Overheard: Sure Proof That I Have a Tween and a Teen

Teenage Boy wants me to purchase ultra-cool Halloween costume that includes mask with recirculating fake blood that drips down the front, a voicebox that turns his voice into a ghoulish creepy voice, and a gory fake axe. This exceeds my budget so he pulls the following out of his arsenal:

"Mooooommmmmm, it's probably the LAST time I'll EVER go trick or treating. Since I'm GROWING UP and all."

Sniffle. Sniffle. He knows how to play on my last little nostalgic mommy nerve, doesn't he?? The last time he goes trick or treating? How can that be? Of course I can't refuse him the costume of his dreams. Of course not.

And this was overheard from the backseat of the car while driving Tweenage Girl to dance class.

Back story: It's "Spirit Week" at her dance studio. Which means every day is something different, like Pajama Day, and Crazy Sock Day. Kind of like Spirit Week in Middle School, except without all of the anxiety of whether or not other people will actually wear their pajamas or whether you'll be the only one and the bullies will beat you up and call you a freaky nerd for actually believing in spirit week. Or whether you won't wear your pajamas, but then all of the popular people will, and so you'll be an idiot for not wearing them. Thus the only safe option is to wear normal clothes but bring your pajamas in a paper bag just in case you should put them on.

But I digress. Spirit week at the dance studio is fun because all of the girls who go there are super-enthusiastic types who just love this stuff. Thus my Tween was calling on the way to class, talking to another girl who was also on her cell phone, about to leave for class. Asa's side of the conversation went thusly:

"Okay, I'll tell you what I'm wearing. But you've got to PROMISE me that you won't steal my style, okay? No, I won't tell you unless you promise. Uh, I'm sure. 'Cuz mine is really cool and I don't want to wear the same thing. Okay, you won't steal it? Okay. I'm wearing one long stripey sock and one short sock that's green with little scotty dogs on it...." (lengthy description of every minute detail of clothing ommitted for brevity).

Yep. I'm the mom to a Teen and a Tween. Entering entirely new universe now. I hope I have a road map, or a star map, or something to guide me...

If the Shoe Doesn't Fit...

Here's a great visual for you of the generation gap. In the middle are my mom's shoes which she wore when she dated my dad. They're about a size five I think. I couldn't squeeze half of my big flippers into them. Even Asa at age ten can't get her feet into them (she's now into a ladies' size 7). Then comes my feet, at size eleven they are not dainty. But hey, I'm a swimmer and they make great flippers. My dad (size 12) always said he gave me a good foundation in life, and he was right! On the outside are Mackenzie's shoes. Size 13: same as his age. I sure hope they don't go up in size as he gets older! As it is, he looks so much like Jeremy from Zits it's scary. In fact, I'm pretty sure that the creators of Zits are parked across the street from my house with binoculars gathering source material on a daily basis.

Last week Mackenzie and I went camping together for a few days. I packed an enormous amount of food, in quantities that could've seen Hannibal and his elephants safely over the Alps. I'm not kidding:

One package of hot dogs
Two pounds of hamburger
Two quarts of pasta sauce
Two packages of pasta
One can of refried beans
One loaf of bread
One bag of tortillas
One brick of cheese
A gallon of milk
A half gallon of pancake batter, pre-made and ready to go
A jar of peanut butter and one of jelly
A container of hummous
A dozen eggs
Carrots, celery, grapes, watermelon, salad, snap peas, apples, bananas
4 Clif Bars
Two containers of nuts
One baggie of raisins
One box of graham crackers
Two bars of chocolate
One bag of marshmallows

AND.... you guessed it, I had to go to a grocery store three days into the camping trip to resupply. No, I am not making this up. The kid has grown four inches this year and somehow managed to lose five pounds in the process, despite eating us into the poorhouse.