Tag Archives: Coco

Planet Teen ©

Crash. Bang. Screech. Welcome to Planet Teen. Don’t bother griping about the rough landing. We’ve heard it all before. No one ever sees it coming.

“Just yesterday I had a rosy-cheeked cherub and today I have this…THING full of sulk, smell, and oh so important opinions.”

Ellen– Blah, blah, blah. We hear you, but it is time to focus or you are going to get bamboozled and blindsided by the natives.

Erin– We’ve been here about 25 minutes longer than you have, but in the constant turnover that is Planet Teen, that qualifies us to dispense some knowledge. We’re here to provide newbies with some guidance, veterans with some commiseration, and decorated war heroes of multiple tours with glasses of wine.

Ellen– Don’t be stingy. Wine for all! It’ll make us funnier and the teens more bearable. But keep in mind, we are all you have at the moment. The more veteran guides are busy having a collective nervous-breakdown—something to do with driver’s licenses, SATs, and prom dress cleavage.

But never mind that, first steps first. Before I open the door, you might want to take shallow breaths or at least pull your turtleneck up over your nose. Erin will demonstrate.

Erin– The first thing you’ll notice is that even the atmosphere is different: you can feel it in the air and probably smell it, too. Planet Teen pulses with electric, frantic energy and smells an awful lot like the inside of an Abercrombie and Fitch store. Except when the wind changes. Then it just smells like B.O.

Ellen– Sad, but true. If only it had the lighting of an A&F store, then the terrain wouldn’t drive you insane.

Erin – Wait, before we get to the terrain, we must warn you about the earthquakes that will knock you on your bum faster than you can say, “What do you mean you want me to drop you off around the corner and wait in the car?” The ground is a-shakin’ and a-shiftin,’ people, and no expert in the world can predict when the quakes will hit.

Ellen– A “D” on a test? Wuteva. Missing headband? Total building-dropping, house-leveling, bridge-buckling quake. Some people may say that Planet Teen is hostile. I find it more of a shifting, puzzling, exasperating landscape.

Erin– Ah, yes, the landscape. It is messy, and oh so energy-draining. I’m not talking, “Hey there’s a shirt on the floor” messy. I’m not even talking a pile of Legos or naked Barbies. I’m talking that it’s a stinky, nasty, smelly armpit of a place littered with dirty socks, muddy cleats, damp towels, skeletons of projects past, and snack wrappers.

At least this mess is sanitary. Sort of. Well, they don’t smell. There’s that.

Ellen– Just trash really. Trash everywhere. Even for the roll-with-the-punches Mommas, Planet Teen will break you.

Erin– It was the towels that blindsided me.

Ellen– It’s a cold, damp place for adults because the natives of Planet Teen line their lairs, formerly known as their rooms, with damp towels. Maybe the humidity is good for their skin.

Erin– It can’t be the Aspergillus nidulans (that’s your basic run-of-the-mill mold for you newbies—you get up close and personal with this stuff on Planet Teen). If you are rolling your eyes, thinking, “Why are these chicks hung up on towels?” What’s so sensible about that? Well, for one thing, it is because they never get hung up.

Ellen– Never!

Girls can dream, right?

Erin– And my son can empty an entire linen closet in seven days. If you think for a moment this is not impressive, bear in mind that we have enough towels for SEVEN people.

Ellen– Pfft. Daughters are so much MORE in this arena. Coco (13) uses a hair and a body towel with each shower, and I have the water bill to prove that she showers more than your entire family of seven. She has even been known to take MY previously used body towel, hanging on MY hook. So I double your son, Ace (14), and raise you a disgustingness factor.

Erin– I think we’ve talked about motherhood not being a pissing contest, but, sure, you can take that prize.

Ellen– I knew it!

Erin– But even if you adjust to the messy terrain, terrible smell, and your cold butt having to dash down the hall to scrounge for a towel, you are still at a disadvantage. This planet is under Survivor-esque tribal rule.

Ellen– Only you can’t vote anyone off. You’re stuck in this mess together until college. And even then I think you are supposed to let them back in during holidays.

Erin– Oh, the challenges they toss your way. They sling them faster than Jeff Probst on Red Bull, but their hands-down favorite is the teenage version of Chicken. Every day, sometimes FIVE times a day, they are throwing down the gauntlet to see which of you will back down first. It cannot be you. You thought the Terrible Twos were hard when you could still wrassle them into the car. This is the same thing—only now you are looking UP at them.

Ellen– And then there is the language barrier. Teenagers compose fiction they dispense as fact as effortlessly as breathing. You would think only major Planet events would warrant this level of creativity, but it starts slinging without rhyme or reason. It’s just crap I have to slog through every day to get to the real stories, no matter how boring. It just makes me tired.

Erin– And the really wonderful whipped cream and cherry on top is their indignation when you suggest that their story might be two degrees south of complete BS.

Ellen– And then there’s the Planet Teen code.

Erin– That’s right. On top of shifting landscapes, cold derrieres, and the language barrier, you need to learn their secret codes and cryptic handshakes if you want even a remote handle on what they are thinking. This means you need to learn every last text acronym, read every last Tweet, and check out every last Facebook update and scan Instagram. I kid you not: the tribe is a-rumbling even when the natives look all tucked in and cherubic.

Ellen– TBH, the tribe will ambush you if you are not alert. JTLYK, you can readily get translations on Google. So CYA and get on over there, FTW.

Erin– Oh, and hide your valuables, or at least your eyeliner and straightening iron.

Ellen– The natives, or at least my daughter, are like magpies. Oooh! Shiny pretty thing over here! Aaahh! Sparkly, fun thing over there. These things get whisked away, never to be seen again. It is a little infuriating. Makes you feel like dementia is setting in early.

Erin– But maybe we are making you nervous. So far we’ve only discussed the perils and maybe frightened you with our obsession with towels (it’s serious, people). We did say we were going to give some navigation guidance.

Ellen– Communication is the key. I know it sounds basic, but it’s true. If you can keep the lines of communication open, the natives won’t take over.

Erin– It does not hurt to have strategies and to use what is available to you. In this case, I’m talking about your car. If you have a teen, you live in your car. If you don’t, I want to move where you live, so send me your address.

For the rest of us, accept your lot in life as taxi driver and use this to your advantage. There is real power in talking in the car. Teens don’t like direct eye contact, so side-by-side looking out the window is ideal.

Ellen– Yeah, they are kind of like tigers—don’t look them directly in the eye. Or is that werewolves? Anyway, be ready for them to spill the moment their tushies hit the seat. There is only a fifteen minutes difference between getting the story and “Nothing happened today.”

Don’t talk on the phone and turn down the radio (that way they won’t be obsessed with changing the station immediately). Your job is to hold your tongue.

In fact, I joke that I want my tombstone to read, “She gets props for all the things she didn’t say.” Come to think of it, I am not joking. Dead serious. This is THE key to happiness with your kid on Planet Teen. Hold it until you HAVE to say something. Otherwise, everything comes out like a Charlie Brown teacher.

Charlie Brown Teacher Speaking

Erin– So here’s The Sisterhood Secret: Cultivate a passive, non-judgmental face. One great piece of advice Ellen gave to me that works like a charm is the non-committal “huh” or ”um” as they relay the story.

Ellen– I also use it with crazy people, but a hormonally driven teen is about as crazy as you can get really.

Erin– Use that non-judgmental demeanor and your handy ambiguous grunts to mask your utter dismay when you hear things mentioned like your teen’s friend is running off with the circus. Or that he is considering not going to college because he has plans to turn your basement into a video game console repair business.

Ellen– Don’ t react immediately or you’ll shut them down. Remember you need as much information as possible so that you can sift through the BS to the nugget of truth.

Erin– And buck up, Visitor. Remember that for all the crazy, rocky, smelly, damp, and silly things rocking Planet Teen, you and your child are not adversaries, but fellow travelers trying to make it to the next stage with your sanity intact.

Ellen– This is temporary visa status, not permanent residence. Did you notice that this excursion has just begun? We’ve barely moved away from the transport door. But, look behind you, the next wave of newbies is already moving in behind you.

Erin– A temporary visa is more than enough on Planet Teen, so bring the wine, the Starbucks, a plucky attitude, and a sense of humor. We’re all going to figure this out together, but we are going to need the fortification. And we’re off. . .

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The Softer Side of the Coco Room Apocalypse

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So, in a previous blog with Erin, I wrote about the craziness of redoing Coco’s (13) room and the havoc it struck on the rest of the house. {Coco Room Apocalypse} I now feel ready to defend, I mean explain, myself. There had been an epidemic of teenage redecorating in her class and we were one of the last to fall victim. We should have painted during the summer, but as Coco put it, “We were too busy living life.” Well, we started living the high life of cleaning and sprucing up the week of Thanksgiving. (I know, bad timing. I already acknowledged this in the other post.)

So Jellybean (11) was helping me and chatting with me as I painted. She says, “You should have known we would hate pink and purple when we were old. I’m going to save time when I have kids and paint my girls’ rooms blue to start with.”

This indeed sounded like a good idea as I was drowning hummingbirds and butterflies in Caribbean Blue. Coco, Frank, and I had already spent hours removing the trellis wallpaper border that completed the garden gazebo theme.

By the way, just don’t do wallpaper. The horror on the Home Depot clerk’s face when I began my request, “Where is the wallpaper…,” was only trumped by his relief when I ended the sentence with the word, “remover.”

Garden Gazebo Theme. Pregnancy hormones must have deluded me into thinking wallpaper border and stenciling were good ideas.

In my defense, Coco’s room was decorated 11 years ago when Jellybean overtook the nursery. Eleven years. My Coco is not so much a pack rat as a prolific creator and collector of stuff. She then tends to bury this stuff away and then promptly forget all about it. So really, she is more of a happy-go-lucky squirrel than a nasty old rat.

So due to this squirreling, I am finding a treasure trove of Coco-ness shoved in boxes, books, and under furniture. My favorite find was the foreword to her first novel crediting her sister for inspiring the title.

I could go on (there was A LOT of stuff), but the specifics of my child’s preciousness doesn’t have to be detailed here. But, it all tugged at my heartstrings. It also made me grateful that I had gotten pushed into the whole re-decorating slippery slope. (And believe me; I did not embark on this project willingly. You feel kinda attached to the dozens of pansies you lovingly hand-painted for your first born while six months pregnant with your second. Hmmm… or maybe I just felt attached in the sense that I did not feel like sanding and priming all of those suckers. I’m going to go with mother’s love over laziness, just for the sake of my next point).

So here is why I am grateful, even though I’m a little cracked from the whole snowballing project. Do you think that a surprise walk down memory lane would feel like warm nostalgia five years from now when Coco goes off to college?? No! It would feel like sucker punches! Sucker punches that could land me curled around a teddy bear longing to turn back time.

So I’m glad I didn’t have the forethought to decorate a 2 year-old’s room with her future teen self in mind. Otherwise, this massive clean-out might not have taken place until she leaped from the nest. So criticize something else, Jellybean. I’m letting Coco project HER view of self on her room and I’ve assembled a nice box of mementos that I can choose to open when I WANT that trip down memory lane.

So if you need me, I’ll be the one floating down the River “De-Nile” ignoring that Coco has 5 more years to squirrel away new landmines of preciousness for me to find.

Oh yeah, and in response to Jellybean’s pleas that her room, too, be repainted, I say, “In five years, all this can be yours.”

-Ellen

Finished product. It was worth it, right? Right!?!

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Erin’s Oasis or Is It a Mirage?

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Ellen – It is January and my house has not seen complete order since the weekend before Thanksgiving. It is bringing me down. The walls are closing in. For some reason I thought it would be a good idea to honor Coco’s request to redo her bedroom in the manner befitting a teenager. Here is the insanity: I started all this on the Monday before Thanksgiving. Get me some Haldol because I am clearly psychotic. Even before the holidays began, I started out so far behind the eight ball that I was not even in the billiard hall.

Erin–My friend Ellen is one of the smartest people I know. I am not blowing sunshine up her you-know-what, but it’s important to note this in light of this decision she made. I understand her rationale. Truly, I do. Frank had extra time off the week before Thanksgiving, so she would have help. BUUUUTTTT, if she had asked me, I might have mentioned that decluttering a teen’s room (eight bags of trash, no lie), stripping wall-paper, repainting a room, picking out a new bed, painting old furniture to match the new room, and putting the whole damn thing back together IN THE MIDDLE OF THE HOLIDAYS might be a tall order, even for her. She pulled it off, of course, and only had one meltdown much later in the holidays when Shutterfly’s site got twitchy as she was trying to finish her presents.

Ellen – Um, had more than one meltdown, but I try not to take every tantrum public. And Erin is presenting the summary of the story as seen from the end of the tunnel of hindsight. The project snowballed, people! Snow! Balled! We were just painting the room to match the comforter she got for her birthday this summer. I did not know I would be digging through the basement searching for the vanity that I remembered was left as a “gift” from the previous owners of our house, because Coco expressed interest in a $900 Pottery Barn Teen vanity. I did not know that aforementioned vanity would take 8, yes 8, cans of spray paint to cover its dried-out surfaces. I did not know that the first bed would come damaged. I didn’t know; but I should have known.

HOWEVER, I have now found a scapegoat for all of my misery, and her name is Erin. It is really Erin’s fault all of this took place in November, because she was busy dragging me and my crew all over the countryside this summer making us have fun. We should not have been splashing through waterfalls, we should have been painting!

BUT, this room project is going to be fodder for another blog because quite frankly, it is too soon. Too soon! So, what I want to talk about is how Erin keeps her zen in a house filled with 7 people, 4 of which are boys. I did ask her advice.

Erin– I am not a neat person by design. Ask my poor sister or my college roommates. I tend toward disorder and chaos, but I was holding it together. I was getting it done. The fifth kid was a game changer. Our slight shift in number represented a cosmic shift in our universe. We had become the very embodiment of the scientific concept that systems left to themselves tend towards disorder. Um, yeah, and then some. My newly super sized crew meant that I needed to learn some new skills and quick or we would be invited to star in the next episode of “Hoarders”. Cue my lovely friend, Lauri, our organized Sister. We all think she rocks. She assessed the situation and gave me advice. Proud to say that we are now clean-as-you-go converts. Occasionally, we let this golden rule slide, and things start looking like a market in Calcutta in no time flat.

The close proximity of so many people means that occasionally all you desire is to breathe your own air and listen to yourself think. To this end, we also respect that one room in the house is the Oasis. For us, it’s the master bedroom. No clutter, no mess, no dirty ugly reminders of the business taking place in the rest of the house. I can’t be the evil ogre mom and outlaw food in the family room (I LOVE popcorn with my movies!) nor do I feel like harping on every errant shoe, belt, or ball. But I will disappear into the Oasis and take a load off. I will put my head down on a well-made bed and pick up a neatly stacked book from my bedside table and drift away for a few minutes. Pure heaven.

Ellen– It is a wonderful system, but just listen to what it has spawned. Loopholes developed. The order may be a Mirage. But hey, I would settle for things looking good at a distant at this point.

Erin– So, one piece of advice was to make the beds every day. Great idea. Everything looks neat and tidy. Mental space opens up. Deep Breath and AHHHHH. Well, my peeps did not get the memo. I was violating the Dymowski Law of Inertia. They were going to resist this change in their momentum. My brilliant offspring, mostly because they are future men, have taken my edict to make beds and morphed it to their own ends. They make their beds once a week and then sleep on top of their freshly made beds with whatever blankets they can find. This is why I had to bring in the big guns. There is a genetic laziness that could threaten our happy, little home if left unchecked.

Ellen– I personally think it is an IQ test and that they passed. But clearly the Sisterhood Secret is to clean-as-you-go, because it is easier to sweep up a mole hill than to sandblast a mountain. I have used this technique, but like intense cardio, I have let it slide during the holidays. But I defy anyone to say that this technique would have succeeded against the Coco Room Apocalypse. If I can ever get to baseline again (take the Christmas decorations down) I swear I will once again clean-as -I -go.

And just in case you think I’m one of those uptight women that needs a Valium if the vacuum tracks aren’t lined up in the same direction or if you think I am using hyperbole for comedic effect; I have two words for you: photographic evidence.