The Friends.

As parents of teenagers, I’m sure you know that no matter how many kids you actually gave BIRTH too, you’ll become mom to a whole plethora of random souls that follow your teenagers home. There’s the friends, the friends’ friends, boyfriends and girlfriends(SOB!) and all of the friends’ girlfriends and/or boyfriends. The front of your house resembles a revolving door as the ever changing dynamic brings different groups to your house.

And once they are there – they eat.
They eat a LOT.

(What they DON’T do, however, is dishes. Dammit.)

I’ve been generally lucky with both of my teenagers choices in friends. There’s a solid core group for each of them, and the majority of those friends I like. I think I’d like them even if I gave birth to them and had been stuck with them for the past 16+ years. They call me mom (indeed, most don’t even know my real name) and since my house is the one closest to their schools, they parade in and out between school and work and the drive home to check in, make phone calls, check their work schedules (I keep copies of ALL the kids’ schedules for them – mine plus friends)… and eat.

Fortunately, I’ve discovered that – while not exactly the healthiest choice, it’s certainly one of the cheapest – they love cup of noodles. Any day of the week, you can find at least two, and sometimes three or more, teenagers in my kitchen, vying for the stash, the water, and the microwaves so that they can make their snack. One of the boys, Z, works at a store that has a Chinese Food Stand, and thus a bunch of soy sauce packets and chopsticks for the taking when you buy a meal. He buys the meal, grabs extras, and then the kids don’t even dirty my silverware to eat. A cup o’noodles, a set of cheap/free wooden chopsticks, and they’re happy as clams.

If clams liked cup o’noodles, that is.

I like this little ritual, though I’d never tell THEM that. I love that they feel that my house is a safe place to be, that they’ve somewhere – someone to turn too, even if it’s for something so simple as a snack. Those that drive have ‘their’ parking spots, and they repay my steady supply of noodlage by giving my kids rides here, there and everywhere. (With the price of gas what it is, I’m pretty sure I’m coming out on the good side of THAT deal.)

They talk to me, too, and it’s not just because they swear I have the mind of a 16 year old boy. At least I don’t think it’s just because of that – but either way, they come to me when they need help, and feel they can’t go to their parents. That’s not to say I wouldn’t call said parents if the situation warranted it, but usually it doesn’t.

This openness is how I ended up with B. sleeping on my couch.

B was Z’s girlfriend at the time. Z is one of The Boy’s friends. She’s a lovely girl, all attitude and smiles and piercings and multicolored hair – and she’d had a bit of a raw deal dealt her. Her mom died in 2000, her dad had her live with her grandparents after that. It was rough going, and though she had the support of another set of grandparents, it was just rough. The night they kicked her out/she left, they came directly to me.

There was no way I was gonna let her sleep in Z’s car somewhere, so I made sure she knew she was welcome to stay with me. I let her relax for the night, but the next day came the hard part.

Many think I’m a pushover, but my kids (and their friends) would tell you otherwise. There are consequences to your actions, and when you are kicked out/moved out of your house at 17, one of them that all important phone call. I had B call her grandparents, and let her know she was safe. Then she called her manager, explained truthfully what happened and why she missed work, and walked her through how to make it sound right and keep her job. Then I made sure she had her meds, her paycheck, access to everything she needed. And when her other grandmother called me, I was honest with her and let her know what was going on, exactly.

As worried and scared at the new situation that B was, I think she appreciated my lead and help during the month she lived with me. In fact, I know she did, because she just invited me over to her new apartment for dinner two nights ago. She turns 18 in two weeks, found herself a roommate, and let me help her find a kitten. Her dad showed up with some furniture, pots and pans and such, and between us we got her settled in well.

And don’t think that she’s off the hook! I talk to her daily, usually via txt (I know, I’m SO freakin hip!), usually initiated by her. I nag her about her meds, I nag her about her money, I make sure she has food, I make sure she has rent, and I make sure she’s checked in with her grandparents and dad. She knows she can come to me no matter what – she even uses me as her emergency contact number. She’s one of my kids now – how could I treat her any different then I would my own?

It’s a fine line to walk, that of parent and friend, at any age, but they all know – as lenient as I can sometimes be in some situations, I am no pushover. And I love nothing more then to look at them, grin big, throw up my hands and crow…

“I WIN!”