Not My Mother's Motherhood

A couple of days ago, Precocious Daughter said to me, ever so casually, "Oh, by the way..."

Record scratch. Freeze frame.

Now, if you've ever had a child, you know that "Oh, by the way..." is a heavily loaded phrase. It's the offspring equivalent of a woman saying "It's FINE."

It's not sexist if it's true, you guys.

And just let me point out that this particular child is a legit grown-ass woman with a car, a job, and a fat college scholarship.

Still.

OK, so a couple of days ago she casually dropped this: "Oh by the way...I think I might have a date this weekend."

Sure. She hasn't had a love interest in more than a year. So...great.

"I think we're going to see the new Jurassic World movie."

Weekend movie date. Classic. I'm on board.

Then I asked: And who is this person?

Thinking she's going to name someone she went to school with, or a friend of a friend, or even someone she met at work.

Her answer?

"I met him on Tinder."

ME. OBVIOUSLY.

My daughter - who just graduated from high school - has met someone on Tinder.

ON. TINDER.

Because in 2018, teenagers have Tinder accounts, I guess.

Wut.

David Tennant supports me.

Now, PDaughter was very willing to share information about this...person. Who is her age, and who lives in a very good neighborhood (in Drummer Boy's neighborhood, in fact), and whose social media accounts are actually clever and not creepy at all.

And they've been communicating on the regular prior to setting this date, and according to her, he's raised no red flags, i.e., hasn't discussed dismembering squirrels or supporting Trump.

Still. My baby girl met someone by swiping right.

Or left. Or...I don't know shit about Tinder, to be honest.

Anyway, she's planning on meeting this TOTAL STRANGER this weekend.

I understand that every relationship begins with two total strangers.

Mine with Drummer Boy included.

But...but...

I got nothing.

What do you guys think about this development?

10 Things I (Now) Know About Prom

Prom 2017 has come and gone.

There were no casualties.

If you know me or have found me on my IRL Facebook page, you've seen the photos of Precocious Daughter and Precocious Boyfriend from last night. Between me and PBoyfriend's parents, we took roughly 30,000 photos of the kiddos before they left for the shindig. We marched them to the sweet little gazebo in the town square for the photo op and snapped away until their eyes were literally rolling back into their skulls.

That's the sign of great parenting, by the way.

I've never seen my child smile so radiantly.

I've never been happier that we are the same shoe size, because the shoes she chose are abso-frickin-lutely adorable. I can't imagine when I'll have the occasion to wear sparkly, strappy sandals with clear acrylic kitten heels(!!!). But if necessary I will wear them to Target. For real.

Lessons learned from my first prom-mom experience:

1. Everything will be fine.

2. Growing out a short haircut does not make for optimal styling options. But hold your tongue and step back, and the kid will come up with something amazing.

3. Do not show signs of stress. This is super-hard when your child begins to fret about literally everything. But stay upbeat, because...

4. Everything will be fine.

5. Prom night is not the best time to try liquid eyeliner for the first time. (Fortunately, I use a pencil, so crisis averted.)

6. Whatever you spend on the dress, the shoes, the makeup, the purse...it's all worth it. And that includes both the expensive formal-shop dress and the $10 Target clutch.

7. In the grand scheme of things, prom is not that important. But on Prom Night, it's totally not about the grand scheme of things. It's about a few precious moments of joy and pride and glamour.

8. Your child will show their disappointment that you are not an expert stylist, photographer, or (let's face it) parent. It won't matter once they step into the venue.

9. There is nothing wrong with being a not-religious person and praying that the kids come home safely.

10. And...everything will be fine.

Check junior prom off the list.

I got this.

Prom 2017 - Shopping Edition

Drunkards, we have achieved prom dress.

A few days ago, I told you that Precocious Daughter and I would be shopping for a suitable dress for her junior prom.

Not this, however.

After three days, three malls, and somewhere in the vicinity of 20-30 stores, we nailed it.

The good news: For three days straight, I got in all my steps.

(LOL, like I wear a pedometer, aka a lazy-shamer. Paff.)

The less good news - it can't be bad news because we did end up finding a dress - HOLY SHIT IT WAS AN EXHAUSTING AND STRESSFUL PROCESS.

Actually, for the most part I had a great time. For me, the stress came from watching PDaughter become stressed as store after store yielded nothing appropriate for her to wear to prom. Honestly, for all her talk about her "aesthetic" (because of course my child has one of those), she was neither nitpicky nor unreasonable about the kind of dress she wanted. But most of the stores we visited either a) had a disappointing selection or b) were way out of budget. She only tried on dresses in maybe a third of the places we visited. It's pretty discouraging to walk into and out of more than a dozen stores without even finding a candidate for the dressing room ritual.

But I stayed positive, because I have great faith in the shopping gods. I knew the right dress would cross our path. And I was right.

Early Sunday afternoon, we found an amazing dress in a wonderful formal shop that had a fabulous selection and excellent customer service.

Did it cost more than I had planned to spend? Duh, yes - mostly because it needed a few alterations to perfectly fit PDaughter's teeny-tiny form.

Do I care about that? No - because I could see in her face and hear in her voice that this was The Dress. Not The Dress She Settled For, not The Dress She Ended Up with Because It Was Just About the Last Store in Town.

She loved it. And she looked...guys, she looked so beautiful in it.

The alterations should be done by tomorrow. We just need to pick up a pair of shoes - probably silver flats because PDaughter doesn't do heels - and all will be in readiness for prom this Saturday.

I tried to find a picture of the actual dress online, but I couldn't. Then I tried to reproduce it in MS Paint, and...that didn't work.

I'll take lots of pictures on Prom Night, I promise. But just so you have a tiny bit of a mental image, it's seafoam green, it's halter-style, it has a full knee-length skirt, and there's just a touch of sparkly bling at the neckline (perfect, as PDaughter doesn't really do jewelry, so the dress does it for her).

Its prettiness is nothing compared to the smile on PDaughter's face as she looked at herself in the mirror.

I'm reminded that when I started this blog, my little girl was in the fourth grade. And now she's about to attend junior prom.

Oh hey, also I was married, a homeowner, and believed I was happy.

But I digress.

Anyway.

The prom dress is acquired. Milestone reached.

Pardon me while I ponder how the hell I became the mother of a 17-year-old. I'll be back.

Seeking: Advice for Prom

Precocious Daughter is a high school junior this year.

And Precocious Boyfriend just invited her to prom.

And he asked her like this, OMG.

So we are shopping for prom dresses this weekend.

Now.

I attended my senior prom in 1985. Mind you, my date was a completely platonic closeted gay man eight years older than me.

It will all be in the book.

But my point is...my dress was a full-length lavender gown with a gathered skirt, puffed sleeves, and a mesh insert above the shirred princess neckline.

You guys, I looked like the spinster bridesmaid at a cool friend's wedding.

But the prom theme was Phil Collins' "One More Night,"
so suck it, millennials.

The intelligence I've gathered indicates that PDaughter will be looking for a dress that is a) no longer than knee length, b) unadorned by lace or other frou-frou, and c) dark in color, i.e., black or navy.

Not this, but...dear Jeebus, I hope not this.

Whereas my prom dress was objectively fugly, I'm not looking to school PDaughter on what to wear to prom. I trust her sensibilities and her style. And her ability to handle whatever emotional reaction she might have to her prom dress in 30 years.

I might draw the line here.

Still, I'm expecting this to be a highly emotional episode for me. So I'm asking:

If you've helped a young woman shop for a prom dress, do you have any advice?

If you've shopped for your own prom dress, do you have any advice?

If you're just happy to be asked for your opinion, do you have any advice?

I'm looking for advice, Drunkards.

Share. And I promise to let you know what PDaughter actually decides on. On which she actually decides. Whatever.

Dear 21st century: I was told prom would stop being awkward. WTF??

The Emotionally Conflicted Holiday Baker

Precocious Daughter and I made Christmas cookies together, and apart from the first batch of sugar cookies, which had either too much flour or not enough milk because when we chilled the dough it came out like a couple of little bowling balls and even after it warmed up never got soft but just became like room temperature little bowling balls that cracked down the middle when we tried to roll them out but still tasted OK because of course I hated to throw away a whole batch of cookie dough so I kept it around and picked pieces off it until my stomach hurt because I almost never eat sweets...

...they turned out quite well.

PDaughter did most of the work, because she wanted to, with a bit of supervision in delicate areas like pouring a tablespoon of milk from a gallon jug and rolling balls of dough for the peanut butter kisses. Turns out she dislikes getting raw dough on her hands. I don't get it, either - are you supposed to use a spoon or something? Highfalutin af. I love her anyway.

We baked over two nights, and Drummer Boy was there for night 2. He helped, too, by which I mean he made sure I didn't feel awkward for being the only person eating the failed sugar cookie dough. By which I mean he ate the failed sugar cookie dough with me. DB actually is a very good cook AND baker. He just knew this was a mom-daughter thing and let us get on with it.

Also, I'm not sure having three people in my apartment kitchen would go well. I think it would end up like a game of culinary Twister, with the hot stove being red and the open bag of flour being green and my glass mixing bowl being blue and somebody's ribs being yellow. And you don't even get to enjoy collapsing in a heap because the floor is covered with broken glass and flour.

When the cookies were done, we divided them up. Some for us, some for DB, some for PBoyfriend, and...some for PDaughter's dad.

Yes, I made Christmas cookies for my ex-spouse. In front of my boyfriend.

That's not weird, is it?

My ex always loved Christmas cookies. He loved my Christmas cookies. They made him happy, and even though we're divorced, he still misses my cookies.

I promised PDaughter that we would make enough to share with him. We were already divvying them up three ways; four ways wasn't going to make any difference

And...even though we're divorced, it makes me happy that my cookies make him happy. I'm not a monster, despite what you've heard. (By the way, let me know what you've heard. I could use a good seethe/cry/revenge fantasy.)

Technically, I didn't have to tell DB that we were funneling Christmas cookies to my ex. He wouldn't have known otherwise. But I told him. Partly because I was a little embarrassed, partly because it seemed an unnecessary omission to just not mention it.

And he was fine with it. As I knew he would be. He's awesome that way.

Here's the thing: Every interaction with my ex has two possible outcomes. I can do the jerky thing just to be petty. Or I can do the kind and generous thing, even if it means biting my tongue or going out of my way to be nice.

Leaving aside the unspoken third thing: That I can emotionally emancipate myself enough to set appropriate ex-spouse boundaries without feeling guilty or resentful.

It's Christmas, but even Clarence the Angel couldn't deliver that miracle. I'm more likely to find a Hatchimal under my tree. Or watch "Hannibal" with PDaughter without moaning and squirming in disgust. Or finally publish that damn book.

You get the idea.

Anyhoo...We baked cookies, we shared them with people some of us love, it's freaking Christmas.

I wish a very Merry Christmas to everyone. Even if you're not Christian. I'm not Christian, but I still dig Christmas. Really.

Be happy, Drunkards. I love you all. Be happy.

I hope you have cookies. If not, let me know. I'll bake you some. Really.

Happy actual fucking Holidays, you guys.