Anna DeStefano's Blog

You realize about the time your child reaches preschool that the parenting role you’ve been playing at (that’s to that moment been all about getting your child to that point) is spinning out of your control. Your job now becomes all about helping your child walk away from you with confidence and strength and security, knowing you’ll be here waiting and welcoming and ready to dive back into his life whenever he needs you.

“It’s ok,” you whisper to him, “it’s time to grow up…”

It’s his life now, more than it’s your life with him. You’re the first to realize it. He won’t even notice the change, it’ll happen so slowly, one tiny step at a time. But for you, the next ten years will be zooming on fast-forward, while you stay a few steps behind him, watching and carefully wiping the tears and bandaging the skinned knees and buying new clothes as soon as he grows out of the ones you just bought him a month ago and driving him to and fro from each of the adventures that help him grow up and help you learn to let go. (more…)

Who knew this was what motherhood was really about?

We’re at the gym, working out. Only he’s more watching whatever he’s found on the TV’s attached to the cardio equipment than he is actually feeling the burn. I get his attention without being so obvious I’ll embarrass him and remind him with hand signals rather than words that we had an agreement about still getting exercise every day, now that it’s too icey and cold to snag a workout on the clay tennis courts he prefers.

His response this time–a silent look that could mean anything. But I know what he’s saying. Because I’ve given him the same sideways glare when he’s pushing too many buttons at once and I’m warning him to back off.

We’re at the store, and I’m asking what he wants for dinner because too often lately he’s complaining we never ask.It’s an independence thing, though he never complains and eats everything in site regardless, and I want to encourage the drive to make his own choices. He only grunts now, though, because he’s doing his homework in the back seat of the car so the flood of take home commitments doesn’t rule those few hours after dinner.

I ask again, and there’s that look over the top of his laptop screen. “Don’t start with me…” he’s saying without saying it.

It might seem disrespectful to some. But like I said. I understand his recent grasp of expressing himself, even when he’s frustrated, in proactive rather than reactive ways. (more…)

“Play that again, Mom. What is it?” My son owns all my music. On his iTouch. Downloaded from my iTunes account, which he can use for whatever music or videos or games he wants and hardly ever takes too much advantage of.

“So you’re done making fun of my New Age play list?” We’re driving again. We’re always driving these days. To somewhere. From somewhere.

At the moment I don’t really remember our destination’s name. Except that I’m using the map GPS on my phone and I’m looking for some obscure neighborhood that may or may not be on the grid, where the boy has a playoff tennis match that begins in fifteen minutes.

Really, I shouldn’t be picking at him. He needs to focus. We’re dealing with the next Nadal here.

Music helps him charge up before he plays, so much better than his mother’s sarcasm. But I’ve been trapped in the car with him for over half an hour and have just taken a boatload of grief when my iPhone accidentally shuffled through the nature sounds I use for my daily Yoga routine.

“This one’s not so bad,” my teenager says, which is the closest to an apology I’m going to get.

“Because it has a beat?”

“Because it’s actually music, and owls aren’t screaching like someone’s shooting at them.” So much for the apology. ”I’ve never heard it before.” (more…)

“I can’t keep buying dinner every night after work.” My teenager’s just discovered the universal paradigm of gross revenue-expenses=net earnings.

Friends of ours (who feel more like family after all these years) have owned a favorite five-star italian restaurant in town for over 25 years. And they’ve given our teen an amazing opportunity to train as a busboy. “And I don’t have time to eat while I’m there.”

“You eat before you go. I just made you tacos.” I know what he wants. But our family’s working on actually ASKING for what you need, instead of passively suggesting it and waiting for someone else to ‘get it.’

“Mommmmmm.” I mentioned the teenage-boy groaning last post. Get used to it here at “Things My Teenager Says.”  Think of it as part of the soundtrack for this series. “I’m there for eight hours.”

“And they deprive you of nutrition the whole time! No snack time? No juice and cookies? We could call OSHA and report a workplace violation.” (more…)

Don’t talk about your kids on the Internet. That’s been a hard and fast rule for me and many other writers I know. But sharing how inspiring and downright hilarious living with a teenage boy can be… Now that’s another story. One I’ve decided to devote considerable blog time to telling.

“Mom, do you have a favorite word?” He’s already smiling, so I know there’s a catch.

There’s always a catch with teenagers newly sprung for summer vacation.

“Yeah.” I’m cautious, but mothers of teenage boys learn early to show no fear. (more…)