More Joy. More Peace. More Power.

Tag: teenagers

Would I pay to stay here?

Would I pay to stay here? It’s a question I ask myself regularly.

Early in our marriage, Jason and I bought new bedroom and living room furniture.  I’d buy the occasional holiday knickknack to display.  We lived in a 1980s, 3 bedroom, 1 bath, typical starter home.  Jason worked hard to support us while I stayed home and attempted the art of being a homemaker.

When we were around 24, we talked about the possibility of becoming missionaries and lost interest in acquiring anything new.  I envisioned the four of us, holding hands, traipsing through the airport, sporting backpacks that contained our very few earthly possessions, headed to some faraway place, where I’d have to be tough enough to butcher my own chickens.

By 30, the missionary vision was long gone.  Our home was a collection of random furniture and mismatched everything.  All of the new furniture was ruined, discarded, or sold along the way.  We’d collected two more children and lived in a tiny 2 bedroom cottage in downtown Bowling Green.  


The only constant in life is change

Heraclitus

I remember Jason telling me it would be possible to decorate our home the way we wanted to, without spending much money.  He bought a yellow mid century boomerang coffee table and hung brightly colored records on the living room wall.  We had a restaurant booth as our kitchen table. We picked out a new shower curtain, brown and turquoise, with matching towels and washcloths.

All four children shared a room, two twin beds, a toddler bed, and white crib.  It was crowded but we made it work. Other than the comforter sets Jason and I received as wedding gifts, the new comforters purchased for the seven of us over the years, could be counted on one hand.

Rewind

When I was fifteen, I cleaned house for a woman named Pam.  Her bed was very tall, the bedding all white.  She probably had twenty pillows.  I don’t know if it was Pam’s bed or some other bed I’d encountered in my past, but somewhere along the way, beds became a symbol of home to me.  

When I was ten, my great-grandmother passed away.  She had so many children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.  The great-grandchildren were each given $100.  I used my inheritance to buy a white daybed.  My mom painted my room light pink and I got new bedding.  It definitely makes more sense that this would be the defining story from my childhood about beds, but Pam’s bed was still quite impressive.

And…We’re Back.

Recently, I made a post about a personal experiment where I’m approaching life from a different perspective, one aspect of it being that I want my home to be somewhere that I would pay to spend the night.  A couple of weeks ago, I bought affordable memory foam mattress toppers for all of us.  I can’t believe I didn’t do this sooner.  I mentioned that comforters were next on the wish list.

I got a Facebook message from Mandy the next day.  Our 19 year olds used to be on the same debate team.  Mandy’s family ended up moving halfway across the country.  

She told me that she reads my posts and enjoys them, even though she doesn’t comment on them.  She said she wanted to help with my bedroom project and to please not say no to her request. Mandy mentioned how much her three daughters enjoy their pretty beds and she wanted to help me give my girls that experience. 

Big Girls Don’t Cry (except for when we do.)

I fought the urge to tear up as I read the message to Nora.  Nora was grateful and very excited.  I called Maggie into my office and read her the message.  She proceeded to tear up and then sobbed.  She was so incredibly moved by this act of generosity by a woman she doesn’t even know.  Maggie isn’t like me.  She sees people as being pretty awful, but this was such a pure gift and it made a huge impact on her.  We all teared up at Maggie’s moment of appreciation and hugged it out.  I hoped this would allow her to see that maybe my theory about people being mostly good is closer to the truth than her theory.

After the tears, came the excitement.  The girls got busy shopping.  Keep in mind my goal here is to have my home be somewhere I’d pay to stay, so you can imagine my panic when Maggie yelled, “Baby Shark!” and then, “Dinosaurs!”

(Both Baby Shark and the Dinosaur Picture will take you to Amazon if your teenager simply must have one of them)

I was able to talk her down.  We looked at floral duvets and then plain colored comforters.

We discussed whether or not the girls should have matching sets since they share a room, or at least similarly colored ones.

It took Nora a week to settle on the right comforter, but Maggie made her decision that very night.

“I have the perfect one, Mom!”  She turned her phone around and there it was in all its glory–seven rather large pictures of Danny DeVito in various roles, most of them from Always Sunny in Philadelphia.  

Don’t get me wrong.  Danny is a fantastic comedic actor, but this was not at all what I was going for.  It’s probably not what Mandy had in mind either. 


I wanted to veto Devito.  

“How about the dinosaurs?” I called out, as she ran off to show Sam and Hellie what she’d designed at Bags of Love.  At that point, I knew the battle was lost.  I might as well embrace the fact that Danny DeVito was about to become a permanent  part of the landscape of my home.  

I started to think through this “crisis”.  What about my vision?  What would Mandy think?  How am I going to tell Mandy how we used her gift? 

This might be a good time to mention that Nora had a bit of a Howie Mandel obsession last year.  Jason even took her to see him perform at SkyPac.  I could picture it–Danny DeVito on Maggie’s bed and Howie Mandel on Nora’s.

Oh my!

But then I remembered that Maggie is a teenager.  This is what teenagers do. 

Maggie is one of those kids that everything she touches or creates becomes whimsical.  She reminds me of one of my best friends from high school, Shannon.  Everything Shannon did kind of fascinated me. 

Why not buy a one of a kind comforter for my creative, hilarious daughter who wants to do her own thing?

Danny DeVito Blanket

Now comes the question. Would I pay to sleep in Maggie’s bed? 

While I truly appreciate a beautiful room, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’d rather pay to stay somewhere with loads of character rather than pristine elegance. 

The only thing that’s missing from this Danny DeVito altar is twenty pillows. 

Danny DeVito Duvet

The absolute joy on Maggie’s face when she pulled her creation out of the Bags of Love package is something I’d pay to see over and over again.  And when I peek into her room, instead of seeing a loud eye sore, I see fun.  I see personality.  It makes my heart happy. 

After much deliberation, Nora chose…not Howie Mandell, but a white duvet, with elegant yellow flowers.  The reverse side is a gray chevron pattern.  

Twin Duvet Cover
Click this picture to view on Amazon (after you’re done reading the rest of my story, of course.)

Their shared room is perfect.  A little bit of everything, like the rest of my home.  It’s perfectly imperfect. 

Thank you Danny, for sharing your comedy gold with the world.  Maggie, thank you for being brave enough to have fun and go against the Mom grain.  Lead on, Girl.  Be unapologetically you.  Mandy, thank you for helping me with my project.  I know you didn’t do it for the accolades, but your gift had a significant impact on us.  

And to the rest of you, thank you for reading my little story about the day Danny Devito came to my house and I couldn’t get rid of him.  He’s an honored guest actually.

Do you have anything akin to a Danny DeVito duvet cover in your house?   Share your unique decor in the comments below or over on Facebook. Pictures encouraged.

Much Love,

Sarah B.

Sarah Boucher

Raising Debbie

A Call From France | Catherine Broughton

Raising Debbie
When we looked at Debbie, aged fifteen, going on sixteen, we felt proud. We had done well. We had raised her and her two brothers to be independent, kind, caring, self-assured, decent people.

Debbie had always had everything, from the buckets of family love and devotion, to the hours of attention through various childhood ups and downs, to the more tangible things like skiing and horse riding.

No, I don’t think she was spoilt. I worked, so she knew all about the dashing-around-I-haven’t-got-time-right-now, not to mention all the “I’ll be half an hour late picking you up from school”. She didn’t suffer for it and I don’t think children do, providing they know that they are loved and cared for in every way.

She had to work for her pocket-money. Just simple household chores – wash the cat’s bowls, empty the dishwasher, and so on. Nothing unreasonable.

So, no, she wasn’t spoilt.

She was a nice kid. A kid to be proud of.

So how do you cope when it all goes horribly wrong? What does a mother do when her lovely daughter starts to do all the things – the very things – you had trusted her not to do?

How do you handle it when she turns, seemingly overnight, from a sunny, cheerful teen to an obstreperous, snarling one?

When Debbie was almost sixteen she ran away from home with a thirty-five year old man who had just got out of prison. Out of the blue. She had had a tattoo done on one of her breasts, and I had been angry and hurt about that. A small butterfly, or a flower on a thigh or shoulder is one thing – but this was the head of a horse, very badly done, and huge. She had also, for several weeks, been slightly rude to me. Nothing much, just a bit of back-talk at odd intervals, which I ignored. So it was out of the blue.

Debbie put us through six years of nightmare. For four of those years she disappeared completely and we had no idea where she was or how she was. Alcohol, drugs, pregnancies, rape, police … you name it, we went through it.

Debbie came out the other end of it a pleasant young woman, relatively unscathed. We have a close relationship now, and I think I can say I am relatively unscathed too. But her dad has never really properly recovered. Her behavior triggered Meniere’s disease which has been with him 24/7 ever since – fifteen years now. He is clingy in his love for his daughter in a way that is perhaps slightly …. I can’t find the word … desperate, perhaps?

I am a strong woman. Very strong. I learnt to be strong at an early age. I went to fourteen different schools as a child. I changed country and changed language frequently. Sometimes we lived on a leper colony in Africa (my dad was a doctor of tropical disease). I was the eldest in a huge family. These things make you strong. From an early age you have to make or break. It is good for you.

I won’t go in to all the things that helped me, in adulthood, build-up my muscle (so to speak) but suffice to say that I dealt with A LOT. Never, when I was expecting my baby girl, did I imagine that she would be the cause of the biggest test. As part of my “recovery” process I wrote a book, “A Call from France” which was like a kind of catharsis for me.A Call From France | Catherine Broughton

Here are five thoughts I want to share with mothers who are going through traumas with their teenage children.

TRUST
Show your children that you trust them. This does not mean that you should necessarily trust them, but allow them to feel trusted. Trust, within reason, triggers responsible behavior. They do not need to know that you are still supervising quietly from a distance.

Do The Best You Can
My father always used to say that a parent can only do what seems to be the best thing at that particular moment. We all make mistakes and wish we had done things differently. As long as you are genuinely doing what you think is the best thing for your child, then that is what you must do, even if it turns out to be the wrong thing.

Still Learning
Teens, like children, are essentially selfish. By that I do not mean they are unkind in any way, I mean that their thoughts and feelings tend to centre, perfectly naturally, on themselves. Just as a small child learns to share his toys, so teenagers need to be learn to see the bigger picture. It is something they learn, so do not expect them to understand overnight your feelings when their own psyche has not developed enough yet.

What Do They Love?
I do wish that I had got Debbie involved in something she really loved, for I often think that might have made things turn out differently. Horse-riding or archery or whatever – I do think that if she had had a passion for something like that, it would have been better.

Relax
Know that it will be All Right. Children come home. Children grow up and become sensible adults. Some take you through the mill en route, and some do not. Relax. It is going to be OK. Not today, not tomorrow. But soon.

Catherine Broughton is an author, an artist and a poet. Her books can be ordered from most leading book stores and libraries, and are available on Amazon/Kindle. You can also down load them as e-books from her web site http://www.turquoisemoon.co.uk
Connect with Catherine on fb here
Catherine Broughton. Novels, paintings, and poems
field of poppies 001 (1)

Hey POWERFUL women! It’s Sarah. Wow! Can you imagine going four years not knowing where one of your children was? It’s a place in my imagination I’d rather not visit for very long. I would like to thank Catherine for sharing a bit of her story here and the encouragement she offered to love our kids and do our best. It’s all we can do.

Did you like this guest blog? I think there is so much we can all learn from each other. Come over to I Am A Powerful Woman or comment below and let me know if you would like to hear from more POWERFUL women.