The 3rd Child

I can proudly say I am the parent (owner, master, supreme being) of a teenager.

Our cat, Dexter.

Dexter the Cat stays out late every night with his buddies. Each night when I let him in, I can't help but think that I'm raising a teenager. I'm coming close to grounding him for breaking curfew. But what should his curfew be? Joe thinks it should be 9:00, when our other children are getting ready for bed, but I'm the push-over and have been letting Dexter stay out until 12:30. Am I a bad mom?

Since we moved to a bigger home where Dex can run and play outside, I noticed he has made more friends in the neighborhood than Caitlynn and Miles. Every day, Dex heads outside to play after he eats breakfast. More often than not, I see at least one other cat hanging around our back porch, basking in the sun. A few times, this cat has come to our door looking for Dex, as if to say, "Can Dexter come out and play, Mrs. G?" And I find myself looking for Dexter... Hey! Your buddy is here!

What is wrong with me? He's a cat, right?

Perhaps this is giving me experience on how to raise a teenager. Before I know it, Caitlynn will be a teen, asking to hang out with her friends at the mall and going on dates with boys. I even discussed this with her, but I don't think she realizes what's in store as a teen, either. She shot a surprised look at me ... "I'll get to go to the mall by myself?!" Now, she's counting the days until she's in junior high when hanging out with friends outside of home and school is the cool thing to do.

For now, Dexter the Cat is my teenager -- cruising the neighborhood, flirting with girls, knocking down trashcans, and killing baby birds. If I start seeing bandanas or tattoos, I'll start to worry. Otherwise, I'll leave him alone. He's a good kid... cat. He's a good cat.








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These cannot be my kids

Caitlynn and Miles had to have been switched at birth. They are not my kids. No way. No how.

Sure, ok, they look like Joe and I. They have some of our mannerisms. They are cute and I see my family's good looks shining through. Heck, they are smart little boogers with smart-ass comebacks, much like me.

But according to their taste in music, I just don't see any resemblance. I'm raising a couple of fuddy-duddy's.

Case in point:

We got in our ultra-cool minivan last week turned up the satellite radio because Rage Against the Machine was on. Both Caitlynn and Miles started complaining:

"Turn it down! It's too loud!"

"You really like this music?"

"This music is bad."

"I don't like Rock and Roll."

"This is the music that makes you crazy when you're a teenager."

What?! Excuse me, but Rage Against the Machine is not "rock and roll." It's Rage. I has its own genre... called Rage and yes, it may make you a little crazy. Do I look crazy to you? Don't answer that. 

So, we changed the dial to the 80s station, where Duran Duran was playing. Immediately Joe and I started singing along to the radio and then we heard more complaints from the back seat about how bad the music was.

Fuddy-duddys.

It was only a few years ago that Miles thought the music on Dora the Explorer (or the Wonderpets) should have been nominated for a Grammy. And Caitlynn... well, she has a special affinity for Abba, especially from the Mamma Mia soundtrack.

Some day, they'll come around. It will be right at the point where I start complaining about their music.

"This music sucks!"

"You like this?"

"Duran Duran was so much better than this."  

And then I'll be called a fuddy-duddy and the kids will wonder if I'm really their mother.

Ah, the circle of life.










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