Sometimes, when our teenagers are really bad,
beating grounding them just won’t do. We parents must get creative. During a recent visit with friends in San Diego, all I wanted was for my college bestie, Dasha, to think I was a semi-decent mom. With her husband, Dean, Dasha is raising two of the sweetest, refreshingly attitude-free girls on the planet. Since the bar was high, I gave Saxon a pep talk beforehand. It went something like this: Begoodbegoodbegoodpleasebegood. Unfortunately, he has a 13-year-old mind of his own. Here are but a few of the ways in which Saxon veered from the path of righteousness during our three-day stay:
2. Authored the following Mad Lib: Hiking is a really shitty thing to do. But, hiking is nothing like going for a walk in the poop or pee around the house. The serious hiker needs lots of dumbass equipment.You must have very comfortable thongs. You will need a 69-foot rope.
3. Answered our gracious hosts, the Hervey family, with monosyllabic grunts.
Dasha: “So Saxon, how do you like being at the top of the food chain in 8th grade?”
Dean: “How ’bout them Giants, Sax?”
Makena: “How did getting baptized at Hume Lake Christian Camp this summer change your life?”
But these transgressions paled in comparison to his biggest sin, gluttony. Saxon chowed eight Twinkies in a 24-hour period.
I knew this because I bought him a box on our first day thinking he could stretch them out over the long weekend, or for that matter 20 years if he wanted—everyone knows preservative-laden Twinkies never ever go rancid.
But the next morning, Dasha’s daughter, Makena, alerted us that Sax was down to his last two Twinkies.
This called for serious consequences. There was only one thing to do: Punk the little bird flipping, Bad-Libbing Augustus Gloop!
Thankfully my partners-in-crime were up for the challenge.
Here’s what we did. With precision, Dasha extracted the creamy filling from the Twinkie…
…then re-injected the moist, golden sponge cake with with creamy Hidden Valley Ranch Dressing.
Lastly we carefully glued the plastic wrap back together, returned the bogus bakery product to its box and waited.
At 8:00 a.m. Saxon sauntered downstairs and beelined for the Twinkie box. As he ripped open the bag, we held our breath. Uh-oh. He quickly noticed something was remiss. “Huh? Is this bag open? Oh well,” he shrugged, then shoved the tainted Twinkie into his piehole.
Thanks for putting up with the Ratty Pack, Dash. You will always be my favorite mischief making, blonde hair tossing, partner-in-crime.