For every mom (& dad) out there celebrating the successes and wonderment of their soon-to-be adult child (teen) – I’m willing to bet there is an equal playing field on the other side, of parents who sit there dumbfounded wondering where in the hell they went so wrong.

I’m one of the latter.

As I roll into the the final days of my forties, I often find myself lost in daily doses of “what the fuck” moments.  Man, this is without a doubt, the hardest of any job I’ve ever had… being a parent.  God knows I’m not stellar at it – but I’m not bad, at it either.  I think that for most of us, we are simply trying to do a better job than our own parents did.  I know that’s certainly the truth in my case.  I didn’t have great examples of a loving marriage, or storybook parenting to follow.  That being said, my goal was always to do MUCH better than they did – but how capable am I, really?

It’s been 10 years since my divorce.  My boys were 7 & 3 at the time.  The oldest has splotchy memories of his life up to that point, as do most people.  The younger has no recollection whatsoever of his father and I ever having been a couple (I should be so fortunate – ha!).  Like most divorced parents, I too had those moments of guilt-driven parenting that caused me to be weak in my structure and follow-through with them at times.  All-in-all though, I have been the primary bad cop over the years, and as they (and I) have aged, that role has vastly broadened – due to both their normal path of growth and exploration, as well as my mounting wisdom and simple inability to put up with much of anyone’s shit.

My oldest son got mad at me in early 2018 and threatened to “go live with Dad” one too many times.  So, he landed himself a full time residency there for just shy of 3 months, when he had a fleeting epiphany that life at mom’s wasn’t so bad after all – returning back to his dual residency status just shy of his 16th birthday.

Teenagers… wow.  I’ve often said if someone had handed me the cliff-notes on how this was going to go down – I’d still be single and backpacking my way through Europe right now.  That is NO lie, my friends.

Being a child of the 70’s and 80’s was pretty simple.  Although my kids think it sounds like a low-budget horror film at times:  “So you’re saying you didn’t have any devices?” or “What do you mean the TV went “off” at midnight?”, or my absolute favorite when I overheard the youngest talking to another friend a few years back “Oh yeah?  Well, my mom was born back in the 1900’s”.  They’ll never know the glory of getting your friend to hang up and take your call over an emergency breakthrough, or the joy of having their own phone line listed in the white pages under “children’s line”.

“You can’t raise your kids in the world that you grew up in, because that world doesn’t exist any longer”

The reality is that world absolutely does NOT exist anymore – and I can’t use it as a colorful mental brochure on how to manage my own kids in a world filled with technology and social media. Not to mention living in a rather privileged suburb of Dallas, Texas, that is filled with kids raised by helicopter parents who don’t allow them to fail or experience failure on any level – showered by gifts of brand new, high-end sports cars at the onslaught of 16… further adding to the Gen Z’er’s “immediate gratification generation” label that I have so lovingly attached to my very own offspring.  Don’t get me wrong, they merely live among it, not BY it.  My kid got a 15 year old car with almost 300K miles on it!

Currently, my 17 year old is once again, holed up at his father’s residence.  Well somewhere between there and his grandparents (dad’s side) house.  Why?  Well, because the Bad Cop over here has rules, boundaries, and demands accountability.  Over there?  It’s a full-on “Lord of the Flies” scenario.  Parental figures rarely around.  My two boys and their impending step-brother, typically floundering around on their own accord for whatever the reason du jour may be – work, gym, etc. and when there are adults around, they (the adults) stay locked in their own bedroom because… well, I’m not real sure.  Maybe because they’re simply in hiding and refuse to deal with the chaos of parenting. I’ve often considered the gift of a conch shell so that someone over there can figure out who the hell is in charge.

Oh, I suppose it would be helpful if I gave a little insight as to exactly WHY I’m the bad cop, huh?  Well, I helped my son get a great job doing what he has always wanted to do.  He went to work two days and on the third, called in sick because he supposedly hurt his back at the skate park.  I insisted that he go to the doctor, a chiropractor, or even just go into work and let them send him home – all based on his sniveling pleads of a “destroyed back”.  He did none of those things and then by the grace of God, was magically healed by 2:30 pm the same day and wanted to go to a concert with me.  I told him if he was too hurt to go to work, he was not going to attend a concert.  Period.

When I demanded he come downstairs to have an adult conversation, he balked. He later left when I was in dispose, going back over to his dad’s house. The following day, I contacted him and made a statement like “I sure hope that one day you are able to learn success through your failures”. This was then morphed in his own mind into my having called him a failure, to which I was then told (texted) “this is why I want nothing to do with you right now”, followed by “you’re a real sack of shit, to be honest”. Wow. WOW! YOU don’t follow through with your obligations and I’m the sack of shit. Interesting. I won’t even go into what he said next, but it didn’t get any better. Two days later, he came to get all of his things. Unfortunately, over there on The Coral Island, the no supervision also goes hand in hand with no accountability. I have yet to receive an apology or any indication that his father is willing to play any role in fostering a discussion, apology, or any form of communication whatsoever. Only that he supposedly told him he shouldn’t talk to his mom like that.

It has been over a month since the incident.  I have been blocked on his cell phone & on social media.  I’ve been referred to as the big “C” word to his younger brother who was also sent with a verbal message that “he’s not coming back”.  Between bouts of being angry, I wrestle with being sad and the breathlessness I feel in the center of my chest when I start thinking too much.  What if something bad happens?  What if I die?  What if he dies?  What could I have done differently?  When my mom died, she and my sister were not on good terms.  God knows that’s not what I want for my son or myself.  I’m not sure what to even do at this point except hope for the best possible outcome.

Here’s one thing I DO know… my demands for respect and accountability will not change.  I don’t let those things slide for myself and I damn sure won’t let my kids exist in my world without having both.  I may not be the best mom on the planet, but I’m the best mom I am capable of being… a Bad Cop, a Good Mom.