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Posts Tagged ‘Hormones’

Dear Alien Life Forms:

I’m onto you. Not only are you real, but you abducted Dominic. The replacement you left looks like him, but the insides are all kinds of jacked.

You know how I know?

Three little words he’s never said before:

Can I help?

I was rooted to the spot in shock.

This child wanted to help his brother and me make cookies.*

And he did. Kindly. Cooperatively. Carefully.

I was dumbfounded. And the sense of humor you installed!

While the cookies were in the oven, he also introduced me to two girls from school via FaceTime. He wanted them to meet me.

Um. What?

Later, we all were watching “Zombieland” in preparation for the sequel out now. He showed up and sat WITH ME under my bacon blanket (Thanks for that, Trish!).

But that’s not all.

Near the end of the movie, Columbus made a comment about the uselessness of Facebook and status updates like:

Rob Curtis is gearing up for Friday.

I had been taking a drink when he said it, and I spit my water all over myself and Gideon. That made me laugh even harder.

I had to pause the movie for shoulder-shaking, gasping-for-air, stomach-clutching laughter.

Instead of getting embarrassed, saying “Mama!” and asking me to stop, Dominic started laughing too — as hard as I was.

So thank you. I’m a big fan of the replacement.

I’m betting you are really regretting your decision to take the original right about now.

Too bad. So sad.

Meanwhile, the cookies were delicious.

Sincerely,
Beth from Earth

* Gideon got 17 packets of M&M’s in his Halloween haul. He likes that candy, but not that much. Hence, cookies.

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Dear Dominic,

You are something else. You call to mind Forrest Gump:

Your raging hormones ensure that life with you is unpredictable, at best.

See, this recent text exchange made me laugh:

 

 

(Why didn’t you take a selfie? I don’t know.)

This one with your father is pretty funny also:

And you even charmed some college girls when I took you to my Public Speaking class as a visual aid. One student was doing her informative speech on the difference between college-aged Gen Z and younger representatives of the generation.

Students in the class gave the presenter high marks for her breathing visual aid:

When you left, half the girls in the class squealed, “He’s SO CUTE.”

Don’t let that go to your head.

For the love of gawd, as you wrote.

Just don’t.

Instead, focus on your school work so I don’t have to have convos like this:

I love you despite your bad attitude and general slackery.
Mama

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Dear Gideon,

I’ve never written to you here. It’s always been your brother.

Why?

Because he gives me loads of trouble, and trouble can be funny (i.e., My mantra: Bad decisions make good stories).

You don’t give me any trouble at all. You help out around the house, haven’t broken a single phone, are an A/B student, earned Student of the Month this month, and do your homework before dinner.

You also are my couch chooch.

So when you were off for fall break, I wanted to do something special for you: Spend the afternoon at Six Flags. (I invited your brother. No surprise he didn’t come. And broke his fourth phone while we were gone.)

The day started with a ride on the Twisted Cyclone.

I look so calm and collected, right?

Yet moments earlier, you were laughing at me because of this:

I scream and laugh and laugh/scream on rides. It’s what I do.

Still, you agreed to be seen with me, riding rides such as Batman (front row!):

Eating Dippin’ Dots:

And being a fool in the Fright Fest decorations:

Thank you for putting up with me taking so many photos.

And screaming like a banshee. (And thanks to you, I do hear someone yell “chicken strips” right before the first hill on the Mindbender.)

We had a great time together. Though I looked a little worse for wear once we got home:

Not pictured: My jumbled organs thanks to the Scream Spleen Machine.

I would do it all again just to spend the day with you.

Love,
Mama

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Dear Friends,

Back in my day (someone get me my walker), we cruised around Stone Mountain Park after school.

Now the Dunkin’ Donuts is the hangout.

According to Dominic, the crowd is hit or miss.

Last Friday featured quite a crowd, though. When I went to get him and Gideon, I decided I needed an iced coffee.

Inside, I practically needed a machete to hack through the hormones in the air.

As soon as I got back in the car, I got hit with this:

Dominic: At least the thots we liked last year were cute. These are obnoxious and covered in acne. These seventh and eighth graders are awful. Gideon is more mature than any of them.

Gideon, an eighth grader: I really am. It’s true.

Dominic: He can take a hit too.

Me: Wait. What?

Apparently they went to a nearby park before DD to play football.

And that’s why they didn’t want me to pick them up too soon. And ignored my texts.

Dominic: I saw your question mark. Mama, we was out with the boys.

(Gideon informed me it’s supposed to be written this way: “We was out wit da bois.” Shudder.)

During said football game, Dominic had a run-in with a tree.

He saw it as an occasion to go into full drama mode.

I do have to tell you all that he’s been mostly great since he started ninth grade. More from Friday:

Dominic: There are three girls who said they caught feelings for me.

Me: Do you like any of them?

Dominic: Naw. I gotta get me those As.

(Not with that grammar you don’t. But I digress.)

It’s true that the notifications I’ve been getting from Campus Parent have not made my blood pressure spike.

And I made him laugh this week too. We were trying to edge into traffic, and I wanted to slide in front of a particular car.

Me: I’m going to slip in here because Drake isn’t paying attention.

Dominic: [Looks up from his phone to see my reference.]

Me: [Pulling in front and waving] Thanks, KeKe!

Dominic: [Looks at me in shock and actually chuckles.]

Me: You’re impressed I knew that aren’t you?

Dominic: Yes, because you listen to this [referencing The Pixies coming out of the speaker]!

Me: Listen: They were a seminal act of the late ’80s.

Dominic: [Exaggerated eye roll]

So, friends, I’m hoping we’ve turned a corner. (Don’t tell me it won’t last. Let me have my delusions.)

Cautiously optimistic,
Beth

 

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Dear Ms. Tiffany,

Thank you for contacting me regarding Career Day at the boys’ middle school. Here is my answer:

Last year’s experience was plenty for me, in that it was terrible, and I will never do it again. It was worse than Field Day at their elementary school. (Note to those who just subscribed to this blog: Please follow that link, and read the post. It’s one of my favorites, in a laugh-to-keep-from-crying kind of way.)

I spoke to four classes of sixth and seventh graders. No one cared about my current job at a university. They cared marginally more about my freelance work as a TV meteorologist and writer.

In my younger son’s class, his teacher didn’t even introduce me. She was too busy checking Facebook at the back of the room.

No one even made eye contact with me in two of the classes. It was like I was screaming into the Fortnite, hormone-filled void.

My older son’s class was the best. His teacher gave me a great intro, and his peers asked plenty of questions. Later, Dominic said he didn’t tell anyone his mom would be one of the speakers, which sounds about right.

But then, one of his friends turned to him and complimented my hindquarters.

(Hormones.)

Dominic told me he said, “DUDE, that’s my MOM!”

What can I tell you? I’m a hit with 13-14 year olds. Lucky me.

But the adoration of prepubescent males is still not enough to make me endure another Career Day.

I wish you all the best in your search for speakers.
Beth

 

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Dear Friends Worried About My Sanity and My Son’s Life:

Thank you for your concern. I’m speaking to him again. Why? He said some magic words:

Can I have a hug?

And that was it.

(Don’t tell anyone that I have a secret soft side.)

In return for putting up with his bad behavior, though, I secured the rights to publish a ridiculous picture of him.

Before I show it to you, let me set the scene:

Eddie is picking up Gideon from track practice. It’s only Dominic and me at home. I guess he doesn’t realize I’m home because he calls me on the phone. (And you all know how I feel about talking on the phone.)

(The call is coming from INSIDE the house!)

Mama! Can you come help me? I’m stuck!

Just then, Eddie calls.

Can you help your son? He is stuck in the bed.

Wait … what?

So I go in his room and I see this:

No child was harmed in the taking of this photo.

It’s an antique bed. This child slid off the end of it and trapped himself. I took the picture then helped him escape.

(For those of you wondering why I stopped to take a photo, it’s like you don’t even know me! In our family, if someone does something stupid, we laugh and/or document it first, then ask questions.)

Also notice his acid-washed jeans. Those are in style again, people (as are fanny packs).

Sigh.

Anyway, he’s fine. And we’re fine — until the next time the hormones take control.

I’ll be sure to update you.

Yours truly,
Beth

 

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Dear Amazon Stork Prime Returns Department:

When I brought “First-born Son” home, I was so pleased with it. Yes, it did make plenty of noise at first — keeping me up many, many nights in a row (about 240 to be honest) — and it did make somewhat of a mess, but it was adorable. Everyone said so. And it was just what I wanted.

Very cute, right?

My husband and I then enjoyed years of fun with “First-born Son.” Lately, though, this product has started acting up. It started with an eyeroll here and there. Then it began muttering under its breath. The noises coming out of it over the past few weeks, however, are really too much to bear.

We usually only hear “whatever” or “I don’t want to (insert anything except eating Cheez-its and playing Fortnite).” But this weekend, it actually wished me dead.

This can’t be proper behavior of the “First-born Son” product line.

It’s stuck in this position.

I’m not sure what kind of warranty you have on “First-born Son” or refund policy, but I need to find some kind of resolution. Is there at least a master reset button or factory restore I can perform?

Please let me know. Time is of the essence.

Sincerely,
Beth

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