The Stress of Staying Home

Cheyenneh knocks on the bedroom door.  Charlie’s in the bathroom getting ready for work.  I was thinking it was a good time to sleep.  It’s five in the morning.

“I threw up.”

I’ll spare the details.  I pulled off the General’s bedding, rolled it into a ball, threw it downstairs and shut the door behind me.  We’re still without a hooked up washer and dryer.  This could be disgusting but no one’s going down there today.  It’s still a construction zone.  We only do construction on the weekends.

She went right back to sleep.  I went to thinking about everything I had to do today.  That’s the last thing you’re supposed to do if you want to get to sleep.  I’m completely awake and completely stressed out. 

I think of Cheyenneh and all the things she had to do today.  Now that she’s sick, which part of her day will she try to avoid?  School – that’ll be the first thing she’ll avoid.  Swim meet – I’m sure she’ll stay away from the pool.  Swimming stresses her out.  She used to have national times in her under-10 age division.  Then I dumped her Dad and she links divorce stress with swimming.  Study session at Starbucks with friends - she’ll be there.  City league basketball game – she’ll be there even if she’s throwing up in the bleachers.  She’d never let down her bitches.

She sure does a lot of stuff for being grounded.

We told her she could only do school things, sports things, and Young Life things.  That’s it.  She had to come straight home from school.  She couldn’t go from one friend’s to another, endlessly borrowing and returning clothes.  That task alone gobbled up whole evenings, even before our lack of laundry services.

The first day of grounding, she came straight home from school and complained, “When Meagan was grounded she lost all her friends.  You’re ruining my social life.”

We didn’t respond with equal and opposite drama.

“All my friends are right now hanging out and I’m home,” she said.  “With you.”

“You’re grounded.”

“I can’t believe it,” she said.  “I never thought that would happen.”

“For her whole life, she’s been able to talk herself out of the effects of her behavior,” Charlie says.  “Now there’s indisputable evidence she screwed up and she can’t talk herself out of it.  It was a lot easier when she grounded herself.  Now she has to stay home, she’s stressed out.  She thinks her friends will abandon her.”

This morning, as expected, she slept through her first class.  I assumed she wasn’t going to school the rest of the day, but when I came home for lunch her car was gone.

“I sat in the bathroom throwing up during third period instead of taking my biology test,” she said when she returned.  “I have to go back and take the make-up at 3 pm.”

“You’re stressed out,” I say.  “I think that’s why you’re getting sick.”

“Weird,” she says.  “You grounded me.  That’s what’s stressing me out.  I’m doing city league after my make-up test, then I’ll come right home ‘cause I’m grounded.”

She was out the door before I could say anything motherly.  I’m grateful she’s grounded with her own transportation.  Grounding is a lot of work for parents, even more so if we had to drive her to all these approved places. 

I remember being bored when I was grounded.  I was grounded a lot, especially when I was sixteen.  I stayed in my room, thinking bad thoughts about my parents.

She’s back again.  “Remember Molly the cheerleader?  She got caught making out with some girl’s boyfriend.  The girl was on the other team.  Molly came to the City league game wearing a helmet.  She knew what was coming.”

“What were you doing?”

“Trying not to throw up on the bench.”

“What happened?”

“Molly said, ‘I know he wants me, so just deal with it.’  Every time she made a basket, she did back flips all the way across the court.  That’s Molly.” 

Once again, she’s at the front door.  “I’m late for Starbucks.”

I would have loved being grounded like this.

She came back with Nicci.  “There were no chairs,” Cheyenneh said.  “There was some Women’s Group hogging Starbucks.  I have to use your computer.”

“Wait,” Charlie says.  “What happened to being grounded?”

“Nicci didn’t have a ride and she needed to borrow shoes.”

“Do my feet look big in these?” Nicci asks.

“No,” Charlie says.  “What happened to studying?”

“That’s what I’m finding out,” Cheyenneh says.  “I’m talking to my bitches right now.”

“Are you sure these shoes aren’t too ugly?” Nicci asks.

“What happened to swimming?” I ask.

“What happened at City league?” Charlie asks.  “I hear it got a little wild.”

“If we don’t get our aggression out now,” Cheyenneh says, “do you realize what powder puff will be like?”

“Which ones are cuter?” Nicci asks.

“Those,” Cheyenneh says and points to a random pair of shoes.  “We’re going now.  ‘Bye.”

“’Bye,” Nicci says.

Charlie and I don’t know what to say.  The General returned after we’d already gone to bed.

I didn’t know Cheyenneh’s plans for the next day, so I slept peacefully.  She must not have been stressed out as I didn’t wake up at 5 am with a knock on the door.  I didn’t stress out about my day.  It’s much less complicated than a 16 year-old’s.

She came straight home from school.  “I need money,” she said.  “We’re going away for the weekend and we only get, like, three meals a day.  I’m not dealing with that.  I need, like, seven.  The last time they feed us is 6 pm.  We stay up all night.  $20 should be enough.”

“You’re grounded,” I say.  “Where are you going?”

“It’s a Young Life Leaders weekend,” she said.  “You can’t ground me from God.  I signed up a long time ago, like, at least last week.  You need to drive Jordan and me to the bus at 8:40 pm.”

“I can’t.  We’re going out.”  I hand her a $20 just so she’ll go away.  No telling what I’ll end up doing if I fight this.

“Charlie said you could.” 

She takes the $20 and runs up to her room.  A few minutes later, she says, “Did you give me a $20?”

“Yes.”

“Crap.  I lost it already.”

She spends the next ten minutes looking for it.  She looks everywhere, including the laundry downstairs.  I hear, “ew!” and “ick!” until I start to feel badly.  I lose things all the time.  My Mom does, too.  She starts talking and ends up putting the milk away in the oven.  This trait is deep and strong in my gene pool.

I gave her another $20 so she’ll leave before she wants another favor.  She calls three times from Safeway, asking which chips are a better deal, which cheap soda brands are good.  “I hate using cash,” she says.  “Credit is so much better.  You don’t have to worry about running out.”

We go out to our friends’ house for dinner.  In the middle of some of the funniest pet stories I’ve ever heard, we get a 911 page from the General.

“Hurry,” is all she said.  It’s 8:38 pm.  We should have let her get a ride with friends.  Her grounding is ruining our social life.

“You are so irresponsible,” she says as she throws her stuff in the back of the big-ass truck.  It’s so nice and warm in the cab that I don’t get out to help.  I’d just be that much closer to her lecturing.  “You need to follow your word.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlie and I both say.  We’re quiet.  We feel like we should be grounded.  We know we screwed up.

“I started writing a note, telling you how irresponsible you were but then I got distracted and forgot about it.  I’m still angry.  You’re always late.”

“We can pick you up on Sunday.” 

“You’ll be late.  I’ll have to walk home.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.  “I’d like to pick you up.”

“That’s guilt talking.”

We pick up Jordan, one of her bitches, on the way.

“Sorry we’re late,” Charlie says.

“It’s totally fine,” Jordan says.  She calmly puts her things in the back, like she has all the time in the world.

“No it’s not,” Cheyenneh says.  “The bus left a long time ago.”

“Stop punishing your parents,” Jordan says.  “I’m serious.”

“Do you know where you’re going?” I ask. 

“To the beach,” Cheyenneh says.

“It’s a big beach.”

“I’ll bet the bus driver knows.  It’s too late for that, now, isn’t it?”

“I hope you sleep the whole way over,” Jordan tells Cheyenneh.  “I don’t want to hear any more about how your parents were late.”

“Winter Formal is next weekend,” Cheyenneh says, knowing when to change the subject.

“You are so going,” Jordan says.

“I’m grounded next week.  I won’t have time to shop.”

“There’s always time to shop,” Jordan says.

We pull up to a bunch of kids standing around.  “There’d better be some cute boys here or this weekend is a waste of my life,” Jordan says.

Tell me again why being grounded is so stressful.

A little help? [] 2:12:32 PM