Mom's 7 Rules

Do people understand the concept of “overstaying your welcome” anymore? I’m thinking the answer to that is a hearty and annoying “NO.” When it comes to some teenagers, it seems that the only way to get them to go home is to pick them up by the scruff of the neck and deposit them on the curb, while simultaneously reaching for their cell phone and hitting speed-dial to Mom or Dad for a ride. Actually, it’s even more efficient to toss ‘em in the trunk of your car and drop ‘em off on the curb in front of their OWN house – but they seem to find that unpleasant. Much the same way I find “yeah but… ya know… like when I… like ya know…” (for the 10th straight hour) unpleasant. Back in 1998, W. Bruce Cameron wrote the now-famous-and-appearing-on-televisions-across-the-nation 8 Simple Rules for Dating My Teenage Daughter. Borrowing his concept, I now present… “Mom’s 7 Rules for Visiting My Teenage Daughter” Rule #1: Wait for an invitation. Calling and saying “Tell your mom that you want me to come over” is not an invitation – that’s a fabrication. Although you’re welcome in my house, I don’t actually “want” you to come over. I rather liked the plans I already had for the day. Chances are, they didn’t include changing into a “daughter-approved, friend-appropriate outfit” and cleaning the house so messing it up again will help you pass the time. Rule #2: Once you’ve been “invited,” don’t offer me the privilege of giving you a ride. If you want to visit, expect to get here under your own steam. If you’re out of steam, ask me to stop working, save my files and jot down notes so I remember what I was about to do, just so I can drive 5-10 minutes away to save you the inconvenience of … GASP! … walking or riding your bike. Then, watch my ears. Presto! Steam! Rule #3: You may hear me refer to my house as “the zoo.” This is a joke. It is not really a zoo. Therefore, please quell the urge to regress to primate form and climb all over my furniture. I cannot afford to replace it. You, I can replace for free. Rule #4: Good manners = Happy Mom. I will like you more if you say, “Could I have something to drink, please?” instead of “Got any soda?” Waiting for me to offer you a snack is preferable to prodding me with “Got anything to eat?” No, actually, I don’t eat. I maintain this big ol’ booty by swallowing my words. Every “Didn’t your mother ever teach you that it’s rude to ….” nets me at least 200 calories. Rule #5: You are not automatically invited for dinner. Sitting around, pretending not to notice the time, does not cause four steaks to magically morph into five. I will gladly invite you when there is more than enough to go around. If, by 5 p.m., I have not requested the honor of your presence at my dinner table, please present yourself at your momma’s dinner table. Rule #6: I am not stupid, old or feeble. My senses are all in fine working order. Trying to pull wool over my eyes irritates me. Do not bring substances into my home that are not age-appropriate. If I don’t offer it, you can’t have it. Do not engage in behavior (with my daughter or anyone else) that you would not like captured and broadcast over the Internet. Yes, I DO know how – so it’s up to you to decide whether or not I would. Have fun with that! Rule #7: You are a teenager. This means you struggle out of bed promptly at the crack of noon. I, on the other hand, do not. When I suddenly appear in the room, devoid of all makeup and fashionably decked out in bunny slippers and a ratty-ass bathrobe I keep just for such occasions, it is TIME TO GO HOME. You remember it, right? You confirm that yes, indeed, you know where you live. It’s the place where your parents are already making headway on their full eight hours of sleep because they have to work in the morning. Crap. Back I go to exchange my ratty-ass bathrobe for a ratty-ass sweatsuit so I can have the pleasure of driving you home. You see, while there are seven rules for you, there is only one for me. To care about you (and all my children’s friends) enough to be sure that you are delivered home safely and in the same condition I received you… far too many hours ago.