Excuse me, what?

Since I became a parent to two boys, I've been dreading the ages of 12 and 15. Twelve is when I had it in my mind that they would start to exhibit the physical and psychological changes of preadolescence. Fifteen because that is when I believe their father turned into a Terrifying Teenager, and I am certain one of them - if not both - is destined to follow in his footsteps.

I am ill-equipped to handle the start of preadolescence at ten years old.

If the first step is admitting that you have a problem, I am here to cop to the reality that I have no frigging clue what is happening or how to handle it. Jake-a-boo, which I am no longer allowed to call him, will be eleven in May, and it has already started.

Now, there are no physical changes that I am aware of or willing to inquire into. Jake still seems unaware and uninterested in the human body, unless it is farting, although he dreams of stroking the hair of and singing a duet with Selena Gomez. He is not gaining any inches, although we have managed to put six pounds on him since May. He has a little six-pack, which is just the most adorable thing you have ever seen.

But suddenly, he wants to be alone. He spends more time wanting to be away from Landen (his "alone time") than wanting to play with him. I would put that ratio at 55:45, which doesn't seem substantial, except that it just started happening. He wants to know what age he has to be before he can go places without us or stay home alone. He "needs his own room" a lot. He thinks a night light is ridiculous. He wants to pick out his own clothes, and he's terrible at it. Plus he has no concept of picking appropriate clothing for the weather. And, even more disturbing, he wants to wear what his new friends at school are wearing. There is not much self-expression in the wardrobe to be had at private school, but apparently Cool Fifth Graders wear a long-sleeve shirt under a shortsleeve polo OR a navy hooded sweatshirt AND a brown belt. 

January has been a rough month for us with Jake, and when we have it all figured out, I'll tell you all about it, in case it ever solves a mystery for you.  But he's spent a lot of the month in various state of Grounded, the latest sentence being banishment to the guest room with books and a sketch pad and a notebook and some crayons. He comes down to eat and drink. We are on Day 2.5 of this sentence, having kept him home from school on Friday. (We did not keep him home to ground him. We kept him home hoping we were going to make some appointments.) He's going outside to play in a little while, because even at the penitentiary you get time in The Yard.

And, it's not having the intended effect, because HE LIKES IT. He does not like being punished and not able to leave the room or play with his toys, but he does like having a room to himself. He would like to spend the night in the guest room on all non-school nights in the future.

Jake is resting happily all alone in my guest room. So enamored with all this space to himself is he that he doesn't mind that it's all pink in there.

This makes me very sad for Landen, because these past two nights have been the first ones he's spent in his room alone since he's lived with us.

We're not totally in the throes of The Adolescent Process, because he still likes to dress up like Thomas Jefferson. He still wears his Batman pajamas and will not let me get rid of all his stuffed animals. He still draws his own treasure maps. He'll take a bubble bath in the jet tub with his brother and put his Legos together for him. But it's all disappearing, one by one.

This makes me so sad for the sweet things that I know will soon be replaced with horrible, vitriolic statements being thrown at us. Soon he will not need to hug us and tell us he loves us repeatedly after he gets in trouble. Instead he will tell us he hates us. Hugging me when I pick him up from school will be replaced with my not being allowed to walk next to him, or even get out of the car. (He's already done this to me once, and I wanted to die. I'm NOT an embarrassment!) He will stop crawling into bed with us on Saturday mornings, a habit that is already waning, and stay upstairs until he's hungry.

I am seeing the signs of this at 10.75 years old. Which is earlier than I expected.

And so, to all of my friends, family and associates - in person or on the interwebs - I have only one thing to say to you...

WHY THE F#*K DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?!

Updates from the A Team

It occurred to me this morning in the carpool line that I have not said anything to y’all about our Christmas and New Year’s. We did the same thing for Christmas that we have done every year since I was 14 – Christmas Eve mass and dinner, Santa, open presents, pancakes, naps….This year Emily came over for Christmas morning pancakes, and this year, as a newlywed, she brought her “sugarbaby” husband Jeff with her. She is my sunshine and it is always a delight to be in her company, though the frequency of this joy has decreased since she moved off to Richmond.

The boys racked up this year, as last year. There were no “big gifts” this year. Just a bunch of $25-and-less crap they asked for from Toys-R-Us. Corey and I gave them custom high-top Converse with their names on them, which they lurve. Harry Potter stuff, movies, swords, costumes, action figures, Nerf accessories, etc. They sleep through the night and WE have to wake them up in the morning, which is the opposite of what Cydney and I did as a child.

I also realized that it’s been a while since I gave y’all an update on how the boys are doing – not what the boys are doing – and how we as their parents are faring with that. And with each other. I will do that for you right now.

The best news about Landen is that on Parent/Teacher Conference Day, the teachers did not feel like a conference with me was necessary. This is quite the progress from the first conference, attended by the principal and assistant principal. He is so smart. The remarkable part is not his book smarts, which he has and are evident by his good grades, even when his parents forget to study with him. What is remarkable is his understanding and awareness of grown-up concepts and behaviors, and the world around him. He’s VERY astute. And I still would describe him as wyly. Future insider-trading wyly. I would also describe him as a yenta. He loves to gossip, mostly about Jake, and we are often telling him that we do not need him to chime in and help us parent his brother. He is the younger brother, but close observation of our family might confuse you about that.

January has been a rough month for Jake. We’ve seen a decrease in patience and control and an increase in aggression and violence. There are so many factors that contribute to this, and I think the newest, and perhaps currently the strongest, contributing factor to this is that he knows that he’s small. Small equals different. Being short and skinny means that all the girls you think are beautiful are a head taller than you are. It means that people ask you everywhere you go if your little brother is your twin. It means that your parents are always making you eat your meat, never measure you height and always know your weight. It means that you isolate yourself at a new school and withdraw into subjects that other fifth-grade boys cannot relate to.

So, we continue to struggle with Jake’s adjustment. His brain is working against us, with his general anxiety and the impairments to his executive functioning caused by his ADHD. He is still grieving for the life he used to have, where he had a mom and a dad that he saw equally and he was with his grandparents almost every day. We’re going back to frequently-scheduled and intensive therapy to get this grief process moving to acceptance. He will also soon begin group therapy with kids his age who also have trouble with their social skills and ability to make friends. He’s happy at home. He smiles a lot and hugs and kisses a lot. He eats well. He sleeps well. He’s better than he was a year ago. That’s the most we can ask for today.

Jake’s special needs are emotional, not physical or mental, but they are still a unique set of challenges that makes parenting him extra frustrating, extra difficult, extra not-always-rewarding and extra emotional for us. When he bites my sister while she’s trying to pull him off his brother or kicks a someone at school for trying to tell him what to do, the only response I have mastered is to go into my room and cry it out. The consequences are painful and inconvenient for all of us, but they are appropriate and consistent. For both boys. If you have not visited my friend Lisha’s page to read “Memos from your child” that she shared, you should (as soon as you finish reading this blog.) By far the hardest part of parenting either strong-willed and smart Allbritton boy is remembering that they are kids, and the expectation we place on them must be easier than the expectation we place on other adults.

This is New Year's Eve, in new shirts and custom shoes, and the night, they say, was the first time they ever watched the ball drop on TV.

It’s no surprise then that these circumstances make our marriage the red-headed stepchild. It’s the element that gets the least amount of attention. We forget to kiss each other “hello” or “goodnight.” We fight loudly about who should do which dishes or who should have to carry the laundry basket upstairs and put the clothes away. We are extremely fortunate that the boys have regular weekends away with their grandparents, but I’m noticing that we spend that time being so grateful for the reprieve from having to break up fights and mandate how much of their dinner they must eat and fussing when they leave their shoes in the living room that we do not turn that gratitude for the time we get to sit together. Uninterrupted. In a quiet house. Or stay in bed, napping on and off until noon.

What we do have is an appreciation for what we went through to get here and to build a life together. And how we have the best teammate in each other, that we know we will always be supported when we’re too tired to stand up straight. Or do not get home from work until 9:30 PM. Or fall asleep at 8 PM. We know it’s covered, and that we are in this together. Every morning when I wake up, I love my husband, but I really like him, to be around him, to parent with him. I do not enjoy riding in the car with him, but that is a lengthy discussion that he should probably contribute to. (Except one time when we went to Fort Polk and listened to a Pandora station based on Poison the entire way there.)

I’ve added Momastery to my regular blog reading. You should too. Her blog is more about the challenges she has with her own conditions and how that affects her parenting, her marriage, her contribution to the world. It’s refreshing to have someone say in a public, published forum that it’s hard. And it’s not fun. And that you do it not because of the great time you are having at every moment, but for the belief that when it’s done, we will have raised good husbands and fathers, productive citizens who knew they were safe and loved.

And, we have this kickasstastic dog, who has saved the sanity of every one of us. More than once. He thinks we provide for him, but it's actually the opposite.

Give up the funk

Last week was a stupid bad week for me. It was not marred with terrible events so much as I just had a crappy attitude about it. Jake got in a fight at school with a boy that ended with his anger being taken out on a little girl. And his third detention. Suspension could follow with the next incident. I hated my job, well, more accurately, I hated that I (and Corey) have to work as hard as I (we) do to maintain this standard of living to which we have all become accustomed. I'm driving around in a wrecked car after I got rear-ended AGAIN on my bi-weekly morning commute. The good news was that it was a three-day weekend and the boys were going to Beaumont for the duration. 

I have found that the best way for me to combat The Funk is 1) to make sure I am taking my meds accurately 2) white knuckle it until the boys have grandparents' weekend and 3) plan and execute a home decorating or craft project. 

Enter the silhouettes. Growing up, my mother had small black silhouettes of Cydney and me hanging on each side of the sink in her kitchen. They were there for all my life, until my mom renovated her kitchen. For a while now, I have been planning to do large-scale silhouettes of the boys for above our bed. But I knew that I did not want black silhouettes. I wanted color or pattern or texture or both, and I wanted it to tie in with the colors in our room.

From justcallmechris.blogspot.com

From jonesdesigncompany.com

From http://www.tobifairley.com/

There are many artists on Etsy who do these on different backgrounds, but most of the silhouettes are black or white. I decided that I wanted to do my silhouettes on canvas with metallic paint, a turquoise mat and a copper frame. I also pondered it enough to decide that I would make stencils of the silhouettes by blowing up pictures into poster-sized prints and cut out the head with an exacto knife, leaving a poster-sized stencil.

I used picnik.com to play with different color treatments to the photos to get profiles that were the highest contrast to the blank wall behind them, then printed them on the cheap at vistaprint.com. It may have been overkill, but I am not so great a tracer, so I traced the profile with a Sharpie to help guide my cutting. I taped it to the back of the three-pack of canvasses I bought to protect my tabletop. 

Corey has gotten oddly attached to the heads.

I ended up needing Jake to face the other way, but took this picture to show how the silhouette cut came out. Look at that mouth. Those are his dad's lips. Based on experience I will tell you that those lips will be the downfall of many a high school girl.

When I cut them out, I only cut the head and neck. I wanted the profile to be isolated on the canvas, so I did not cut shoulders and torsos into the stencil, though they are present in the photograph. See, here's Landen.

I used metallic paint in a pot that I picked up from Michael's and dabbed the edges with a sponge. I remembered when I failed at stencils before that it is very important, in fact, I'd say critical to the entire project, that you use your fingers to hold down the stencil edge at the area you are sponging or the paint will seep underneath the stencil and ruin your line. My paint washed off my fingernails with soap and water.

And when it was done, it looked like this. I bought double matted frames on sale at Michael's and painted the mats the same color as our front door (there's a lot of paint left) and spray-painted the white frames with copper spray paint. Corey loves them. He says this is his favorite project I've ever done.

At some point in this project, he asked me how I knew how to do this. I told him that I've discovered that everything DIY is not about whether you know how to do something. It's based on the idea that you don't know you cannot do something. I did not know that I could not make a stencil and paint silhouettes, but I did not know that I could not. So you try it and if it doesn't work, you throw it away and try something else. As my idol Barbra Streisand says to the stage manager in Funny Girl after a disastrous stage performance on roller skates when he questions why she said she could skate, "I didn't know I couldn't!"

I also have to share my furniture score. I have an antique pedestal table on one side of the couch that was a gift from Emily Williams a couple birthdays ago. The table on the other side of the couch is a wood-and-metal table from Hobby Lobby - adorable with lots of functions but destined to be replaced by another antique table. For two years I have been looked for a long and low antique table. Yesterday I spent the afternoon with my friend Amelia and her daughter at the antique stores in Denham Springs, and scored the perfect table. FOR $55!

The finish is pretty beat-up, and I do not think I can stain it because the top is laminate. The tag said it was from the 50s. I put it down to live with it for a while, but I'm leaning toward colormatching it to one of the couch throw pillows and painting it red.

The best part is that it has a drawer that works smoothly and fits our cameras, laptop cords, hard drives and Corey's gaming equipment in it perfectly. There's been an ongoing battle about the storage of the ginormous mouse and the headphones for many, many months. Problem solved.

Corey was so stoked about the new storage solution that will keep him from being constantly fussed at that he put it down outside and hugged me. Then he told me that I was batting a thousand this weekend - for the silhouettes and the table.

Funk lifted.

Cooking for Pickies

This is not a food blog. This is a blog about Life as an Allbritton, which is in constant flux. This week (and last week) they were grounded from computer and video games because they got in their eleventh fight of the week over the computer. Punches were thrown. My sister was bitten. But today they came home with all A's and B's on their report cards and notes from their teachers reprieving them from parent-teacher conferences, so they get ninety minutes on the computer tonight so their dad and I can watch the BCS in peace because we believe in rewarding good behavior and academic performance.

Santa brought the uniforms. Great Don and Great Clare gave the boots.

They are growing children, and despite their violent displays of brotherhood, I do have to feed them. There are lots of things they do not like. A picky eater myself, I do not encourage this habit, because their Dad will not let me (which is the right way to be, dear.) Yesterday, their dad said they were going to eat half of everything we put on their plates - vegetables included - which makes me very nervous because Landen throws up on his plate when he does not like the green items we have made him eat before. Now everybody gets veggies (when I cook them, which I do most days, but do not eat myself) and must eat half of them.

So if you have picky eaters, or you like creamy foods, you should print the recipes I post here. They are tried and true, usually altered by me from an existing recipe and tailored to suit the varying tastes of my family, and approved by at least two of the three picky eaters who live here. Corey eats pretty much whatever you serve him. He says this is because he grew up non-affluent, and you ate what you were served.

Except he does not like chicken cooked in a crock pot. Or bell peppers.

All that to say, here are two recipes that succeed in my house, and with some tweaking to your personal tastes, they will probably succeed in yours: Creamy Tomato Soup and General Tso's Chicken.

CREAMY TOMATO SOUP (which should have grilled cheeses on sourdough or Italian bread dipped into it.) Serves 6.

3 tbsp chopped or grated onion

1 tsp chopped or minced garlic

3 tbsp butter

4 tbsp flour

1 tbsp sugar

1 1/2 tsp  Kosher salt

1/2 tsp black pepper

3 dashes each basil, oregano,and thyme

3 cups tomato sauce (in the can)

1 roasted red bell pepper*

3 cups Half and Half

*A note about the bell pepper: I buy the kind already roasted in the jar (check your pickle aisle) and then put it in my mini food processor. You could also cut it into about six pieces and use an immersion blender. Or you can omit it altogether.*

So, you're going to make a light roux, or the start of a white sauce, by sauteing the onions and garlic in the butter over medium heat. You can chop the onion, or I grate it over the pot using a mincer. You can chop the garlic, use a garlic press, mince it like the onion or use the already-minced stuff in the jar. All turn out the same. Landen and I do not like the texture of onion, so when I cook with them, I grate them to make them almost a paste. When the onion is clear, add the flour, sugar and all seasonings and stir. You will wonder if that glob of yellow playdoh in your pot has ruined your soup. It hasn't. Keep going. Add the tomato sauce, and red pepper if you are using it and turn the heat up to medium-high. Bring the pot to a boil, stirring constantly, for one minute. Turn heat to low. If you're using an immersion blender, do that now. Otherwise, add the half and half. Stir in and TASTE. I usually have to add a pinch more salt here. Make your grilled cheese. Serve the soup in bowls with shredded parmesan or a few crumbles of goat cheese.

Tell your children it's "spaghetti sauce soup" because one of them swears he does not like tomatoes, even though he puts ketchup on almost everything and loves spaghetti and pizza.

GENERAL TSO'S CHICKEN

Don't be scared. Asian cooking is not as scary as it seems. And you can do it without a wok.

This recipe has two parts: the chicken and the sauce. First, have all this stuff.

1 lb white meat chicken

2 tsps Sesame Oil (You can use olive oil if you want.)
2 tbsp soy sauce (I cook with regular)
1 Large Egg White
1/2 cup cornstarch
Your favorite oil, for frying
Oil for deep frying
3 tbsp olive oil
2 tbsp minced ginger (buy the stuff in the tube if you want)
2 cloves garlic, finely minced (or 2 tsp of the jar stuff)
4-5 dried red chiles, rinsed and deseeded*
2 stalks scallion, white-part only, cut into 1-inch lengths

5 tbsps rice vinegar
6 tbsps soy sauce
2 tsp Hoisin sauce (Japanese BBQ sauce)
1/2 cup chicken broth
5 tbsps sugar (I've made it with white, dark brown and raw)
1 tbsp sherry cooking wine
1 1/2 tbsp cornstarch

 

*A note about the chiles: You can use a few dashes of red pepper flakes. If you use the dried chiles, break the top off and shake out all the seeds. Wash your hands and do not touch near your eyeballs for at least an hour after doing this. Trust this advice. Don't be in pain like me.*

 

For the chicken (this part comes from Rebecca at Tasty Kitchen):

 

Stir together the sesame oil, soy sauce, egg white, and 1/2 cup cornstarch until a thick slurry forms. It will look gummy but smooth. Add the chicken pieces and stir until all are evenly coated. Set chicken aside, covered lightly with plastic wrap, at room temperature for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. 

 

Heat 1/2-inches of oil in a heavy-bottomed, high-sided frying pan or skillet over high heat.  When the oil is shimmering, add one piece of chicken at a time, taking care not to crowd the pan. Cook chicken for 4 minutes on each side, or until deep golden brown and crisp on both sides. Transfer the fried chicken to a paper towel-lined plate and repeat the process until you’ve cooked all the chicken.

 

For the sauce:

 

Either in the pot you used for the chicken with the oil poured out, or a separate pot, heat the 3 tbsp olive oil over medium heat. While that heats, mix the rice vinegar, 6 tbsp soy sauce, Hoisin sauce, chicken broth, sugar, sherry cooking wine, and 1 1/2 tbsp cornstarch in a mixing bowl, whisking out the cornstarch clumps. When the oil is hot, saute the ginger, garlic, red chiles and scallions until fragrant. Add the sauce mixture and boil for a minute or two, until it thickens into a glaze. Remove from heat, add the chicken and toss to coat.

 

Serve over rice. If you're a vegetable person, you can dump some steamed broccoli in when you toss the chicken.

 

Landen likes this with soy sauce on his rice, and he usually eats seconds. Jake will eat the required amount of chicken, but does not love this, unless it's served with fried rice. Which, all the trouble this is (though it's easy), who the hell wants to take MORE time to make fried rice?!

 

Every time I cook Asian food, every single time I cook any Asian food, Landen says "I did not know you could cook Chinese food" or "Who knew women could cook Chinese food?!" It just depends on how cheeky he feels that day. And I tell him if he says it again, I will elbow him in the eye. Because HE KNOWS I can cook ANY food (except spaghetti). I do it all the time.

 

He still tells me he does not think I knew what I was doing when I painted our front door turquoise, because that does not go with brown. This weekend he put a navy undershirt with a grey and black button-down shirt. I told him if it was all the same to him, I would not take decorating advice from someone who could not manage the correct color undershirt.

 

Criticism of the cooking and the decorating in this house are not tolerated by people who wipe their noses on their sleeves.

The First Chapter in the Book of Opportunity

"Cheers to a new year and another chance for us to get it right." Oprah Winfrey

As I ready myself to make a big brunch for my sleepy-eyed family of four (we let the boys watch the ball drop at midnight), I want to share the photo we took of the boys last night, in new shoes and new shirts, sporting fresh haircuts, on our way to dinner and a movie.

I swell with maternal pride.

We thank you for reading our blog and caring enough about us (or thinking we are entertaining enough) to follow along in our journey of life as a family. We finished a year with Corey home, adjusting to new jobs and new parenting schedules, a new school and the challenges of multiple testosterone units living under one roof. We did many things wrong. We got in fights at school. We lied. We broke things. We yelled. We cursed. We drew inappropriate pictures. We wrecked our cars. We were flexible, and we made the necessary adjustments. But with all that, at the end of every day, we knew we were loved, and that we loved each other.

Jake has one New Year's resolution: to be more social. Specifically, he wants to hang out more with a boy in his class who lives a few houses down. They did fireworks together last night. This is a resolution I can fully get behind. Landen has no resolutions for the new year. He's apparently just fine with himself as is and sees no need for improvement. Corey is resolving to exercise more, give up sugared carbonated beverages, and buy a pistol. I'm going to try with all my might to delay the purchase of a pistol until the sugar withdrawals are long behind him. Otherwise we'll be front-page news.

Two of my resolutions are to say "yes" to my kids more. One time I will not be saying "yes" is when they leave their crap on the floor in the living room or sunroom or in the driveway, because another resolution is to throw away toys that are not being played with and are not where they belong. I told the boys this would make me a monster as the parent of young boys, but would make them good husbands someday. I have others that do not involve my kids, but they are not yet ready for public declaration.

I'm also looking forward to marking some of the home-improvement projects listed in this post as complete. Probably starting first with the boys' bathroom. This may be the year we start trying to get pregnant. Or the year I find a military school for Landen that we can afford (I kid, I kid.) We could be entering the year where Corey gets promoted. Or I find a better work-life balance.

That's my favorite thing about January 1st. The possibilities are endless.