Before the teenage tornado swept into my home, I considered myself a semi-organized person. I mean, in my own topsy-turvy way that only makes sense to me, I had a system going on. At the end of the day, I could put my hand on most things. Now my husband might beg to differ, but he also happens to be one of those super
Lately, though, my organization is slacking. Take my van, for example. Currently, my van has 'most favored car status' in our home. Which means sometimes trying to find where my keys were laid down last becomes a game of 'Who's on first? And what's on second?' {Okay. I'll admit that before teenagers, I had a slight problem with losing my keys. But now I wear a lanyard and it has solved most of my problems.} Getting back to my story, though. My teenagers borrow my keys ALL OF THE TIME. Not long ago they were missing for several days. I was so sad without my lanyard around my neck. I felt naked. Then one day my daughter's friend showed up at the front door with my keys. They'd been in her bedroom she said.
Since my van has most favored status and since teenagers never know their 'exact' plans until literally five minutes beforehand, they often 'forget' to get my personal stuff out of the van before they drive off. A few nights ago, my purse traveled along with eight teenagers to a soccer game in Graves County. My sons 'forgot' they needed money to get in the game and buy dinner. But it was their lucky day because their mom's purse just happened to be right there. So they made the executive decision to borrow my cash. Of course they forgot to tell me this. I discovered it the next day when I reached in my purse to pay for something. Awesome.
And then there's my clothing. It's not unusual to walk into a ball game and see my favorite sweater on someone in the student section. Or for my Nike shorts to suddenly disappear. Gone forever. While my Husband can put his hand on every single piece of clothing he owns, my clothing gets eaten at a catastrophic rate by my daughter's bedroom. And if it doesn't get eaten by her room, then it somehow gets mixed in with one of the other four children's laundry. Or maybe a teenage friend's laundry. Or sometimes I come home from a XC meet and I can't wait to put on my comfy slides but they are on one of my teenager's smelly feet on the opposite side of town. Of course, I find this out after I spend the latter amount of twenty minutes looking for them.
Or what about the bathroom? Every time I need my bathroom, it's occupied with someone 'borrowing' our shower.
My mascara. My mascara and makeup disappears on a recurring basis.
And I believe I've invested a small fortune in buying myself a new phone charger a long with 274 hours of searching for my missing phone charger.
Ear buds? Don't even get me started. I'd almost completely given up on owning a pair. It's just not worth the amount of time I spend searching for the stolen things. However, my husband did recently get a new I-phone and, feeling sorry for his wife, gave me his old buds. I was completely enjoying the luxury of listening to music while running until I left them sitting out on my desk one day.
GONE.
I questioned them all. Not me they all said. I stared at them all wild-eyed in my blue robe with my hair in disarray and stormed all over the house looking for them. I finally found a pair out in their car. I snagged them. I'm pretty sure they were too scared to cross me about it.
That husband mentioned up there tells me it's my fault. Don't let them borrow these things he says. Don't allow this he says. Hide your stuff he says. But he doesn't understand. I'm pretty sure it's part of the unwritten mom code that everything you own also belongs to all of your offspring. And they know all my hiding spots. Besides, if I hide things in new places I will just forget where I hid them.
Not only has my stuff been strung all over the West KY area, let's talk about time. Like when my freshmen told me the night before Homecoming that maybe he really did need some new dress pants and a bow tie. Oh and probably some dress shoes too. Or the text from my other son letting me know the day before that he kind of forgot about buying a corsage for his date. Or someone coming in my room right before I'm getting ready to crawl into bed asking if I can help with ten geometry problems. Oh and proofread a paper, if you don't mind.
SWELL.
Hey can you iron this shirt right now before I leave for school in five minutes? And make my lunch while you're at it. Can you wash my uniform before my meet that is in two hours?
Teenagers will also migrate to the room that you haven't bothered cleaning for a while and it will become their hangout. Take Homecoming recently when all twelve people met at our house and somehow ended up in mine and Eric's bedroom. The room that was completely ransacked from head to toe. One by one they just kept coming in...until all twelve were hanging out in there amidst the unmade bed and dirty clothes all over the floor. Because that's what everyone does before Homecoming, right? Hang out in the parent's bedroom. I finally joked that they could take their pics in our room if they liked. They just stared at me because teenagers never get mom jokes EVER.
Not only has my stuff and my time been stolen, let's talk about my sleep, or the lack thereof. No one ever told me that I would be more sleep deprived with teenagers than I ever was with toddlers. You can put toddlers to bed and know they are safe and secure. You can go to bed at peace. Not so with teenagers. When my bedtime hits, they are often still out and about, driving or being driven. Unsafe and unsecure. And Mama bears just can't go to sleep until all the cubs are home. And when the teenage cubs ARE home, mama bears still can't sleep. Because teenagers are nocturnal and like to slam bathroom doors and kitchen cabinets at all hours of the night. And they and their friends will do outrageous things like hang out on your roof at 2 in the morning. Meanwhile my dear husband is snoring away. He tells me it's my fault that I can't sleep. Just go to sleep he says.
Couple the teenage tornado with the fact that my younger two children still do things like leave their slick winter coat on the steps so their mama can accidentally slip on it and fall down the hard wooden steps on her back.
Yep.
My black and blue, unorganized, sleep-deprived life is not my own. I've been bought at a price.
And so, I rest my case. My state of mind has been taken over by teenagers and tumultuously deranged. So if you see me at Wal-mart shuffling my feet, make-up-less and with unkept hair, wondering aloud why I walked in there in the first place, have pity on me. If we have a conversation and I can't find the words I need or mutter unintelligibly, bless my heart.
Teenage identity theft has swept through our home.
