frazzled & frumpy

Yesterday morning, I filled my car with little boys. Not unusual, except that these boys did not all belong to me. They were decked out in blue shirts with patches on the pockets, sack lunches stowed in the cooler in back. My partner in crime was, Jenn, who is one of the scout leaders in our ward. (Also mother to one of the boys.) We chatted as we drove up the canyon. (I swear, my van knows the way and could drive there on its own- which would be really cool.)  We also laughed as we eavesdropped on the boys as they discussed various topics- swimming, summer, and minecraft. (No talk about girls, they're only 10.) Once at camp we joined the hundred or so other boys and their leaders. I looked around and sighed. Here, I am in my element. I'm not currently a scout leader, but have been. Dirt and I are on a first name basis.  I'm used to boys and the noise level they produce. And, the women? Well, these are 'my people'. They make me feel comfortable. Mostly...

Being a parent isn't easy. You've heard all the jokes about kids not coming with instructions, it's a learn-as-you-go process.  The books tell you about milestones and development, but don't go into what to do when they aren't met.  They give instruction on breastfeeding and diaper rash and teething. Then, they get to be teenagers and I guess they think you've got it figured out.   Maybe there are teenage-raising books, I don't know. Perhaps we should give women a teen-shower when her first one hits that lovely two-digit mark.  You could give her things like maid service for their bedroom,  a rain parka for letting the attitude slide off your back and lots and lots of Prozac. Better yet, you could give her a scout leader who cares. That's what I got 5 years ago, and my life has been infinitely better ever since. When I saw the couple at the courthouse with their scary son, I thought- 'That boy is not a scout.'  Sure, I don't know that, ...