The One Where Mothers Know More than Mister Driving Instrutor

Ah, the bestowing of the driver's license. I don't think any of us will ever forget that moment in time when we obtained that little card. That little card meant so much more than the ability to drive a car - it meant that society trusted us. Society had decreed through that little card that we were grown up and responsible and should be allowed to go places and do things.

Guess what? That little card doesn't mean crap to your mother. This may come as a total bummer, but I think the other parents will understand what I mean. Just because you hoodwinked Mister Driving Instructor doesn't mean you can hoodwink me. You see, I have been watching you. While you've had your "learner's permit," I have been pretending to sit there enjoying the scenery, but in reality, I have been watching you like you were the last chocolate in a See's box.

Here's what Mister Driving Instructor doesn't know. You are far more concerned with what music is playing than you are the other cars. And guess what else? I see you visibly shaking and breaking out in a sweat when your cell phone rings. Of course, you won't answer it in front of Mister Driving Instructor, or in front of me, but I see the panic in your eyes...you might be missing SOMETHING IMPORTANT. There might be SOMETHING IMPORTANT about some vampire character and you will never know about it because you are driving with your mother. And you know what else? Just last week I had to remind you not to drive over the curb in front of the nice policeman. Yep, I am on to you. That little card may be in your wallet, but you still have a lot to prove to me. You got that?

On an unrelated note, it looks like we are out of eggs and dog food. And here I was, just about to take a nap. I suppose I could probably trust you just this once...

The One Where the Grumpy Teenagers go Back to School

The first day of school was met in my house with a decided lack of enthusiasm.

Grumpy Teen #1 is of the opinion that ANY day that does not involve sleeping until Noon and laying around on the couch, simultaneously watching some atrocious TV show (like "Secret Life of the American Teenager" -- the writers on that show need to be taken out and shot), and texting and Facebooking and Twittering, is a BAD day. I told her she has a lot of BAD days coming up in her life.

She and her friends decided to show their rebellion against school by, get this, NOT wearing anything cute on the first day. "We're just gonna, like, wear just jeans and like, a concert t-shirt." Ooooh. I am sure everyone at the high school will feel sufficiently slapped in the face.

Grumpy Teen #2 dragged himself from the basement, where he has been playing video games since early June. I think his only words to me all Summer were, "Why do I have to shower? It's stupid."

OK,we all know that Jr. High sucks. It is pretty much the worst few years that anyone has to endure. If there was anyone who deserves Jr. High, it's this kid, who obviously kidnapped my sweet, adorable son and replaced him with this unshowering, non-verbal basement dweller.

Miraculously, Grumpy Teen #2 showered without any nagging, and emerged looking quite respectable for his first day of Jr. High. I am still not sure why I cried... but maybe it was the showering. In the midst of my tears, I had an unstoppable desire to walk him to the bus stop. Obviously, that would have been social sucicide for him. I momentarily considered driving to the school and helping him find all those classes. He has no idea how to do this, I am sure of that. But I realized, there HAS to be someone at that school who is specifically assigned to find all the basement-dwelling, non-verbal, clueless boys and escort them to the right rooms.

So, here it is, another chapter in the continual process of letting go. I don't like it a bit, and to protest, I am totally not wearing anything cute today.

The One in which I Introduce the Blog

Hi all,

Many of you will remember me from my days of writing a humor column in the Herald Journal. In those six years, I learned a lot of things, such as the police do not necessarily think it's funny when you refer to them as "baby cops." I also learned that referring to my ex as "husbutt" was, indeed, quite funny, and still is.

The Blog is called "For No Apparent Reason," because, while a few of my musings will be extremely timely and politically intriguing, most of them will be about hair clogs in the drain, or the fact that my teenagers do not wake up unless the house is on fire.

I hope that some of you who used to read my column will read this blog, and I hope that the people who used to send me hate mail (this includes the Police) will never see this.

Cheers!