Oh Ya, I'm a Teenage Dream

Every night from Monday to Thursday I have to drive my older children home from either a basketball practice or a game. For the most part, I don't mind hauling my flabby carcass off the couch and onto our snowy Albertan highways because I have found in the dark confines of the interior of our vehicle, my children will talk.

They will spill secrets they wouldn't share under the bright lights of our home and they are more apt to share what is happening in the world of junior high.

I know which boys like which girls, which girls hate which boys and everything in the middle.

That's right kids of my community, if you are reading this: I KNOW YOUR SECRETS.

It's in those quiet moments on our way home my kids will let me into their secret little lives and allow me a fleeting glimpse of the dramas, hard ships and hopes of the pubescents. I get to see the a reflection of who my children are growing into and as they race towards adulthood and independence, I savour each morsel they impart with me.

Mostly, I remain silent and try not to interrupt their soul-sharing, all the while trying not to roll my eyes or bark out laughing or do anything to otherwise interrupt this sacred little gab fest I'm allowed to listen to. It's like reliving my own youth. Only with less pimples and angst.

Last week, on one such trip home, I watched my kids strap themselves into the vehicle and as I pulled out from the school's snow covered parking lot, I asked how their days went, like I do every day, fully expecting to hear another diatribe about who broke up with who or which teacher was a poser.

Instead, my kids both answered simultaneously, "It was AWFUL!"

"Why? What happened?"

My daughter, always the quickest out of the gate launched into how her day sucked slimy worms arses (her words, not mine) because while in computer class she needed a picture of herself for her assignment and realized she didn't have a suitable picture available to use. Being the clever girl she is, she googled the words Fric and Redneck Mommy and did an instant image search.

"Well, that was pretty clever kiddo. Good thing I like to scatter your image far and wide through out the internet, now isn't it?" I was pretty pleased with her ingenuity and the fact that my blog was useful. It was like I was helping her even while I sat at home, ignored the housework and spent the day playing Scrabble online. This was a parenting win.

"Ya, but the kid next to me saw what I was doing and wanted to know how come I could google myself to find an image and then found out about your blog and then soon EVERY BOY IN OUR CLASS was doing a Google image search on you and commenting on how you looked! It was MORTIFYING."

Great. A dozen or more 14 year old boys discussing my appearance. It was like junior high ALL OVER AGAIN. Only this time, I have boobs.

"So, um, what were they saying?" I tried to ask nonchalantly, while bracing myself for the hard truth of reality. I figure 14 year old boys weren't so kind the first time around, why would it be any different the second time?

"They wouldn't stop bugging me about how HOT you looked. Why can't you have a normal job like all the other moms? The boy I LIKE wouldn't shut up about YOU. That is just wrong Mom. WRONG. I'm going to need therapy forever!!"

I won't lie. My self esteem totally blew right up. I always wanted to be the hot mom. I can now strike that right off my bucket list.

I was having a hard time swallowing back my chuckles at her woe-is-me moment when my son finally chimed in.

"If you think that is bad Fric, you should have heard what they said in the locker room at practice!!"

"And just what were the boys in the locker room talking about?" I asked my kid, knowing no good would come from this line of questioning.

"They were talking about YOU! Half of our team is in Fric's class and they all saw your pictures! And they found out about your NAKED calendar and wouldn't stop talking about how cool it was one of the school mom's did PORN!"

At this point, I couldn't contain it. I laughed. Loudly. In fact, I may have laughed so hard tears fell down my face.

"Good lord! I don't do PORN! And there was nothing inappropriate about that calendar picture! All my bits were covered," I gasped between laughs. My kids just glared at me, unamused by my mirth.

"I tried telling them that but one of the boys said he was going to buy your calendar and hang it up in the locker room for INSPIRATION."

The look on my son's panicked and indignant face made me laugh even harder. In hindsight, this was likely not an appropriate response. Ah, what the hell. I'm already paying for their therapy bills. I may as well give them something to talk about.

"It's not funny Mom. This is horrible. It's HORRIFYING."

My daughter chirped in, "It's EMBARRASSING. You are our MOM." (Subtext: Moms are supposed to be invisible and non-sexual and preferably ugly.)

After a few moments I had finished cackling at my children and they had stopped tossing death looks in my direction, so I reached over and patted my daughter's leg in the passenger seat.

"Well, in the end, it could have been worse. I mean, it's not like I'm actually a porn star. See? There is a bright side!" My glass is always half full. Heh. "They just saw a few pictures of me. They see me all the time in real life and I promise to always wear baggy clothes and never comb my hair around them. Pretty soon they'll forget all about me and move on."

Fric looked at me and nodded. "That'd be good. Don't feed the hormones."

Frac remained oddly silent for a second and then all of a sudden breathed out, "OH MY GOD."

"What? What's wrong Frac?" I looked at his reflection in the rear view mirror and he looked positively sick.

"What if they decide to read your blog?" he breathed.

"No biggie. I rarely write anything about the two of you they could tease you about. They'd have to dig into my archives for the good stuff and we all know teenaged boys won't be bothered with that."

Frac looked me in the eye, rather unconvinced by my logic but hopeful there was a glimmer of truth in my wisdom.

"Fine but if they ask me about nipple rings or blue carpet I'm filing for emancipation."

No one would blame you kid. No one.