Two Teens, Two Tots, Two Tylenol, Two Shots!

“Oh man, I feel sorry for you”

“There goes early retirement….”

“What made you do THAT?”

“Built in babysitters?…..SWEET!”

“You guys are either midlife crisis-ing or just plain nuts”

These are several of the actual responses Hubs and I have gotten from people (often strangers) who find out we have raised two teenagers in addition to the two little ponytailed princesses we currently are shepherding through life.  I understand the surprise reaction, and realize that we are a bit of an oddity.  I also comprehend the natural curiosity that comes after the initial reaction, and time and time again, the very next thing that comes out of someones mouth is “So, whats it like having two different generations of kids under one roof? “

Before I answer that, let me give you the back story.  My son Ryan and Hubs’ daughter Kristin were both sweet little elementary school puppies when we met and married.  They were tender and fun, still young enough to be eager to please, but old enough to get themselves dressed and be responsible for homework, etc.  We did not consider having any more children as we enjoyed the freedom of being newlyweds madly in love with two great, somewhat independent kids to make a blended family just right.  We had no interest in adding to our family, and I was notorious for coming out with a “take my uterous….please”  jokes.  We traveled, had family outings, adventures and road trips together just the four of us, which was perfect.  We worked hard to give them the sense of family they had lacked in our previous marriages.  It was all good, until the kids started getting older, more distracted and less interested in doing things as the four musketeers.  It was sad for us, a period of mourning really, when they ceased to be excited about the trips we had planned, or the parties we were throwing.  We really enjoyed parenting, loved our kids to pieces, and once they hit puberty and became autonomous we turned the tide and decided it *might* be nice to have one more.  Several miscarriages and various forms of infertility treatments later, our lovely Darla (age 4) came along, and her sister Delilah (age 2) soon followed, thus the massive age difference in our children, and the beginning of ‘his, mine and ours.’

So whats it like?  Let me break down a few real life scenarios :

1. Bath Crayons are the Enemy:  In an attempt to promote a happy bath time, I invested in a set of easy-scrub bath crayons so the girls would be distracted coloring while I attend to the fight-inducing process of washing/rinsing hair.  This worked like a charm, until the teens, who were often not on speaking terms, realized they could use them to slander one another.  I realized the crayons weren’t so easy to scrub when I had to remove  “Ryan is a Turd” off the bathroom tile, followed by “Kristin smells like turds.”  Thus began the ban on bath crayons for the little ones.

2. Built in babysitters don’t do diapers:  When coming from a 1 hour 10 minute trip to Shoprite, I noticed there was a used diaper flung sloppily in the front yard.  Upon approach, it became clear this was a full-out ‘code brown’ left to ripen in the afternoon sun.  WTF?  Who left the diaper on the grass, and why?  I walked in the house to find my two-year old running around naked and proud, like the founding member of her own little nudist colony.  Upon inquiry, I discover that neither teen wanted to change the diaper, so they flipped a coin to divvy up the job.  One donned a rubber glove to remove it while the other manned the garden hose to water the poor baby’s butt crack down.  Generation gap, generation crap.  Teenage teamwork at it’s finest.

3. ABC blocks are a bad idea:  Seems like a great aide for teaching, right?  Yeah, we thought so too.  Which is why we bought the big 12-inch foam ones, and used them to build walls, houses, etc. and write words.  It worked GREAT until I was hosting a playdate and our guests walked into the family room with the blocks stacked 7 foot tall in two neat rows spelling ‘F-U-C-K Y-O-U’ and ‘E-A-T S-H-I-T’.  Try explaining that to the neighborhood busybody.

4. Water guns become weapons of mass destruction. The girls were given supersoakers by a well-meaning (clueless) relative who obviously didn’t understand that they were too little to even hold them, none the less pull the trigger.  The girls loss was the teens gain, as they were in the midst of yet another fight where neither was talking to the other.  When one got on the other’s nerves, he/she would shoot roughly 6 gallons of water at the other, as if she/he were a cat they were trying to train from jumping on the counter tops. This occurred indoors, of course.  The girls (and my furniture, knick knacks, artwork, etc) were often caught in the crossfire.  On the bright side, it cured them from the fear of rinsing their hair in the bath tub I spoke of earlier.

5. Kids really do say the darndest thing.  Did you know that Caillou is a ‘bald whiney asshole’ (pronounced, ‘ATH-hole, mind you)’ ??  Neither did my daughter’s preschool class, until she announced it with vigor, after hearing her big brother mutter it to her older sister.

6. Unsolicited advice is never good.  I will never forget the day after the little one was born, when the more naive, but bossy know it all teen called a family meeting.  The purpose of such meeting was to ‘suggest’ (demand) Hubs get a vasectomy, as said teen did not feel any more children was in our best interest because we really were ‘too old’.  When we snickered, she suggested castration, and by the way, I should really stop nursing before my boobs sag.  I wish I was kidding.

These are just a few of the ‘adventures’ that have occurred in our home as a result of our multi- generational family.  The teens both flew the nest earlier this year, each moving on to start their own lives.  One to college, the other to do some healing and live with her biological mom for the first time in 9 years. We miss them both, despite the shenanigans and outright fuckery (pardon my French) that occurred.  Sometimes I am even tempted to write ‘Hubs is a turd’ on the bathroom tile, just for old times sake, but I know it won’t make me miss them less.  All I can do is wait 10 years or so and hope for grandchildren so we can start the cycle over again.  This time it will be Darla and Lilah stealthily spelling out curse words with giant foam blocks, and the teens who will have to explain to their child’s preschool teacher why Barbie called Ken a ‘total dickhead’ during creative playtime.

And that, my friend is the circle of life! Pass the tequila!

Thanks for reading! And for keeping me motivated to write!

Edited by Annette Garkowski

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