What Goes Around...

Teenagers make it possible to understand why some animals eat their young. This is the apotheosis of true statements.

The day I became a mother, I was given an 11 year old girl and a 14 year old boy. I missed out on the diaper changing and the teething and the hourly feedings associated with infants and toddlers. I missed out on the bed wetting and crayon pictures on the walls. I missed out on finger painting and beginning math. I didn't have to read bedtime stories or help my kids practice forming their letters. Nope. Instead, I got HORMONES.

I got the "I'm going to sneak out of the house at night while the parents aren't home." I got the "It's so not fair." I got the "God. That's so gay." The stomping feet and of course, the infamous eye rolling were the bonus free gifts.

As I've previously mentioned, my kids are pretty good kids as far as kids go. Neither one uses drugs. Neither have been arrested and so far neither are sexually active. Well, at least not my girl, I hope. She's now 15.

My three dogs are incredibly spoiled. They are demanding and expect to get their evening walk. They do not tolerate being ignored and insist on their space in the bed with me. Whenever I make something in the kitchen, they know they will get some, if not all, of whatever I'm cooking. See, I cook for my dogs. Not for my children.

Here's why. My dogs appreciate my efforts.

One morning about 6 months after I married an instant family, I decided to make a sit-down breakfast. I scramble eggs, fried up bacon, made orange juice and even made biscuits. All was neatly prepared and put on the table with flair. There was ketchup, jelly, butter, salt & pepper, salsa and hot sauce. It looked and smelled great. The only reaction I received was, "Eewww. I don't like biscuits. I want bagels." And a thank you very much to you, too.

Evening meals weren't any better. I tried to get my family to sit at the table and eat a meal as a family. Let's just say, that was WAY more trouble than it was worth. The complaining, the poking, and the spitting out was too much to deal with. Each meal was an exercise. I was exhausted by the time it was finished.

One time, my son, he was 15 at the time, had a friend spend the night. The next morning, I got up and made a hot breakfast for myself; French Toast (my husband wasn't ready to eat yet. I would make him his standard breakfast, oatmeal and coffee later). I thought I would be generous and make the boys breakfast too.

"Hey, I'm making breakfast. Do you want some?"

"What are you making?"

"French Toast."

"Weelllllll, I guess." I noticed the nose curl/eye roll combination.

"What's the problem?"

"I don't really like French Toast."

"Fine. Have cold cereal then."

So, I made French Toast for myself and scrambled up the left over eggs for my dogs. My dogs eagerly awaited their breakfast and the second the paper plates hit the floor, they chowed down. They licked the flavor off paper plates and Annabelle even ate a bit of the plate itself. When I finally took the demolished plates away from them, they looked at me with those big brown eyes. Tongues hanging out, tails wagging and smiles on their faces. That's the reaction I like. It's much nicer than an Eewwww or nose curl.

Since then with my husband deployed, I have baked cookies for my dogs, made dog treats for my dogs, fried bacon for my dogs, scrambled eggs and chopped deli meat for my dogs. My children, well, they have learned how to fend for themselves. Good thing there are frozen meals available. My son, although he usually makes a sandwich, has learned how to make macaroni and cheese. My daughter makes the best hashbrowns. She's good with potato salad, mashed potatoes and makes very good red beans and rice. My kids won't starve.

On the rare occasion that I do decide to cook a meal and make enough for them too, I require their participation. Unfortunately, that participation comes with complaining and "Do I have to?" I keep reminding them of the story of Little Red Hen. Although they know the story and know the moral of the story, they don't see how it relates to them in their daily lives.

Before my husband deployed, he suggested I try explaining the reasons behind the rules and requests put on the children. Okay. As my children had to take a sack lunch to school once a week, I made sure there was plenty of assorted lunch items available for them. They were encouraged to make their lunches the night before so they wouldn't have to rush in the mornings. Because I didn't want them taking a coke for lunch, I made sure there were single serving sized Sunny Delight orange drink for them. I also had the large gallon size container in the refrigerator. Even though I explained to them the single serving size bottles were for their school lunches and the gallon container was for consumption at home, I would find empty single size bottles discarded around the house. This irritated me for two reasons; 1) they were specifically told not to use the small bottles and they were provided with the reasons behind the instruction and 2) they didn't pick up after themselves.

The whole explaining thing doesn't work, at least not on the boy. The girl, for the most part, has it figured out.

I have explained to my 17 year old son that when he vacuums the rugs, he needs to pull them back and get the bits of dirt and sand that have worked through the pile. I went a step further to explain that the grit is the rug's enemy because as people walk on it, the grit grinds at the fibers causing damage. Ultimately, the dirt in and under the rug will shorten it's lifespan. I thought I had made it clear. Did he comply? No. After a few weeks of vacuuming, I inquired as to whether or not he had been pulling the rugs back. Turns out, he hadn't been. When I pulled back the rugs, I was appalled at the amount of dirt/grit build up. His reason for not doing a thorough job, he "forgot."

So, when I discovered my son had spray painted some stencils on the tile floor in the basement, I asked him not to spray paint down there anymore. There is little circulation and the fumes build up and permeate through the house. Also, he seems to "forget" to pick up after himself and I'm tired of cleaning up after him. The biggest reason he was asked to not spray paint in the house is that he didn't protect the tile floor from the paint. When I picked up his mess, I was stunned to see a perfect outline in black spray paint on the tiles. So, last night, when he came up from the basement carrying stencils I asked if he'd been spray painting.

"Yes."

"Remember that conversation we had not too long ago about how you are not allowed to spray paint in the basement?"

"Yeah, but I only sprayed a little bit."

Yep, and I'm going a little bit insane, but I'll drink a little bit of this bottle of wine and maybe I'm have a little bit of self-control and kill you just a little bit.

And what would you spend for an experience like this? Wait, there's more.

My children have been told repeatedly over the many years of their young lives that they are not to have any friends in the house when parents aren't home. NO FRIENDS IN THE HOUSE. It's a mantra. Over the past couple of years a caveat has been added. For the son, NO GIRLS IN YOUR ROOM, EVER. For the daughter, NO BOYS IN YOUR ROOM, EVER. It has been said over and over and over.

I had to work the day after Thanksgiving. My children were home from school. You'd think I could go to work and leave my 15 year old daughter and 17 year old son at home alone for 9 hours. After all, my daughter is a bonafide babysitter and moms up and down our street entrust the lives and wellbeing of their elementary school age children with her. Surely, it would be okay for me to go to work and not worry about my house burning down or my kids doing something silly and against house rules.

Because the building were I was working that day was locked, people needing their identification cards entered into the database wouldn't be able to get to the office. Eventually, higher management cut me loose. I went home five hours earlier than expected.

Imagine my surprise when I found a car parked in my driveway. Imagine my surprise when I entered my home and was greeted with a teenage girl (not my daughter) in my home. Imagine my surprise when that teenager girl exited my son's bedroom.

After the girl was removed from my home, I questioned my son about his inability to follow house rules. Naturally, he "didn't know" why he'd broken the rules. He said he didn't think about it. Of course not. Teenagers don't think about anyone other than themselves. They are completely self motivated and certainly do not consider consequences of their actions. They live for the immediate, the here and now. What happens 20 minutes later or even the next day doesn't even cross there minds.

Now, how much would you pay? But wait, there's still more.

We live in a small military community. Community rules and regulations are overseen by the BSB Commander. Everything that has to do with housing and community operations is approved or disapproved by the Commander. When we moved to Germany, the BSB Commander at the first post had no objections to us having three dogs in military quarters. We had to have our dogs examined by the military vet and the dogs' temperaments had to be determined non-aggressive. My pups are the most friendly, loving pups and their temperaments were not a problem. We received permission to live in quarters with our three dogs although the housing regulations allow for a maximum of only two pets.

When we relocated to Schweinfurt, we advised the housing office of our dog situation. The housing office didn't have a problem probably because the Heidelberg BSB Commander didn't have a problem. Turns out, the Schweinfurt BSB Commander did have a problem with it. We didn't find this out until after we had taken possession of the quarters and all of our household goods had been delivered and unpacked. We were looking at two options; 1) move out and find suitable housing on the economy or 2) get rid of one of the dogs. Neither option sounded very good to us. The petitioning began. Letters of apology and special requests for waiver of policy were written. My neighbors were asked if they had objections to my dogs. It took a few weeks of begging, but eventually we received permission to remain in quarters with our three dogs. There were conditions to the waiver. At anytime our dogs were deemed a nuisance or dangerous, they would be removed. Additionally, all rules and regulations concerning the dogs were to be followed to the letter. Violations would result in the removal of the dogs.

Imagine my horror when I was informed last week that while my son walked the dogs one evening, he was observed failing to pick up poop. To make matters worse, the woman who witnessed my dog poop and my son casually ignore it and walk away yelled at him to pick it up. Instead of doing so, my son kept walking.

Everybody in this community knows whose dogs they are. There is only one family who has three dogs; one schnauzer, one westie and one scottie. There was no doubt whose dogs they were and my son let one poop and didn't pick it up. Nice.

Even though he's been told a hundred times to pick up poop, even though he's been told to make sure the dogs behave especially because the BSB Commander has the authority to remove the dogs, he pulls a stupid stunt like that. He reasoning behind his foolish decision, 1) he admits he was being lazy and 2) he "forgot."

These are just the recent challenges. Previous stunts include a night when he stayed out all night under the ruse of spending the night at a friends, but instead he went bar hopping (drinking age in Germany is 16) and spent the night in a photo booth at the train station. There was a night when instead of spending the night at an approved friends house, he participated in a co-ed slumber party with alcohol where the parent who not only approved of the event, but also wasn't home to monitor. Prior to that, there have been phone calls from parents reporting that my son encouraged a younger child to throw rocks at smaller children. There have even been reports of my son and a buddy venturing into the wooded area less than 100 yards from our row of quarters to light bonfires.

I can understand why a person would have one child. It would be a stretch, but I could even understand a second child. But when people have three, four and more children, I can't see a reason for that. I know why older folks encourage their adult children to have babies. It's revenge. It all boils down to misery loves company. Grandparents are laughing at their children. Pay back.