he'll appreciate it (I think).

Surgery

On Friday, I went in for umbilical hernia surgery. If you had asked me about this kind of surgery a year ago, I would have said, "Umbilical what?"

The universe works in strange ways. Last April, I went for my routine mammogram and ultrasound. I had nipple discharge when they were squeezing one of my breasts flat like a pancake, so they decided I might need to see a "breast specialist" to determine if this might be indicative of an early Cancer finding. Lucky for me, it wasn't.

However, as I was getting dressed and about to leave the breast specialist's office, she turned and said to me, "Honey, you need to get that thing fixed."

"What?" I asked, perplexed.

"Your hernia," she answered.

I still looked at her, confused. "What hernia?" I finally asked.

She pointed to my belly button and said, "That one."

I was amazed. My ugly belly button (and it is ugly) popped out around the time I was pregnant. My husband innocently joked that it pushed out like a "turkey timer." indicating that "Little Lewie" was done in the oven. When I was pregnant, it was kind of cute, but when my belly receded, it looked gross and weird.  With some of my shirts and sweaters, people could see its imprint, and someone even suggested I try and "tape it down," so it would be less conspicuous. 

These were my pregnancy photos when my belly button first started to pop out.
Since then, it has been pushed out further with a bulge.

"Does it bother you?"

"No," I answered. I honestly thought it was a battle scar from pregnancy.

She proceeded to tell me that I had an umbilical hernia, which could lead to complications later on in life. The worst-case scenario is that my intestines, or worse, a section of my bowel could become stuck outside the abdomen. 

I stopped her there; talking about my innards coming out was not a conversation I was ready to have. I asked if she could recommend a surgeon, and I left with two names of doctors from the hospital who could help me.

Last April, I was certainly not ready to have surgery. I was still actively searching for a job, and summer was right around the corner. I knew the procedure would put me out for about six weeks, so I couldn't make that commitment. What if I got called back for a second interview? Employers wouldn't understand or wait for me to recover when they have a job to fill.

In December (after working at the land trust for five months), I decided now (Jan.) was the time. My bosses were understanding, and it was just the beginning of winter. (Most land trust activity occurs during the spring, summer, and fall when people are gardening, hiking, and attending outdoor events.) There would still be work for me to do at the trust, but some could be done at home for the first week or so.

The procedure wasn't terrible, but it was a little scary. Doctors and nurses had me repeat my name and birthdate over and over again as they placed tags on me and had me fill out forms. (I thought it was interesting that they put the IV in my right wrist area [my dominant hand] and then asked me to sign.) 

The IV stung, and I couldn't look at the blood that dripped from my hand as the nurse announced, "It looks like you're a bleeder." Soon enough, I was wheeled into the surgery room, where I would be accompanied by my doctor, two anesthesiologists, and a nurse advocate. (The nurse advocate told me he would be watching my vital signs and caring for me while I was put under. I let him know that I had a mom, husband, fifteen-year-old son, and dog waiting for me at home, so he wasn't just my advocate, he had to think about them, too. I said this in a joking manner, but I was dead serious--no pun intended.)

The operating table was thin and metal. I had to lie on my back (no pillow allowed), and my arms and legs were spread out like a Gingerbread man. They put clamps on my arms and some others on my legs, which would rhythmically compress and relax to help my blood flow and protect me from blood clots. Next, electrodes for the EKG monitor were placed on my chest and sides.  By now, I was really starting to feel nervous under the bright lights, wishing they would just put me out. I didn't need to know any more about what was happening. The last thing I knew was they hooked up my IV and put an oxygen tube in my nose. Then everything went dark until I woke up.

When I woke up, I saw five nurses in front of me all sitting at their own computer monitors. I was pretty alert. "You're not all monitoring me?" I asked them jokingly.

"No," they laughed, "there are two other patients on each side of you. They haven't woke up yet." I couldn't see the other patients because the curtains were drawn. They gave me post-op instructions and waited for me to pee before they called my husband for pickup. Then, they helped me dress. I'm not sure how long I was in the recovery room, but I do know that it only took 30 minutes from the time I woke up to the time my husband arrived. Everyone (all the nurses and doctors) was amazing.

Now it's day four, and I'm lying on the couch with an ice pack on my belly. I've been able to shower, and I get around by shuffling my feet, but I have trouble bending and lifting myself up. I've been banned from driving, lifting, doing household chores, and going to work until the doctor gives me permission. It sounds like I will be able to drive and go to work next week, but any sort of exercise, whether it's walking Bruce, yoga poses, running, jumping, hiking, or snow tubing is all going to have to wait for the next six weeks. My hope is to get better in time to still go snow tubing with Lewie and his friends.

I might not have wanted to start out 2024 lying around with a sore, bandaged belly, but I'm grateful it's all behind me now. Even more, I'm thankful it was a procedure I could take care of now before it became a problem. (It's much easier to go through a surgery at 48 instead of 68!)

The lesson learned is if one has a "turkey timer" for a belly button or anything weird on their body, the best advice is to get it checked out. It could be nothing, but it is best to let doctors, and not yourself, make that call.

Hello 2024: Can You Help Me Find My Way?

I LOVE New Year's Day--it's a fresh start to a 365-day cycle of new beginnings. I have the typical New Year's Resolutions--eat less, exercise more, save money, get organized, be kind, be my best self... These resolutions, or mini-goals, however, will progress and regress throughout the year. The hope is that I will have more "good days" of staying committed than bad.

I'm looking forward to 2024 for a different reason--

to find myself--or perhaps more, to find meaning. 

Source

Over the years, my dream board (yes, I have one) has become cluttered, so much so, that I don't even remember everything I posted. As I am writing this, I've decided to take everything down and start from scratch. There are pictures of what I'd like our house to look like if we ever have it remodeled. Those will go back up. Then there are picture quotes that came from a calendar I used to own; those are going back up, too. 

I also have pictures of National Parks. Interestingly, I have one of Bryce Canyon and another of Yosemite. Did I post them after I went or before? I don't remember, but I do know that I have had things on my dream board come true. Once I posted a picture of a Subaru Outback, and within the year, we ended up buying one. (That was before I even knew we were going to need a car!) 

I have some business cards posted--mostly to go along with remodeling the house. They've been up there for years--maybe even a decade. I might do a Google search to see if these companies are still in business and then put them somewhere else for safekeeping... I have salary requirements listed there, too. Amounts that are not super extravagant but would help us lead a more financially secure life.

As I look at my dream board, which, in all honesty, hasn't been tended to much over the years, the one picture that stands out says, "To find yourself, sometimes you need to be lost." I liked the picture at the time because it's of an "A-Frame" house--(I love them)--and it's in the woods--(my favorite place to be).

The picture gravitates to me now because that's me--I'm lost! After being laid off (after 21 years of service to a small liberal arts college), I spent the majority of last year looking for a job. At first, I was selective, but after having interview after interview with no job offer in-site, I started applying to any position that remotely utilized my skillset--even jobs where I would be totally unhappy (writing for a health insurance agency--YUCK!)

When I finally did score a position in conservation, I truly wanted it to be "my new second home," but as I started learning more about the position, I realized it's not "my forever" either. The people are nice, and I am in love with the mission (to protect Mother Nature), but the daily work itself (pay bills, take minutes, print expense reports, attend small festivals to hand out brochures) feels trite and uneventful. Yes, I did get to sign off on a fee donation of 26 acres to our little land trust (a beautiful piece of property with Hemlock forest and vernal pools), but it wasn't because I made it happen. It's because someone with a generous heart (and a desire for a tax deduction) decided to give it to us. 

When I worked in higher education, I touched people's lives, and thankfully I continue to teach. As a dean, my position mattered. I not only helped students graduate, but I also helped thousands more learn about our programs, enroll, and believe in themselves. I was part of important discussions about policy, equity, inclusion, curricula, mental health, career development, and student success. I miss that, and yet, there is a part of me that continues to say, "Stay in conservation--your heart is there, too."

I am lost. A huge part of me wants to go back to higher education, but then I fantasize about other opportunities. Do I want to get a real estate license? Do I want to get my Ph.D.? Do I want to do my own podcast? Do I want to work for a retreat center? Do I want to write a book? The truth is that I have many interests, such as writing, career development, student success, mental & spiritual health, conservation, and sustainability, to name a few. The big question is--where do I go from here?

Last year taught me that planning doesn't necessarily get us closer to our goals. If I could have made things happen for myself, I would have been working as a dean again at a nearby college. (I was interviewed for four such positions.) Instead, after dozens of interviews, I was hired by a land trust! I learned that I had to keep an open mind and an open heart, and more, I learned that I need to be patient.

Now I am lost in the woods with a compass, asking which way is "true North." Last year, since I had the time, I would take our dog, Bruce, on hikes with no set plans. We would try various trails and see where they would lead. Sometimes, they would lead to swampy marshes, and we would have to turn back, and other times, we found hidden gems (waterfalls, mirror lakes, and busy beaver ponds) where we would stand and marvel for hours. The woods started to feel like my sanctuary, and I repeated to myself the words of John Muir again and again...

"And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul."

Sometimes, during our hikes, I would rehearse answers to potential interview questions, and other times, I would go to contemplate--to find meaning or get clarity about this next stage in my life. In many ways, life was handing me a blank slate--to be anything I wanted, and still, fears about money, my age, and my abilities clouded the journey.

I wanted to believe all my meditation walking led me to "my forever," but now I see that it simply presented "a next step." With so much indecisiveness and ambiguity about what I want to do, I realize now I need to take a step back and enjoy the journey.

Last year, I was in panic mode. "I need a job," I'd tell myself again and again. This year, I can take out the panic and simply be. Of course, I am busy--I work full-time at the land trust, teach multiple courses, and give library talks about career readiness (all while being a mom, wife, daughter, dog mom, and friend). 

Still, I will make time for discovery. It's okay to be lost. 

I have uncluttered my dream board and will put up new hopes and dreams as they emerge.