Between Coffee & Curfew

There are a lot of things about motherhood that make absolutely no sense to me, but one of the biggest mysteries is how two children can come from the same parents, grow up in the same house, and somehow turn out to be complete opposites.

I have two boys at home. One is 16, the other is 6, and I’m convinced that if scientists spent a week observing them, they’d leave with more questions than answers.

My youngest is absolutely certain he’s going to be the next Michael Jackson. My oldest is still figuring out who he is and what he enjoys, which is perfectly normal at his age. One is already planning his rise to fame, while the other would probably prefer that nobody announces his presence when he walks into a room.

And somehow, I’m responsible for both of them.

I’m not entirely sure who thought that was a good idea, but here we are.

One Never Stops Talking. The Other Has a Daily Word Limit.

If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to live with a six-year-old who has absolutely no shortage of things to say, I’d be happy to let you borrow mine for an afternoon.

Actually, you probably wouldn’t even need the whole afternoon.

Within the first twenty minutes, you’d know everything there is to know about Fortnite, whatever ridiculous YouTube videos he’s been watching, and why you absolutely need to stop what you’re doing to watch something he’s about to demonstrate, or to watch a video you’ve already stopped everything at least 100 times to watch.

“Mom, watch this!”

I hear those three words approximately 600 times a day. It doesn’t matter if I’m cooking, cleaning, on the phone, working on my book or my blog, or trying to use the bathroom. Whatever he’s about to do or watch apparently requires an audience, and attendance is mandatory.

And when he’s interested in something, he doesn’t just like it. He becomes completely consumed by it. We eat, sleep, and breathe whatever his latest obsession happens to be until the next one comes along.

I now know more about Fortnite than I ever wanted to, and somehow I still don’t understand half of what he’s telling me. And okay, maybe I’ve caught myself playing it a time or two when he’s not even around. But let’s get one thing straight: I don’t actually like the game. I’m just learning how to play so I can spend time with my child.

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a Battle Pass to finish.

My teenager, meanwhile, has apparently decided that words are a limited resource and should only be used when absolutely necessary.

He does online school, so I already have a pretty good idea of how his day is going. What I don’t always know is what’s going on inside that head of his.

Every once in a while, he’ll randomly emerge from his room, walk into wherever I am, and just stand there staring at me. Naturally, I assume he needs something,

“What’s up?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you need something?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then why are you standing here?”

“I don’t know.”

Wonderful. We’ve accomplished absolutely nothing, but I’m glad we had this conversation.

And it’s not just those moments. “I don’t know” is pretty much his standard response to everything. I’m starting to wonder if it’s a reflex rather than an actual answer.

He’s always been more private and tends to keep things to himself. I know there’s a whole world going on inside his head, but getting an invitation into that world isn’t always easy.

Every once in a while, though, he actually decides to stay and spend time with me. We’ll talk, laugh, or just hang out, and I genuinely enjoy those moments.

Of course, I have to remain calm and act completely normal. Any sudden movement or excessive enthusiasm could frighten the teenager back into his natural habitat.

Apparently, Attitude Comes in Different Varieties.

I don’t know where my children got their attitudes.

Okay, that’s a lie. I have a few suspicions, but we’re not going to discuss those.

What fascinates me is that even their attitudes are completely different.

My youngest is sarcastic, outspoken, and has absolutely no problem telling you exactly what he thinks. This child has confidence that I wish I could botttle and sell.

He’s also not afraid to defend himself. Unfortunately, his preferred method of expressing displeasure has occasionally involved a certain middle finger.

We’re working on that.

Apparently, teaching a child to stand up for himself and teaching him that not every situation requires obscene hand gestures are two separate parenting lessons.

My oldest has taken a more refined approach to expressing his displeasure.

He rolls his eyes.

And then there’s the tone.

Every parent of a teenager knows the tone I’m talking about. The one that makes you stop what you’re doing and ask, “Excuse me?”

Only for him to look at you like you’ve completely lost your mind.

“I DIDN’T HAVE A TONE!”

Oh, sweetheart. You absolutely did.

In fact, the tone you just used to tell me you didn’t have a tone was somehow worse than the original tone.

My youngest will deliver a sarcastic comeback without hesitation. My oldest can communicate his entire opinion with one eye roll and three words.

Bot have mastered the art of making me question whether I should laugh, argue, or just walk away and finish my coffee.

One Is Financially Responsible. The Other Needs Parental Controls for My Protection.

Let’s discuss something that genuinely amazes me.

I can trust my 16-year-old with my bank card connected to his Xbox. He understands that just because my card is there doesn’t mean he can go on a shopping spree.

My six-year-old, on the other hand, would financially destroy this family if his Fornite account wasn’t password protected.

And I’m not talking about accidentally purchasing one thing.

I’m talking about waking up to discover that my bank account has been drained because apparently a digital character needed a new outfit or emote.

He would be thrilled.

I would be explaining to the electric company that we can’t pay the bill this month because my child is now the proud owner of 47 new fortnite skins.

The funniest part is that he’d probably look me straight in the face and explain why every single purchase was necessary.

Meanwhile, my teenager would be wondering why I ever gave the little one access in the first place.

Fair question son. Fair question.

They Are Growing Up in Completely Different Directions.

One of the things I find most interesting about raising these two is watching how differently they’re discovering the world.

My oldest is at that age where he’s still figuring things out. He’s discovering what he likes, what he doesn’t, what matters to him, and who he wants to become. He’s not the kind of kid who puts everything out there for the world to see, and I’ve learned that sometimes the best thing I can do is give him room to figure things out at his own pace.

My youngest has apparently skipped the uncertainty stage entirely.

He’s going to be Michael Jackson.

End of discussion.

And if that doesn’t work out, I’m sure he’ll have another career picked out by Thursday.

That’s how he operates. When something catches his attention, he throws himself into it completely. He wants to learn everything, talk about everything, and make sure the entire household is just as invested as he is.

My teenager is still exploring possibilities. My youngest is already accepting imaginary Grammy Awards in the living room.

Sometimes I look at them and wonder whether I’m supposed to be encouraging one to explore more interests or encouraging the other to explore slightly fewer.

I’m still working that one out.

Somehow, They Both Know Exactly How to Push My Buttons.

Despite their completely different personalities, my boys have managed to develop one impressive shared talent.

They know exactly how to get under my skin.

My youngest can ask me the same question fourteen different ways, apparently hoping that one of those versions will produce a different answer.

My oldest can give me one perfectly timed eye roll, and suddenly I’m standing there giving a speech about respect that sounds suspiciously like something my own parents would have said.

And the really frustrating part?

Sometimes they’re funny.

Really funny.

There have been plenty of moments when I’ve had to turn my head because I’m supposed to be correcting something, but I’m trying not to laugh.

Which, as every parent knows, is a terrible parenting strategy.

Once they realize you think they’re funny, it’s over.

You’ve lost all authority, and they’re already preparing their next performance.

The One Thing They Have in Common.

For all the differences between my boys, there’s something about the that’s exactly the same.

They’re both incredibly protective of their mom.

My youngest makes it very clear. He’s outspoken, fiercely loyal, and not particularly concerned about whether the rest of the world agrees with him. If he thinks someone is messing with me, he’s ready to defend me before I’ve even finished explaining the situation. His dad and brother included. We can just be playing around and if my youngest hears it, it’s over. I have to stop him before he does something drastic, like throw a chair at them.

My oldest is different. He isn’t someone who openly shares every thought or feeling, and he doesn’t always say things out loud. But I know his heart, even when he keeps parts of it tucked away.

And I know that if I ever truly needed either one of them, they’d be there.

Both of those boys would go to war for their mom.

One would probably announce it loudly, complete with a detailed explanation of why he was right.

The other would likely say very little, but that look on his face would tell you everything you needed to know.

I may not always understand how their minds work, but I never question how much love is in their hearts.

I Wouldn’t Change Either One of Them.

Sometimes I think we spend so much time trying to figure out the right way to parent that we forget there isn’t one approach that works for every child.

My youngest needs room to talk, explore, perform, and share whatever has captured his attention that week. My oldest needs space, patience, and the reassurance that I’m here whenever he decides he wants to let me into his world.

One makes sure I hear every thought that crosses his mind. The other makes me appreciate the moments when he chooses to share his.

One has enough confidence for an entire stadium. The other is still discovering what makes him who he is.

And both are exactly who they’re supposed to be at this stage of their lives.

I don’t need them to have the same personalities, interests, or ways of expressing themselves. In fact, I think life would be a whole lot less entertaining if they did.

Although I wouldn’t complain if they could occasionally agree on something.

Preferably without involving me as the referee.

My Final Scientific Conclusion

After sixteen years of parenting one child and six years of parenting the other, I feel qualified to make one very important observation.

Having more than one child does not mean you have any idea what you’re doing with the next one.

Just when you think you’ve figured out how children work, another one comes along with an entirely different personality and reminds you that your previous experience means absolutely nothing.

I’ve come to realize that parenting isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about figuring things out as you go, occasionally questioning your sanity, and accepting that no matter how many years you’ve been doing this, your children will always find new ways to surprise you.

Some days I feel like I’ve got this motherhood thing down. Other days, I’m standing in my kitchen wondering how I became the least qualified person in a house where I’m apparently in charge.

But I guess that’s the beauty of raising kids. They’re constantly changing, growing, and becoming their own people. And somewhere along the way, we’re learning and growing right alongside them.

Although, after sixteen years of motherhood, I really thought I’d have earned some kind of seniority by now.

Apparently not.

Between Coffee & Curfew 🍵❤️