Just for You, Shannon

*I asked for Dainon's permission before sharing this story.

For many years, I've had to share a bathroom with the family. What does this mean? It means I can never just sit down on the toilet without taking a really good look at the seat. It means my makeup gets desecrated by artists and my beauty tools disappear. Sniff.

It was tough.

But following a cataclysmic flooding event last year, a remodel was in order. And I got my own bathroom. It's not quite finished. My new bedroom that adjoins it still has no pad or carpet. It's still very much a construction room; but my bathroom, my inner sanctum, is beautiful.
One day I was enjoying my new double headed shower (I can rinse both armpits at the same time!) while Lewis was painting in the bedroom. Dainon poked his head around the door.
"Don't come in here!" Lewis warned.
Dainon just assumed he meant that there was wet paint and decided to walk in anyway. Just as I was stepping out of the shower.

Our eyes locked.

He screamed.

I howled with laughter and shouted, "BEHOLD THE HOTNESS THAT IS YOUR MOTHER!

He dashed from the room and cried out in anguish "Burn this image from my retinas!"

I grabbed a towel and collapsed in giggles.

And now, he always knocks.
True story.

Dainon needs a teenage Bill of Rights.

Last night our front room was a war zone. Dainon is almost 14, and really feeling it. He needs a lot more freedom. He should be able to blast Linkin Park and Disturbed throughout my house. MY HOUSE. The very walls that usually shimmer with folksy bluesy peaceful vibes. I listen to him defiantly making his case and the scene blurs before my eyes. I see two girls of a similar age writhing in agony as their father plays 'easy listening' on the stereo of their yellow station wagon. We won the right to blast Pour Some Sugar on Me, A Little Respect, Boys Don't Cry, and Will Smith's Parents Just Don't Understand.

Remember these guys? Ahhhh, those were the days.

We reached a bit of a compromise. He turns the music down, or changes songs when I go into fits on the ground. He's not fighting to play anything evil, just testosterone drenched noise.

We've declared an uneasy truce, so we've moved on to bedtime.

9 o'clock is way too early to have to go to bed. It's practically abuse. NO ONE, not a single soul at his school has to go to bed so early.

I smile and explain to him that at 9:01, his father and I strip down and walk about the house totally naked. If he wants to stay up and see that, he's sick.

He doesn't buy it.

He takes his case to the internet, and consults ask.com. He saves the answer to my desktop, offering it as damning evidence against the wisdom of our parenting skills.

"Your getting a little "old" for bedtime. 9 o'clock was my bedtime when I was 8 years old. Id say at 13 your have to learn to take care of your own daily resigme to learn to mature. If your parents keep telling you to go to bed at a certain time, then you will need learn to take responsibility for your own sleeping paterns."

(emphasis added by a mom who hates spelling errors)

Hmmmm..... Teens offering advice on parenting over the internet. What do you think, guys? Did it work on you?