North Idaho Way: Teen years not for the faint of heart

My friend has been going through the typical joys of raising teenagers, and she’s not looking so good. I wonder, after they become successful, can we sue our children for all they put us through? For the damage they cause our bodies, minds, reputations, homes and checkbooks? Come on parents of teenagers! Arise! Let’s fight back.

What really bugs me is my kids are already smarter than me and they know it. I was flipping through a catalog and pointed out a T-shirt to my son that read, “Parents of teenagers know why some animals eat their young.” My son quickly pointed out a shirt that read “Be good to your kids, they’ll choose your nursing home.” He’s right. They will eventually have the final say. If I do something they don’t like now, they could keep a list of grudges to refer back to in my later years. Reasons to put me in the cheapest home they can find. They could have the last laugh by burying me next to my arch enemy and giving me a smaller headstone, or two sticks tied together with bailing twine in the shape of a cross and jammed into the dirt near my head.

Have you ever noticed that people who’ve never raised kids to adulthood look 20 years younger than those who have? They’ve got great hair, nicer tans, whiter teeth, slim fit bodies. They wear cool clothes, have fancy boats and houses on the river, sports cars and a cleaning lady. Even their dogs look healthier.

And then there are those who’ve had the joy of raising teenagers. They’ve become haggard, a mere shell of their former selves. Their hair is thin and stringy due to the kids taking long hot showers until there’s no hot water left. They may have missing teeth because after paying for their children’s perfect pearly whites because there’s no insurance left for their own. And who am I kidding? This is North Idaho – who has insurance?

People who’ve raised teenagers don’t have the energy to tie their shoes anymore, so they wear slip-ons. They’ve resorted to gorging on comfort foods and now have the backside to prove it. Basically, people who manage to get their kids to graduation day resemble used fireworks on the fifth of July.

Have you ever noticed out of all the things you try to teach your kids, they’ll pick something you didn’t want them to learn and use it at the most inopportune time? My kids used to ask what I was making for dinner. “I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you,” was my usual reply. They thought it was funny.

Shortly after the Columbine shootings, a teacher asked my sophomore a question. “I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you,” he answered, causing everyone to laugh – everyone except the teacher. My son was arrested and suspended from school for a week.

Years ago, as a kindergartener, one of my boys heard the kids in his class tell about their parents who smoked or did drugs. He didn’t have a story to top theirs so he made one up. His father and I were alcoholics, and the only thing in our refrigerator was beer. Since we had no milk, we poured beer on their cereal every morning before school. If the kids said, “No, Mommy! No more beer,” we’d tip back their heads and pour it down their throats.

Isn’t that nice? My husband and I didn’t drink, smoke or do drugs, and for our good parenting we were written up in our son’s permanent file and glared at by teachers for years. But my son had the best story in school.

Last week one of my teenage son’s allergies were acting up. I keep a bottle in my purse of anything I might need away from home. I poured the pills out in my hand looking for the tiny allergy pills at the bottom of the bottle. To be funny, I mumbled while sorting through them. “Ibuprofen, PM aspirin, qualudes…” He didn’t even crack a smile. I gave him the allergy meds and off he went to work at ShopKo. Later, his boss asked if he’d taken anything to help him feel better. “My mom gave me some qualudes before work,” he replied. Naturally, her head spun in a complete circle. Apparently, kids today have no idea what qualudes are. Who knew?

In two years we’ll be throwing our eighth and final graduation party. After raising our Brady-Bunch-style family, we’ll finally be able to enjoy the grandkids they give us. We’ll wait, bide our time … and then we’ll laugh till we’re blue when their babies turn into teenagers. OK, maybe we don’t need to sue our kids. Watching them go through it with their own teenagers will be payment enough.