Tacos, Anyone?

Yesterday I invited Hännah over for homemade tacos.

"Tyler, too?" she asked hopefully, referring to her boyfriend of two years.

For the briefest second, I considered the question. Dane was out of town on business for the night, so Tyler's presence wouldn't present a conflict.

Let me explain.

Not long after they started dating, I'd made clear to them both that I would not allow him in her bedroom nor spend the night. I explained that Hännah's 9-year-old, impressionable sister watched everything she did and — like it or not — Hännah was a role model.

I woke up one morning several weeks later and found him sleeping half-naked in her bed.

"Pack up your shit, and get out!" I told him. Half an hour later, he was still in her room when Dane walked through the hallway.

"Hey, Dumbass," Dane said to Tyler, "Why are you still in my house? Didn't my wife ask you to leave?"

Which, of course, led to some banter between the two. Dumbass asked why they couldn't discuss the situation like two grown men, after all, "She's 19 years old, and that makes her an adult, doesn't it?"

"She's a 19-year-old child," Dane countered, "one who is still dependent on us, and as long as she lives under my roof she will obey our rules — and you? You aren't anything close to the definition of a man."

Let's just say it didn't end well. Coupled with the fact that Hännah mostly shared with us only the bad and idiotic things Tyler'd ever done or said, this new incident was the final straw. Dane felt disrespected in his own home, and hurt by our daughter's betrayal. To this day, he cannot stomach the mere mention of Tyler's name. In fact, when Hännah calls Dane from Tyler's phone, the call shows up on his phone as "Asswipe."

But my daughter's on her own now and, truthfully, her choice in boys and men has never been ours to control. I had always hoped that my own relationship with her step-father — whom she readily admits she loves because he has always treated her like his own daughter — would positively influence her standards. And, having experienced two mothers-in-law from Hell, I only want to support and accept her love interest. Essentially, I've always wanted my children to feel comfortable in our home — with or without their significant others.

So, in response to her request to invite Tyler for dinner, I said, "Sure!"

She can barely contain her glee as she turns to him and says, "My mom wants us to come over for dinner. She's making tacos." And without hesitation, Tyler cheerfully answered, "Yeah, that sounds good!"

I break the news to Dane with a text message. "Better we do it while you're still out of town, eh?" I asked.

He agreed, adding, "I keep forgetting that she's still with that loser. When is she going to grow up and realize she's too good for him?

But it doesn't matter, I tell him. What matters is that my daughter loves Tyler, and as much as she wants our approval, her choice in a companion isn't our decision. All I know is that she still comes home; still wants to come home — and she wants to bring her boyfriend with her. I want that, too.

"But her choice in a boyfriend or future mate can impact the rest of her life," he says. "I know we can't control that. I'm just waiting for her to start making better choices."

He's right, of course. But my kids — not unlike myself at any point throughout my young life — are determined to learn about life the hard way, and sometimes those are the best lessons, because they'll have really lived and given of themselves and had their hearts broken and their lives ruined only to get right back up and fight again and again and again. I also know that Tyler's not such a bad kid, he's just raised differently.

I invite Kate to join us for dinner, too. Between mouthfuls of taco, Kate asks Tyler all the questions her own father had asked her boyfriends over dinner.

"I don't care," she laughed. "I'll ask a bunch of questions till I'm satisfied, OK?" And she did: What do you do for a living? What are you studying in school? How old are you? What are your plans when you're done with college? How long have you two been dating?

We munched, talked, joked and laughed. Soon, Hännah lets her guard down and relaxes. After dinner, Tyler accepts a rare challenge from Sachi for several games of Mario Kart and Kirby. Hännah hangs out with Kate and me for some girl talk. It was nice. By the time they leave, several pleasant hours have passed, Tyler graciously concedes to an elated Sachi, and Hännah gives me a hug and a kiss.

"Thanks, Mom," she says happily. "Yeah, thanks a lot, Laurie," Tyler chirps. "It was really great!"

After they leave, Kate is thoughtful for a moment, then reports with a smile, "They're really cute. And he's not such a bad kid."

She's right, of course.

So, things didn't get off to a good start two years ago, whether it was poor judgment, knee-jerk reactions, embarrassment, over-inflated egos or sheer stupidity — still, at 19 years of age, kids aren't supposed to be smart, are they? I mean, didn't we all display poor judgment and stupidity when we were 19? Hell, some of us still do as adults.

"It would go a long way if he'd just apologize," Dane said in response to my after-dinner report.

Which only goes to show, there's hope for us all.

Moving Out, Moving On

There's been a whole lot of changes in my life since I graduated in December but none so great as the recent move my three oldest children made. That's right — they moved out. And not so much by choice, mind you.

I guess I just got really tired (a gross understatement) of picking up after them and nagging them to get off their asses. I got tired of them being so pathetically apathetic about their life direction, and the way their incessant bickering drained my energy. I got tired of not wanting to go home and dealing with an inevitable conflict between or with them. Day in and day out, two of them did absolutely nothing productive except sleep in till the sun went down, then stay up till the sun came up ... "to look for jobs on the Internet," they'd say, or play video games, watch movies they'd already seen or hang out with friends.

To say that Jennifer actually looked for a job would be a stretch. She never applied for one either. Friends invited her to drop by to fill out an application and they'd guarantee her hire on the spot, but she wouldn't even make the effort to get to a prospective employer's door, let alone submit an application. Several times she asked to "borrow" money so she could buy more minutes for her phone or go to the movies.

"How will you pay me back without a job?" I'd ask.

"I'll do some work for you," she said.

"No thanks," I countered. I wasn't about to become this kid's employer.

After repeatedly coming home to a kitchen piled high with dirty dishes, a garbage can overflowing with trash, empty boxes and containers in my pantry, and a mess in every room, I issued a 30-day notice of eviction.

"Living in my home is no longer an option," I wrote. I expressed my love, disappointment and heartache. They knew better than to challenge me.

That's when Estephan Espinoza — a long-time family friend — made a quick phone call and immediately got Jenny a job waitressing and delivering room service at the local Holiday Inn. She never tried to find a ride to work and back, and she depended primarily on me, Dane, her sister or Estephan for transportation to and from work, despite the fact that her hours often conflicted with everyone else's work schedule. Except for Hännah and Chris, she didn't know anyone with whom she could share an apartment, and Hännah didn't want to live with either of her siblings.

Christopher couldn't quite make up his mind about what to do with his life. He moved to Eaton Rapids to live with that same long-time family friend, Estephan. Stephan got him a job, too, installing doors on Cadillac Escalades. He made sure they were both scheduled to work the same hours so Ciffer (pronounced Kiffer) wouldn't want for a ride. He lasted all of four days before he got canned for incorrectly installing a part on a mirror and failing to include a trim piece on one of his doors — mistakes that cost his employer $8,000 to correct.

"He's a hard worker; we've never seen anyone work so hard. And he's a fast worker, but he made two costly mistakes," they told Stephan.

And I'll be the first to admit that Hännah worked very hard to be the best she could possibly be at her job as a waitress. But instead of maximizing any opportunity to earn a ton of money (and pay off an fairly heavy debt load) by racking up some hours, she seemed content to pick and choose from available work hours or find someone to cover her shift so she could accommodate an increasingly busy social schedule. For the most part, she came and went as she pleased — spending the night at a girlfriends' or her boyfriend's and coming home only to take showers, borrow my toiletries and makeup, eat dinner, do laundry and inflict her hormonal rage upon the rest of us. She made sundry excuses for why she didn't or couldn't quite complete that job application at Dart Container or Delta Dental for a full-time job with benefits and a retirement plan ... and the promise of a future of self-sufficiency.

Theirs is certainly not my life, I know, but their passive attempt at growing up had a significant impact on my quality of life, and they set an unacceptable example for their youngest sibling, Sachi. And being the loving mother that I am, I believed it was my parental obligation and perogative to summarily evict them all. But that's my story, of course. They'd tell you I'm nothing but an uncaring, unfit bitch of a mother — and they're certainly entitled to their opinions. That doesn't change the fact that this is my home or that my husband and I have every right to maintain some control therein.

In fact, since Day 1, I've made the following clear:

Rule No. 1: They would absolutely graduate from high school or they would not reside in my home. Thankfully, they did — but just barely. It took Chris an extra semester and Jennifer an extra trimester to complete their graduation requirements. Hännah was at risk of having to repeat a semester because she decided, out of the blue, not to show up for a final exam. No, it wasn't an oversight or an accident, like forgetting the exam date, time or place, or sleeping through the alarm. She intentionally failed to show up — she decided she just didn't feel like taking the final. Her teacher called and asked me to relay to her the opportunity for a second chance to take the exam. In an unusual moment of genius, Hännah then decided to take her teacher up on that second chance. Each of my children graduated with GPAs under 2.0 ... but we don't talk too much about it.

Rule No. 2: They would need to obey the rules of our home: Everyone was expected to contribute to the smooth operation of the household — which meant washing dishes, keeping tidy rooms, picking up after themselves, helping with indoor and outdoor chores; every child — despite their age — is required to be home by midnight if they were under 18 and 1 a.m. if they were older; there would be no guests allowed in the home when parents were absent; they would repair or replace anything they broke; they would not be allowed to swear in our home or presence; individuals of the opposite sex would not be allowed to spend the night with them; as soon as the law permitted they would either attend school or work full time or a combination of both; they would be required to save money for future needs and expenses and pay $50 a month for room and board; they would set up a payment plan for debts owed their parents for long-distance and cell-phone abuses, damage to our property (doors, walls, appliances) and personal belongings (laptops), personal loans we'd given them, legal expenses for court costs and citations. If any of our rules were followed, it was a rarity, and of the thousands of dollars we were owed, we probably saw a total of $150 over the span of several years.

Rule No. 3: In order to conserve energy they were expected to take showers instead of bathe and wash a full load of laundry instead of a couple of items of clothing at a time.

Other than us parents, no one helped with dishes. No one took out the trash. They all did their own laundry, which was a good thing, but some repeatedly washed one t-shirt; no one got a job before the age of 18. Two summers ago when Dane and I went to Colorado, Hännah had her boyfriend and a bunch of his friends — all stoned and/or drunk — over; Chris and his friends got in a fight with some boys driving by; all three of our vehicles sustained some major damage, but no one knew anything about it. My house stunk of cigarettes, and beer bottles were strewn across the garage. Neighbors called complaining of loud noises and music in the wee hours of the morning. Not one of my children owned up to these allegations. My kids have flat-out lied to my face and turned around and accused me of lying and failing to understand them or be interested in them. I am blamed for every terrible thing that has ever happened to them. I am repeatedly criticized for decisions I make, the way I act, the way I talk, the way I live, where I live, where I work, who my friends are. They tell me I'm unfair for allowing their 11-year-old sister to continue to live at home while I "kick" them out. "Who the hell do you think you are?" they've demanded.

I gave my children options — follow my rules or find somewhere else to live. And after years of abuse, I reached the end of my rope. I've done my best as a mother, and it has never been good enough.

Jenny called her father and told his entire family that I'd kicked them out and refused to discuss it further. She quit her job at the Holiday Inn and moved back to Pennsylvania to live with her Aunt Patty. Based on Aunt Patty's outright refusal to make eye contact with or speak to me, I'll assume that she disapproves. Sure, I'm angry about it; I'm even very hurt by it, but all I can say is, "Whatever."

Ciffer asked me to buy him a one-way ticket back to Boston so he could "see about a girl" he loves. We talked at great length about it, and he seemed pretty serious about wanting to make it work with her and getting a job out East so they can rent an apartment together. Sophia (the girl) said her parents promised to help them out. And she said she really loves him. Though I don't think they stand a chance in hell, I bought him a bus ticket to Detroit International Airport, a plane ticket to Boston, another bus ticket to New York where Sophia is taking classes this semester, a brand-new overcoat, a new pair of jeans, and I gave him $100. He was grateful, called to let me know he'd arrived safely, and will likely call again. I promised I wouldn't say, "I told you so," if things don't work out.

Hännah moved in with Audrey, my friend Connie's daughter. They are splitting rent of $570 on a studio (read: one-room) apartment, sharing groceries (and clothes, apparently), and Audrey is giving Hännah a ride to work whenever possible. Hännah discovered that Audrey is prone to a messy lifestyle, lying, and eating more than her fair share of food (including leftovers Hännah had paid for and hoped to eat for lunch or dinner at a later date), and that certain items of clothing tend to go missing. In addition, Audrey smokes pot pretty regularly — and quit her job at the auto dealership without notice to accept one from a guy who had a crush on her and guaranteed she'd make $6,000 a day, except that she didn't make a penny and now she is unemployed, broke and unable to make rent (so Hännah ended up paying for the whole thing).

I feel badly. Truly I do. Not so much because they're being forced to make some adult decisions and learn about life through the school of hard knocks, but because they still really don't get it. I'm hoping they will — I'm hoping they'll recognize that our home truly was a home — not perfect by any means — but a warm place where people truly cared about them and loved them. I hope they'll grow to understand that I love them, despite the fact that I stopped catering to their every whim, refused to give them money, imposed curfews and rules, made them contribute to the household, asked them to conserve electricity and water, held them accountable, demanded that they be educated, productive and self-sufficient individuals.

I want them to be happy, but not at the expense of everyone else's happiness. The world does not revolve around them, even though my world did. And they have God-given talents that they need to develop and put to good use. I don't care if they never forgive me for forcing these hard changes on them; I don't care if they forever perceive my actions as lacking in love. If they can grow up and overcome the challenges life will surely deal them, if they can find happiness and take care of themselves, I will bear and endure this burden and pain.

OK. So I painted a really ugly picture of my oldest children. The fact is, they are beautiful creatures, inside and out. They have had their share of ups and downs, heart-wrenching pain and sadness. I will always feel terribly guilty about divorcing their father and not being a bigger part of their lives and upbringing. But I did the best I could, and I never gave up, never abandoned them and never put anything or anyone else before them — ever. I won't allow them to blame others for the choices they've made or their self-imposed hardships. I've stood up for them when they were wronged. I will always demand that they learn to positively resolve their differences, to be honest and trusting people, overcome obstacles, stop making lame excuses and never give up on the opportunity to make a positive difference in their lives and the lives of other.

I wanted to write this blog today to get these things off my chest.

Mama's Got a Brand-new Ride

Luxury came with a price tag of exactly $31,431.44, and I bought it — a 2008 Subaru Outback 2.5i Limited.

It replaces my trusty (albeit suddenly accident-prone) and totaled Honda Accord. It's my first-ever brand-spanking-new car, and she's a beauty — understated yet loaded to the hilt with power-adjustable heated driver and passenger seats, Home-Link rear-view mirror, heated side mirrors and windshield wiper de-icer, panoramic moonroof, remote engine start and woodgrain trim. The L.L. Bean package adds the perfect finishing touches with luxurious two-tone leather.

I actually enjoy driving so much more now that I often find myself taking the long way to get to my destination and seeking out new adventures. I don't even mind giving others a lift occasionally, but there are rules.

There will be no eating in it, no feet on the dashboard, seatbacks or doors; no writing mechanisms or beverages; no spewing of saliva or other bodily fluids; no bringing on board any unnecessary items or accessories or leaving behind of same; no leaning on or touching of the vehicle's exterior body and, in an effort to minimize unsightly finger, nose and footprints, there'll be no interior touching of the windows or glass surfaces; no climbing over seats for a better view or position. There's no fighting, arguing or complaining allowed; no messing around with the door locks or windows. Care must be taken by all passengers when exiting the vehicle to ensure that seat belts properly retract in order to avoid their inadvertent slamming by a closing door. There will be absolutely no commandeering of my radio or pre-programmed channels, CD player, satellite or auxiliary device without my express permission. They are, however, freely permitted to adjust the dual-temperature climate control to affect only their region of the interior for personal comfort.

The other night we went to QD for an ice-cream cone. Hännah decided to stay in the car while we ran in to place our order. Minutes later, Sachi announces in a concerned tone that a gaggle of guys just drove up, and one was talking to Hännah through an open window. Peering through the window at the storefront, I didn't recognize the young man, so I walked out to make sure everything was OK. He sees me approaching, smiles very politely and slowly takes two steps in reverse toward his own car. Then he turns quickly, gets in his car and speeds away.

"Who was that?" I asked Hännah as I re-entered the car.

"I don't know," she said. "He got out of his car and just started talking to me. I couldn't hear him, so I rolled down the window. Then he started getting really close to the car, so I told him, 'Let me just warn you right now not to lean on or even touch the car or my Mom will come flying out of that store and get really, really mad at you."

Your mama and her brand-new car appreciate you, Hännah. And you can ride in my Subaru anytime.