Love Hate

Sometimes I love Mondays. Our weekends are often so busy that I look forward to the peace and quiet of Monday, after the kids have been dropped off at school.

But generally that feeling doesn't last long and soon I remember I hate Mondays. Because our weekends are busy we often do not have time for basic cleanliness, order and common sense. And on Monday mornings I'm left to deal with the fall out.

Yes, the house is quiet but ...

There are shoes (or shoe) to pick up.

And candy wrappers.

Someone forgot a sock.

Here's a craft that got started ...

And never finished.

I hope this wasn't homeowrk.

Or a private diary.

This is what's leftover from a picnic three days ago.

But not everyone minds the mess.

The best place to find socks is on the drum kit. I shouldn't complain; at least it's a pair of socks.

I hope these aren't needed for hockey practice tonight.

Or soccer practice.

I guess someone uses his hockey stick to take off his pajamas.

Oh look. A wallet with $20. I don't even have a wallet with $20.

An arrow. A real arrow. I have no idea.

I don't know where they get it. Certainly not me. Oh wait. These are mine. From Sunday.

At least my room is impeccable at all times.

As I was saying. at least my car is impeccable at all times.

There's always Tuesday.

The Plot Thickens

Sam got his shoe back. Of course. So now I look like the hysterical one. Fine. Perhaps I overreacted. But the best part of the story is that when I pressed Sam for more details he got a little embarrassed. It seems a girl took his shoe. A girl playing a prank. And when I asked him about this girl, he smiled and stammered and blushed. I'm thinking there is more to the story. Probably more than I'll ever know. And that is fine with me.

The Day To Day

Just the other day the kids and I were picking up around the house. Sam finished his room and asked what else he could do. Since he spends so much time in the den I told him he could pick up in there - clean off the desk, empty the garbage, pick up the miscellaneous socks that strangely wind up on the den floor. Half hour later we're done. The kids have moved on to other things and I'm going around the house, finishing up. The last room I check is the den. Things appear to be in shape but stuffed under the bench in the corner is a wad of notebooks, paper, old tissues. It would appear someone crumpled up all the garbage and shoved it under the furniture.

And then last night ... Sam and I were leaving for choir, or trying to leave for choir, but Sam couldn't find his shoes. He's acting squirrely and Jake is giggling. So I ask Jake, where are Sam's shoes. He tells me he can't say because Sam will get mad. Jake, where are Sam's shoes? Apparently, he left one of them at school. Unintentionally. He was running down the stairs at the end of the day and one fell off. (I'm sure this is partly because he never ties his shoes but I can't really go down that road because I used to do the same thing.) A classmate picked up the shoe and left school with it.

So my first thought is Sam waited at the bus stop, rode home on the bus, and managed to get into the house without me noticing he was missing a shoe.

But then, when it was time to leave for choir, he acted like he couldn't find it. He actually walked around and looked for it. What did he think he was going to wear to choir? What did he think he was going to wear to school the next morning, for that matter?

He truly thought he could go "one shoe'd" for the next 24 hours. He assumed whoever picked up the shoe would return with it the next day, even though he doesn't know who picked it up and chances are, the kid who picked it up doesn't know it belongs to Sam.

Sure, these stories are funny. If you have a teenager you might empathize. But I also find it incredibly frustrating and somewhat alarming. It's not like we're talking about a toddler. Sam is a teenager. No, I don't think he is going to become a sociopath just because he stuffed garbage under the furniture instead of putting it in the garbage can. But come on.

As my kids get older I find parenting more exasperating. Don't get me wrong. Being a parent is rewarding and wonderful. There are moments of overwhelming love and indescribable pride. But parenting - the day to day management of it all - can be plagued by frustration, agitation and aggravation. And that is why I don't blog much anymore. At some point it becomes less fulfilling (and entertaining) to document the frustration. Everybody loves a potty training story but when your 10-year-old wipes his behind on the shower curtain, not so funny now, is it?

(OK, maybe it is.)