I'm a Secret Agent

I know my Friday after school routine well--the bunch of boys would troop in and the house would be transformed into a menagerie of laughter, friendly banter, the sounds of computer games and loud banging of musical instruments. A couple of them would be banging on the drum sets, a couple pounding keys on the piano and a chorus of almost "grown-up" voices squeaking out a tune. It was loud and crazy and only a crazy mom would smile and say TGIF. So not! But I've learned from experienced moms that this is the best way to watch over fledging teens, from under your very own roof, where you know exactly what they are up to. And in the process of providing a hang-out place--at your own expense, of course--you give up privacy, peace and sanity--you've essentially provided yourself with an opportunity for some spy work.


This undercover surveillance act allows me to gather a whole lot of facts that my new teen might otherwise be leery to tell me. Food always does the trick. Just make sure all portions are mega-sized and always include barrels of liquids (they prefer anything with sugar)--they can huff everything down in a puff. While they are eating, I'll be slowly washing the dishes and since I blend well behind the kitchen sink, I'm allowed into their conversation without being part of it.

Adolescent boys love food and yes, girls--well, I already knew but their conversation confirms it. They talk about school girls and who is going out with who. They talk about their teachers--the good, bad and lazy ones. They tease each other about pet peeves and more--the kind of music they like, what makes them tick and what ticks them off. They laugh, they talk and they're not quite aware that there's a secret agent out there gathering the facts,not to use against them, but to aid me in this difficult process of getting to the heart of a teen.

So what have I learned from my fly-on-the-wall vantage point? Plenty:

* I learn that my son is a class clown--he makes people laugh and of course, no serious teacher likes that. I don't either, after all, I didn't send him to school to entertain kids. Put that down on my agenda--jesters are only found on HBO--not classrooms.

* He is the wing man -- he puts wings on cupid-struck boys--they come to him to be the go-between. I smile--wing man?

* He thinks his Science teacher is stupid, the rest of the boys do too; so I know his complaints about this lame teacher is at least valid.

* One of his good friends just wrote a song for a girl and they are sprouting ideas of when, how and where he should sing it. My boy is still unattached (as far as my spy works tells me) and I'm happy to know I don't have to worry about dating just yet...

That and many little nuances of interaction between him and his friends can only be gathered when they are in their own elements. These observations fill in the gaps between what he actually tells me and what he is in the presence of his friends and of course, the things that talk about gives me a lot of grounds to cover. Not that I crave them, I would rather be blissfully ignorant and happy and but this crucial stage of his development requires some vigilant monitoring. I wish, though...

I'm happy to report that I've yet to be busted and in the meantime, my facts gathering has provided me with little pieces of the adolescent puzzle, so I can better put them together.

P.S: I've also hidden behind wheels, with my natural antennae up and eyes behind my head (all mothers have that capacity) and done some serious undercover work when he and his friends are trapped in the confines of the car, at my mercy to take them places.... One day, when he's grown and has kids of his own, I'll teach him these tricks, if he hasn't already found out.

Graduation....and Looking Back

Shakespeare liken time to a winged chariot and ancient prophets called it a mist, a vapor, a flower, a weed--a transient passing through Earth. I couln't agree more.

When Shaina was born, strangers stopped to admire and invariably, they have one comment:

How cute! Enjoy, they grow up so fast.

I looked at my little bundle, snugged and content in her carrier, oblivious to the world at large and down at my sorry ensemble of elastic pants and stained T-shirt and thought:

Easy for you to say. I haven't had a good night sleep in days and I look like crap.

The bundle of "total dependence on me" became a liability I cannot sever. Sleepless nights, leaky body parts (both hers and mine), heaps of throw-up cloths, countless diaper changes( some can induce gagging) and endless feeding times took its toil and I'm sure the much extolled joy of motherhood is a myth. Time languished in the rounds of chores and raging "blue" hormones and there are times when I couldn't wait for Steve to come home, so I can shove the responsibility at him and whined, "Here, take a beating!" and ran out of the door to reclaim my sanity.

Time crawled when you are watching for milestones--first sit-up, first teeth and the ubiquitous teething ring from the refrigerator and at times, your arm if occasions allowed (remember teeth marks?), first crawl and finally the much awaited first steps. As you celebrated each milestone with whopping jumps of joy and maybe a victory dance around the living room, you realized that maybe motherhood may be all it's cracked up to be. The grueling routine was slowly replaced and rewarded with happy coo-ing, laughter that sounded more like hiccups and warm droolly fingers wrapping themselves around yours. Your heart melts and life takes on a rainbow hue as time skipped along...


You turned the corner and first grade came. As you took her first day of school picture, the toothless grin in a brand new dress, completed with her "Hello Kitty" roller backpack and an eagerness to take on the world, you can't help but feel a tinge of sadness. She would leave the world of play dough and enter the world of homework, assignments, datelines and the sometimes treacherous web of friendships. You worry about the weight of responsibility on her small shoulders and realized that you can't shield her forever. And you thought that it would take forever to get here.

Ancient wisdom hits home and you resolve to savor each moment and capture them with the elusive net of time. You're determined to chronicle each event, activity and achievement in the scrapbook of life. Sleepovers, birthday parties, field trips, family outings and activities--in different settings and circumstances--you've rolls of tape and films, boxes of pictures stashed somewhere for posterity. You've felt the stirring of time and the undercurrents gaining momentum and you're not about to let it slip.

But it did, in the whirlwind of everyday activities and chores, time has come and gone and now another milestone--your baby is graduating. As inches creep on that once diminutive frame, you recalled with nostalgia the lyrics of the song,"...Every day's changing, I'm rearranging.." Your child is rearranging, not just physically but emotionally--the growing independence, the slight drawing away and the maturing of thoughts.

As graduation draws near, and your child enters another phrase, experienced moms may warn you of challenges ahead. There will be roadblocks and potholes (and the occasional coasting - thank God!) but hey, experience has taught us to hang in there and enjoy the ride as this too would pass in a blink.

My Impressive Resume

My good friend from Singapore emailed me, after a long silence, and asked me what I've been up to. So, I told her I've really busy with different jobs, mostly menial, with very little mental input. Totally wasting away. They have taken up most of my waking hours and sometimes, I have to clock in overtime.

Curious, she asked, "Really?"

Really, no kidding. Hear me out--my list of jobs include:

Kitchenmaid: Responsible for all house cleaning, including windows and toilets. Mopping floors, picking up crumbs and always, the dishes. My co-worker, aka, my dishwasher husband who claims he would do the dishes if he saw them, always does the disappearing act.

Driver: Deliver charges at any time of the day, at the beck and call of ungrateful miniative people, who are lousy passengers and they don't even tip. OK, sometimes, they mumble a faint thank you and that's because they kept you waiting....or they spill juice, again! Incentive: I sometimes get to work in my PJs. And when they decide to go to Starbucks, I get a free cuppa...in their name.

Counselor: Have seen the worst of temper tantrums, squabbles and mouth-calling. Mediate at my own risk. With teens roaming the house, my job has many hidden hazards: unexplainable sulking, mood swings, loud music, surliness and the ultimate "silent" treatment. On really bad days, I think I need counseling myself. Help--tears fall in the night when I think I blew it again.

Banker: From dishing out 5 bucks for a pizza party at school to a field trip to New York for $500, they think that money grows...somehow and we're recipient of unlimited cash flow. If they only knew...it takes a mathematician to balance all the debit at the end of the month.

Doormat: They are nice when they need you and when they don't, it's "don't bug me." Sometimes, it's best to play dead.

Suffice to say that it's just part of my complicated job description. If you're a mom, you know the whole nine. My impressive resume has earned me many accolades. Among them: social castaway, queen of nag, fashion misfit, and The Lame Mom title. The last one really sinks.

So, yes, I'm terribly busy and if you don't find me twittering away or updating stuff on facebook, you know exactly where to find me. I could be holed in and working my b. off in the name of motherhood. People like say, "Wow, you're so lucky, you get to be a stay-home mom." If they only knew--that one job title came with many little clauses that we didn't know when we accepted the job.

And now, it's too late 'cause the ink is on the paper....