Oh my gawd. I forgot what it’s like to live with a teenager.
But after this weekend, I definitely remember. My daughter, Gracie, has lived
on her own for the past two years here in Paris while she is attending college.
I never wanted her to have her own apartment because I enjoy suffocating her
with love. However, she couldn’t leave fast enough in her eyes. Her first year
of college she rented a tiny studio and lived on her own and for her second
year of college she found a bigger apartment that she shared with a roommate.
Now, here we are, coming up to her third year of college and she has decided to
take a one bedroom on her own. Yeah! Not so fast… She has decided to move into
our apartment for the summer before her lease starts in the fall. When she told
me that she would like to stay with us over the summer I was ecstatic… Until
she moved in this past weekend.
I wanted to have everything perfect for her. I got the guestroom
all ready for my darling… New white linen headboard, two modern acrylic nesting
bedside tables, glass lamps with white linen lampshades, a white linen bergère
chair, white linen curtains. I thought the white would perfectly offset the 19th-century
point de Hongrie hardwood floors, the black marble fireplace and the circa 1850
mantle mirror. A little modern with the old. Everything was ordered, delivered
and set up for her arrival.
My next project was to order every single thing that she
loves at the grocery store. There was a two-page list and everything was
delivered the day before her arrival… American cheddar cheese, tortillas,
cookie dough, pancake batter, salsa, lemonade, avocados for her favorite
breakfast toast, bananas for her favorite banana bread, her favorite peas in
the can because she doesn’t like fresh or frozen, barbecue sauce, hamburger
buns, organic chicken breast… Basically everything that an American teenager
needs to survive.
Her favorite pink peony flowers were arranged in a silver
mercury glass vase in her room next to her favorite candle.
We were ready for her arrival.
Let me preface this story by reminding all of you mothers
that you would all do the same thing for your daughters. We are here to please.
Our happiness is our daughter’s happiness. I would give Gracie the shirt off of
my back (which I have). There is no love like a mother’s love. When Gracie
calls me on the telephone, I literally get butterflies because I’m so excited
to talk to her even though I probably talked to her two hours before. To say
that I suffocate, helicopter parent and spoil my child is an understatement and
guess what? I don’t care. Don’t forget, I have the extra worry that I might not
be here for much longer so I have to cram all of my love into each day in fear
of the fact that there might not be many more days. ALS is fun like that. So,
needless to say, having my daughter in my apartment on a daily basis right now
is a gift. Or is it?
The hurricane arrived at 3 PM. She rang our doorbell and my
husband answered the door and sweetly said, “Welcome home, darling.” Her
response? “Did mom make you say that?”
Her immediate attitude set the tone of the weekend and we
knew we were in for a treat. Here’s a little sampling of how the weekend
progressed…
“Mom, I hate that headboard.”
“Mom, where’s the rug? You said you ordered a rug.”
“Mom, I want my own area in the refrigerator.”
“Mom, I only like light pink peonies… Not dark pink.”
“No, I cannot go to the garden with you for a walk. I’m here
but not here.”
“Mom, just because you are a part-time vegetarian, doesn’t
mean the rest of us are. Buy some beef!”
And then, Chickengate happened. I ordered Gracie €12 organic
chicken breast from the market and I used it to make her favorite homemade
grilled chicken Caesar salad… Marinated the chicken, made homemade croutons,
chopped up the romaine lettuce just how she likes it, made homemade Caesar
dressing just the way she likes it with only one anchovy, one garlic, easy on
the lemon, shaved, not shredded Parmesan and a creamy sauce. She loved it and
ate a giant plate of it with a Coca-Cola in my bed watching her favorite
reality show #RichKidsOfBeverlyHills.
The next morning she woke up around noon and proceeded to
make herself a breakfast burrito and left all the dishes in the sink. Lunch
time rolled around and she marched into my bedroom and asked, “Where’s the
chicken?” I explained to her that I had already used the chicken for her Caesar
salad. All hell broke loose.…
“Mom, you know I need to have chicken in the refrigerator at
all times. It’s what I use to make every meal.”
“Gracie, I used the chicken for your Caesar salad.”
“Mom! I had a whole week of meals planned with chicken!
Barbecue chicken burgers, chicken nachos, grilled chicken sandwiches… Now what
am I going to do!!!???!!!
“Gracie, just go across the street to the market and buy
more chicken.”
“Mom! I don’t have time for that. Now my whole week it is
ruined. Ruined!”
Gracie mentioned the chicken or the lack thereof about 400
times over the weekend. My husband asked, “Are we still talking about the chicken?”
Sadly the answer was yes, we are still talking about the chicken.
We were barely over the chicken debacle when L’Oreal Hell
started. Gracie had asked me to buy her a box of L’Oreal hair color because she
was going to color/lighten her hair herself.
“Gracie, I don’t think that’s such a good idea. You should
go to a salon and have it done professionally.”
“Mom! I know what I’m doing!”
Flash forward to one hour later and my daughter has a head
of orange hair and is in near tears.
“Mom! Look at me! What am I going to do? I have to go to a
salon to have them fix it. Can I borrow €120?”
Gracie spent the next six hours googling which salon in
Paris would be the most competent with color correction. She said she only
wanted an American hairdresser who spoke English so she could explain the
situation because this was “serious.”
It was Sunday so I asked Grace if she would go over to my
favorite little church with me to light a candle.
“Mom! I can’t go out of the house like this!”
“Gracie, you can borrow one of my hats.”
“Mom! I hate all of your hats and I’m really depressed
because there’s no chicken in the house.”
So, Gracie spent the rest of the weekend huffing and
puffing, complaining that I don’t know how to shop at the grocery store, that
my towels weren’t absorbent enough, that the house was too cold, that she would
be “unavailable” all of July, that she needed my husband to go with her to a
lip plumping consultation, that our shower didn’t have enough pressure, that
she needed special ingredients to make a homemade leg waxing concoction, and
for God sake why didn’t I buy crème fraîche at the market because I should know
that she loves crème fraîche!
This little darling also gave us a list of To Do’s including
transfer her bank account to a Paris branch, not the boondocks of Annecy and to
stop looking at her so much.
Half of her suitcases are still open in the entry hall. Next
to her suitcase is a toaster oven, a blender and a waffle iron… All of which Gracie
expects me to find a home for. She cannot unpack anymore because she is “exhausted.”
She also demanded to know what our cable package was and the speed of our
Internet server.
The good news is that with Gracie moving back in with us, I
have retrieved my camel colored peacoat, my Yves St. Laurent bracelet, my
favorite Rose perfume, my suede jacket and a host of other articles that I did
not know were missing.
It has been an emotional weekend with raging hormones,
attitude, sassiness, judgment and an overall air of disgust. It’s clear… She
finds us incompetent, nosy, full of unwarranted advice, annoying and for lack
of a polite word… Stupid.
If you do not have teenage daughters and you would like to
know what it’s like, check out my blog titled, “Living with Teenage Daughters
is Like Living with the Taliban” HERE.
No matter what Gracie throws at me, I am just grateful that
I can see her sparkly blue eyes, her rosy cheeks, her pink little lips and hear
her angelic voice… through all the bitchiness. I am grateful that I am the
first person she calls with good news or bad news. I am grateful that she asks
my opinion even if she doesn’t take my advice. I am grateful that she does
regard my sincere wishes for her to not get a tattoo, finish college, not move
in with her boyfriend, speak French fluently, work towards a career so she is
financially independent and can make her own choices, write thank you letters
and try to be a decent human being. My husband is just grateful that Gracie
hasn’t euthanized me. All we can do is laugh and know that this too shall pass.…
When she moves out.
*Something you don’t know about me? I am so happy that my petite
“smalls” sale went well. I’m so glad that you all liked everything. I really
tried hard to offer something unique and très French with a range of price
points. I would like to thank all of you for your kindness, sweet words and
generosity. I am feverishly wrapping everything and getting it ready for
shipment. The good news is that there was a fantastic fleamarket in the Marais
quarter that my husband took me to over the weekend and I found some great
items for the shop that I will post soon. Stay tuned…
A toute!
