Truth be told, I'm woefully unprepared for this. Jeff, my now 26 year old stepson, lived primarily with his mom and was a joy who gave us little trouble (although I've recently been enlightened about his high school escapades of which I was blissfully unaware). Mackenzie, soon to be 20, is mentally challenged due to tuberous sclerosis and her journey has been different. So here I am, doling out Mackenzie's meds and running our ship in the fun-loving, pool-party, we-can-never-have-enough-kids-at-our-house way for which I am known, and what shows up but a boy. Nice boy, good boy, but a boy. Dating Juliette. Age 15 and a half. No time to get into how, on a technicality, she was allowed to date six months earlier than our preferred timeframe. Remember, I'm in a hurry. Sniffing, listening, eyes darting left to right and back again.
Then one day I'm on a business trip and I get a phone call. "Hi, Mom. Can Andrew spend the night tonight? Elena and Caroline will be here and we're all best buds. It will be fun." I scratch my head and wonder at which point it became okay in my sweet, smart, good girl's head to have boys grab their pillows and trot over to our house for sleepovers. What the what?!, I wondered.
Next, her annual end-of-school-year gathering turns into a party-palooza posted to Facebook, where our sweet, smart, good girl encourages everyone at the local high school and beyond to head to the Mudds for food and drink. Yes, drink. Drop your jaw so it hangs to the ground and you can imagine how we looked at her, and how she looked at us, when we said alcohol was prohibited. Then imagine the subsequent weeping and gnashing of teeth that ensued, with the greatest fear on her part being that the party might be "lame," and us firmly stating, over and over, that jail is not the house we want to live in.
I don't have time to get into the party itself, with streams of unknown kids bringing beer that was immediately confiscated by my husband and Jeff (now all grown up and on the prowl to protect his little sis), his wife and Jeff's best friend--a former Marine--and his girlfriend. This particular night also marked the end of a long, Muddy tradition...Julie's end-of-year parties. Stick a fork in me, I said to myself. I'm done.
So now I join the ranks of other parents. Not the stepmom or the special needs mom, or even the mother of girls who in an instant went from chubby cheeked toddlers to beautiful young women--but the mother of a teenage daughter. A lovely daughter who changed my life not so long ago and still does today. A daughter who must spread her wings and gain independence so she can live a full and happy life. It's the getting from age 15 to the full and happy life that throws me for the big, fat loop...so I am on alert. Poised, with my head up, sniffing, looking, listening. And praying.
