Blog Posts by Manic Motherhood

Copyright Salvatore VuonoToday's teens have it made.

Don't believe me? Check out driver's education. I'm telling you, the whole thing has changed from back in the day. Why, when I went to driver's ed, we had to actually attend a class.

Today's teens? They go to class on the Internet. They attend at their own pace. They don't have to get up at 7 AM in the middle of their summer vacation to go to some driving school on the other side of town. Nope. They can roll out of bed, watch "Mythbusters," eat all the leftovers from last night's dinner and then decide to do a couple of driver's ed sessions.

I'm telling you, teens have got it made.

If their ability to take the class at their own pace doesn't convince you, consider the class itself. When I went to driver's ed, we sat for hours in a makeshift classroom in an industrial park while a retired police officer scared the holy crud out of us by telling us horror stories about awful car accidents and stupid teenagers whose lives were ruined because they

Copyright Grant Cochrane via freedigitalphotos.net

I'm having a little trouble with my teenager. You see, I was apparently elected Spanish teacher for the summer. Sadly, I do not speak Spanish, which makes teaching it difficult. Well, I know some swear words, but I'm kind of thinking that's not what my teen needs to learn.

Also? I'm pretty sure he already knows them.

Unfortunately, Junior needs a head start on his Spanish classes. He has a learning challenge that makes it difficult for him to hear certain sounds, so foreign languages are especially hard to master.

Hence the summer program of "teaching Junior to speak Spanish."

Now the truth is, my husband grew up bilingual. So you'd think he'd be a natural at teaching Junior Spanish, right? Yeah, no. For one thing, he has this thing called a job that keeps him away from home during the day and most times well into evening (summer is his busy season). For another thing, he is about the worst teacher on the planet. The man has many virtues, sadly, patience isn't

photo copyright MlennyI do not camp.

And if anyone asks me, I am up front and honest about it. I am allergic to camping. Okay, maybe not allergic to camping itself, but if you give me long enough I can find something out there in the wild near the campground to which I am allergic.

Okay, fine. I do not camp because it doesn't have the one thing I cherish most in the world: my own private bathroom. Also? There are bugs. I do not like bugs. I'm sure they have their own place on the planet, but that place isn't in my sleeping bag.

But the main reason I hate camping is that I've never once had a good time doing it.

When I was a kid we camped all the time. Every weekend we camped. And worse, we camped from a boat. I hate boats. You don't know what's floating below you. It could be Bruce the shark stalking below, waiting to tip the boat over. Trust me, no good comes from being on a boat. Not even on a lake. Look, I've had fishies nibble my tushie in the lake. It's not pleasant.

Take the

I don't know how this happened, but apparently I have amassed over a million hours sitting in the carpool line. Seriously. Oh sure, you think I'm exaggerating, but sadly, I'm not. Okay, fine. I am. Maybe it just seems like a million hours. But I did I read online that the average parent spends 3 years waiting in a carpool line.

Um, hello? That's three years I'd like back please.

Really. I want those years back. I'm sure I could spend them doing something way more fun that sitting behind an idling SUV, wondering which of the ten year olds arguing over who has shotgun is the student of the month.

The truth is, the only thing that separates modern parents from our animal counterparts is our unique ability to waste gas that costs $5 per gallon in a line that only accepts slow moving children and spontaneous parent-teacher conferences. These conferences always occur between the mother blocking the only exit and the teacher trying desperately to get her the hell out of the way

I've been having a bit of an internal struggle. Well, maybe not entirely internal, since I tend to either blog about my feelings or scream about them. But anyway, I'm having a bit of a struggle. Specifically, I am struggling with allowing my baby to grow up.

And yes, I am well aware that my baby is 15.

But this has been the most difficult process of my life. Seriously. It's way, way worse than my struggle to resist the siren lure of chocolate. Or resisting all the pretty eye shadows at Sephora. (Side note: why can't I resist blue eye shadow? Really, it looks pretty in the box, then I get it home and realize I'm not a blue eye shadow type of person-mainly because it makes me look like I should have a job at Ringling Brothers).

Anyway, I've been resisting allowing my baby to become a man. Or possibly even a toddler. And no, I'm not proud of this. It's not who I thought I'd be as a parent, to be honest with you. But the minute Junior became taller than me, what did I do? I

Copyright PictacDear Teachers and Coaches,

Thank you for taking the time to teach my son this year. I know it was difficult-because I live with him and I am quickly discovering that puberty is way worse than any other time in a child's life. That includes the Terrible Two's where tantrums reigned-and not just my tantrums, either.

Thank you, history teacher, for teaching my son about John Kennedy and Fidel Castro. Until that very moment he actually thought they were characters from Call of Duty: Black Ops and was amazed to discover they were ACTUAL HISTORICAL FIGURES. Thanks to you, I can almost sleep at night without having a recurring nightmare about the future of our nation.

Thank you, biology teacher, for being brave enough to arm 30 kids with Bunsen Burners and flammable objects during lab time. I have not met a more courageous teacher, although I suspect I will next year when Junior takes Chemistry and actual chemicals are added to the mix.

Thank you, English teacher, for

Photo copyright MikeLavHere on Shine we discuss parenting a lot. Many of those discussions involve the behavior of kids in public places, like stores. And truthfully, I've been in a lot of stores. And I've seen a lot of kids at their worst…and some parents too. Usually I don't say anything, because honestly, I have been there done that. My son cried in stores as a baby, screamed as a toddler and whined as an elementary school-aged child.

But what I saw yesterday really bugged me.

I was in Old Navy buying t-shirts. There was a woman wandering the store as well, with two kids that looked to be under 4. Her kids were running around with these plastic flute things, blowing into them and making a noise that would make your ears bleed. And trust me, I can ignore a lot of noise. But this was very uncomfortable.

So I got my t's, and got in line and while I was standing in the line, I noticed that the little flute things were hanging from a rack near the check stand. And then, while I'm checking out,

Photo copyright BurgeonThe minute I woke up, I knew it was going to be one of those days.

You know those days, right? All parents have them. They are the days when we are confronted with the fact that all of life cannot be planned. Also? If you are a busy parent, sometimes your memory fails you. And you might assume stuff that may or may not be entirely accurate.

I can explain. I woke up this morning and saw a sight I hadn't seen for a long time. A bright orb of light was shining in the windows. Where I live, this bright orb hadn't been seen in forever, so it was clear that either the rain we've had for the past 400 months of winter had stopped or I was being abducted by aliens.

Turns out, the rain had stopped. Well, let me tell you, I knew, just knew, that this would be a lucky day. Of course, you know that is exactly when my luck ran out. Because after that, when I started breakfast and fed the dogs and started yelling for my teenage son to hurry up or he'd be late for school, I discovered