In honor of my darling daughter’s 14th birthday, I wanted to give her gift from my heart. But, because anyone with a wallet can purchase worthless tchotchkes or paltry trinkets from a common store, I wanted to dig deeper … to showcase my intrinsic talents to create something truly meaningful for her. So I got to thinking. And right away, my personalities began fighting.

Optimistic Me: I could bake her a cake!

Realistic Me: Nah, I’ll just wind up summoning the fire department. A third time. 

Optimist: I could put together a scrapbook!

Realist: Then spend the rest of her birthday trying to get my fingers unglued.

Optimist: I could make a piece of jewelry … a patchwork quilt … or even a memory trunk!

Realist: Choking hazards, needles, hammer. Honestly, it’s like you’re not even trying, Michele. Plus we haven’t met our annual deductible yet. 

Then it hit me.

What has she told me again and again? Especially in these last few years. The answer was right under my nose. Apparently, as adults “adults” go, I am positively gifted … in the art of …

Mother-On-Daughter Humiliation.

Naturally, I turned to social media for ideas. After all, who among us can’t use some new approaches and fresh methodology in this specialized field? My process was simple. I would pose the question across my various social platforms and let the answers just roll in. Then I could embarrass her in original, innovative ways I’d only thought, talked, or dreamed about .. until now.

So without further ado, my darling daughter, I give you the results of my project.

14 Ways To Embarrass Your Teenage Daughter

1. “Friend” her people on Snapchat, Instagram and wherever else she spends time ignoring you.
2. Chaperone every school dance. Bonus: Break out “The Elaine” on the dance floor.
3. Hug or kiss her in front of her friends at school, the mall or anyplace where two or more teenagers are congregated.
4. Bust a move to an old school dance tune at the fast food drive-thru. (Obvious song choice: Bust a Move) Bonus: Say to the cashier, “This is my jam!”
5. Post about her and her adorable milestones (first periods, etc.) on your social media accounts and tag her so it shows up on hers.
6. Use hashtags in all of your correspondence. Bonus: Also, use it in your oral speech. #DinnerIsReady #IsThatAPimple
7. Breathe in and out. In public.
8. Blow the horn in the carpool pick-up line and shout her name out of the window. Bonus: Use her babyhood nicknames.
9. Comment on her social media posts. Be sure to use proper spelling, grammar and punctuation. The lengthier and more personal, the better.
10. Call out her name specifically when cheering at the ball field, piano recital, chess tournament, etc. Bonus: Use her first AND middle names.
11. Rap.
12. Wear matching outfits and go shopping together. Bonus: Call yourselves “twinsies” to everyone you encounter.
13. Cry unapologetically about your “baby” getting older as often as possible. Example: Make a scene at the DMV when she gets her driver’s permit. Bring balloons and cake.
14. Use expressions like “YOLO, “On Fleek, “Yasssss!” or “Goals.” Bonus: Use them incorrectly.

Once I compiled my list, I could hardly wait to get started. Then, just as I planned to pull the trigger on my master plan, my girl went and did something completely unexpected.

Recently, I took a car full of girls to go see a friend in a school play. Not surprisingly, both the energy level and the stereo volume in the car were through the roof. Showtunes, popular music, movie soundtracks … you name it, they screamed it. And it nearly killed me when they “reminisced” about the music of their “childhood” singing all the songs from High School Musical (it’s like my people’s Grease) as I know every … single … word.

But I kept my mouth shut. Because that’s what a good mom does.

Then I heard it. I couldn’t believe I heard it. But I did actually hear it. The girls had moved on to Pitch Perfect and I heard Vivien say to her friends, “Wait … you guys … you HAVE to hear my mom sing the duet from the semi-finals with me.” Then, turning to me, she said, “Mom, you take Beca’s part. Okay?”

I. Was. Speechless.

But, of course, I had to sing … like, immediately. So I didn’t ruin it. I held back the pathetic mom tears and just went for it. With my proud daughter sitting (and singing) shotgun right next to me.

She never ceases to amaze me.

I love you, Viv.Happy 14th Birthday!

Love your biggest fan,
Mom

The year was late 1970-something. I was visiting with some of my older cousins. I had lots of them. Which meant I was always being treated to all kinds of hand-me-downs. Usually it was just boring velvet dresses and plaid pantsuits. (Pipe down. It was the 70s.)

But not this time.

I still remember when my cousin handed me one of her old records, a 45. (Yep, the kind that needed an adaptor in the middle.)

“Do you want this?” she said, handing me the old record with no sleeve. It had ballpoint pen scribblings on the affixed label. Clearly, it had been played a lot. “I’ve got the whole album now, so you can have this.”

The printing on the tan label said “David Bowie – Fame – RCA Victor” … plus lots of other stuff that meant nothing to me at the time. (Like the fact that John Lennon was one of the songwriters.) I was just a kid, happy to be given anything, especially from a teenager. That made it automatically cool.

“Yes!” I said, grabbing it, thrilled to have my own 45 record that I could put alongside my only other record, a full length 33 LP album by Donny Osmond. (Again … it was the 70s.)

I brought that 45 home and played it immediately. As a child, I absolutely loved the twenty-five successively sung “Fames” that moved down the scale from Alvin the Chipmunk to the Exorcist Demon. It was the one part of the song I could sing along to immediately. I wore that record out. I was hooked.

A picture of one incarnation of my bedroom, circa 1980-something. He made the wall twice. That’s saying something.

Over the years, his songs would continue to serve as the soundtrack for the highlights of my life. Rebel, Rebel was playing at a school dance when I danced with  … and, let’s be honest, kissed … my first crush. (Where the hell were the chaperones, by the way?) And as John Hughes guided me through my adolescence, Young Americans found its way into Sixteen Candles and a pointed quote from Changes (one of my all-time favorites) kicked off the Breakfast Club. Once in college, Under Pressure would serve as the party anthem for the entire courting period with my husband. And the song was ten years old.

Honestly … Heroes, Space Oddity, Jean Genie, Ashes to Ashes, Modern Girl, even his holiday duet with Bing Crosby that I was lucky enough to see when it first aired … I could go on and on. David Bowie set the benchmark. Which is why … at age 69 … when so many other rock icons of his era are watching their fans age right along with them (I’ll be nice and refrain from naming them), David Bowie remained relevant. And cool. The man was 69 years old and never stopped being cool.

As one of my music-loving Facebook friends wrote on her feed today … “The world without David Bowie will be far less interesting.”

I couldn’t agree more, Suzette.

RIP Mr. Bowie.

I’ll be wearing my 45 adaptor necklace all week in memory of you and my first 45 record.

“We can beat them, just for one day
We can be heroes, just for one day”

.

The following post was written to promote the upcoming release of Daddy’s Home in theaters nationwide on Christmas Day 2015.

Sometimes the child has to take on the role of the mature adult to compensate for the immaturity of … well, other members of his or her family. My children are no exception. Last summer, we took one of the best family trips we’ve ever taken … to Paris, France. (Prier pour Paris.) We did everything the Parisian tourist is expected to do. We ascended the Eiffel Tower, we cruised the Seine, we shopped the Champs-Élysées and we even ate snails … more than once!

So when the time came to visit the world-famous Louvre Museum, my son jumped at the opportunity. Dave and I were completely floored. Dean is supposed to be a teenage punk. And we are supposed to be worldly adults who should have been the ones spearheading the mission to get us there, right? Of course, right. But (cough, sputter) … well, the truth is we’d actually already snuck past the Louvre, with absolutely no intent of ever going in, literally ten times so far. Seriously, it just looked so big. And scary. Plus, you know, art. (Yawn.)

So it was on Louvre walk-by #11, on the last day of our trip overseas, that Dean spoke his mind.

“I think we should go in the Louvre.”

“Aren’t we going in the Louvre??”

“Hey! Can we stop? I want to go in the Louvre!!!”

Dave and I were like two crazy-tired toddlers going stiff on Santa’s lap at the mall on Christmas Eve. Fighting the nearly uncontrollable instinct to whine and cry, I put on my best poker face while Dave looked away in defeat. (Coward.) “Um, sure. … Wow!” I managed, pretending I just noticed the colossal museum for the first time on the trip. Then, we scanned the twisting line of people waiting to get in. It put the worst Magic Kingdom line I’d ever seen to shame. “Let’s find the end of the line.” I swallowed hard and smiled catatonically, motioning with clenched teeth to Dave.

And as we waited … and waited … and waited in line, Dave and I did our best to keep our griping and grousing to a dull roar. Don’t get me wrong. We complained our asses off, but just to each other. We didn’t want our son to hear what uncultured boobs we were. We were in France, for Pete’s sake. Who wouldn’t want to go to the Louvre?!!? Your idiot parents, Dean. THAT’S who.

Then we heard it. Vivien, our younger child, tired of waiting in the line and completely unconcerned with how she was going to look or sound to her big brother, articulated what her disgracefully infantile “parents” had been thinking all morning.

“Dean, this line is reeeeally long. Are you SURE this is how you want to spend our last day here?”

Dave and I were snickering and sniveling so much, we almost didn’t hear our brilliant son’s reply. He was genuinely shocked at her disinterest.

“Vivien! The Louvre is the most famous museum in the whole world. We came all the way here. Who knows when we’ll come back? I want to see it!”

(Radio silence on the parental whimpering … #shamed #jackasses)

My son’s words slapped me across the face. Dave, too. When did this boy become the adult? I guess he figured somebody had to be … right? 

Plus, without his “parental” intervention, we never would have met Mona.

Why am I telling you this ridiculously embarrassing story? Because there’s a movie opening in theaters nationwide on Christmas Day this year that reminds me of parents acting like, well, children. Have you seen the trailer for #DaddysHome yet? Check it out right here:

Seriously … Will Ferrell? Mark Wahlberg? What’s not to like? I’ve already shown the trailer to everyone who lives in my house. And we’re making a family date. I’m actually asking for it for Christmas. Because we don’t do enough stuff together these days. And it’s rare that a movie comes out that appeals to (and is appropriate for) my entire family.

Check it out. It’s in theaters CHRISTMAS DAY! 

Maybe it’s because it’s about family. Maybe it’s because it’s the holidays. Or maybe it’s just because I can’t watch even just the trailer without laughing.  But personally … I can’t wait.

Learn more about #DaddysHome on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter.

This blog post is part of a paid SocialMoms and Daddy’s Home blogging program. The opinions and ideas expressed here are my own.

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