Wake up!

We're convinced our son will sleep through college.

Thanks to the medications he takes and his typical teen sleep cycle (stay up late, sleep late), he sleeps through his alarm clock, cell phone alert, and my exasperated "get up!". Only when I literally push him out of bed does he finally show some small sign of consciousness. We are way past the time I should be getting him up, but letting him be tardy for school wouldn't help. He'd just oversleep again. And again.

He's worried, too.

So we're researching alarm clocks. Evidently, he's not alone in this. Several helpful blogs directed us to websites with products for the deaf and hard of hearing. Some of the products seem silly. A few seem punitive. Most fall into one of three categories:

1. Clocks that make noise, flash the lights, and shake you out of bed:

• Clarity WAKE ASSURE Alarm Clock with Bed Shaker and Lamp Flasher.

2. Clocks that make you perform some stupid trick to turn off the blasted thing: 

• Crazy Flying Helicopter Alarm Clock - the rotor flies off and away until you catch it and put it back.
• Clocky - runs around the room until you catch it and turn it off.
• Laser Target Alarm Clock - you have to hit the target with a laser device to turn it off (just try that when you're foggy with sleep)

3. Clocks that are really, really, REALLY LOUD.

• Sonic Boom Alarm Clock - at 113db, this would scare anyone out of bed. (A jackhammer is 100db).
• Screaming Meanie Alarm - I think the name says it all.

Now we get to try one on for size. Which means the entire family will hear the alarm. And the neighbors. And dogs in the next street over.

But if it gets him up on his own, it'll be worth it.

The synergy of teens and menopausal moms.

Maybe "synergy" isn't the right word, but it's one of life's ironies that my teenagers and I are wrestling with insomnia, temperature fluctuations, and brain freeze. At the same time.

Sigh.

The night before last, I was up at 3 and stayed that way until dawn. My teens were up well past midnight because they couldn't fall asleep. By last evening, we were all stumbling around, snarling at each other, and wanting nothing more than to go to bed. But I'm working on Peachtree's charter petition rewrite every moment I'm not at work or sleeping, the kids had essays and an Analysis test to prep for, there were no clean jeans in the house so the washing machine needed to be fed, and . . .

At 8:00, my son gave up. He couldn't focus enough to eat the very late dinner I prepared (having realized at 7 that I hadn't even begun cooking). So I sent him to bed.

Then I gave up. I moved some data from one section of the charter to another, realized I was going to start making mistakes, shut down the computer and headed to bed.

Then my daughter gave up. She printed out her essay and crawled into her own bed.

The only person still vertical after 8:30 was my husband, who was working on several volunteer projects.

I understand that parents who have their kids when they're in their early 20's don't hit the crazies at the same time. But my generation postponed having children for the sake of careers and wanting to do it at the "perfect time" whatever that is. So I'm in good company.

It's morning, we've all slept, and now we're back to a more normal level of stress.

My son is sitting in the dark of the family room, eating a Pop Tart and studying for his Analysis test. My suggestion that he turn on a lamp was met by disdain. My daughter is cloistered in her bedroom, taking the usual inordinate amount of time to get dressed for school. And I'm running around, packing things for work, yelling at the kids to "move it or you'll be late to school!", and watching the clock.

Where's my coffee?

Whiplash.

Did I mention I have two teenagers in the house?

As an educator, I've studied the stages of learning and development. I understand the physiology of the brain, the transition from concrete to abstract thought, the madness of hormonal fluctuations, the long period of narcisissm before the frontal lobe develops the ability to think about consequences and other people, and the significant impact of sleep cycles that don't conform to the traditional school day.

Nonetheless, I get blindsided nearly every day by my kids' erratic jumps from eye rolls to loving hugs to secretiveness to telling me WAY too much.

When our children were babies and preschoolers, we parents shared and learned from each other. We talked incessantly about hand-eye coordination, separation anxiety, sleeping through the night, learning to read, first steps toward independence, and important details like the way little boys like to turn EVERYTHING into a weapon of some sort. (I just never expected that a banana goes bang-bang.) Mom to mom chats were my best source of reassurance and validation.

Now that our children are teens, suddenly all I hear is perfect people in training. The ones who take a dozen AP classes at a time, hold down a part-time or volunteer job, have a large circle of equally well adjusted friends,  get early admission into top tier colleges, are pillars of their church or temple youth groups, and get along splendidly with their parents. "I thought these years would be challenging, but we have the BEST relationship!"

What did I do wrong?  I have to physically drag my sleep-deprived teens out of bed. The alarm clock is a joke - it's blasting through the house, but the only ones hearing it are the parents. One loves school, the other hates it, and both would far rather do games or texting or Facebook or AIM than do homework. Their emotions give me whiplash. One moment things are peaceful; the next they're roaring with anger or pushing family buttons just to see what kind of reaction they get. Every single A on the report card comes at a tremendous cost in terms of my foot in someone's derriere. Their bedrooms look like some crazy person decided to empty every drawer and wallow in the chaos. Chores are done reluctantly and with the most minimal effort possible.  Showers take up to half an hour and every outfit rejected that day as not-cool ends up in the laundry hamper. 

I love my kids, completely and unconditionally. But boy, some days that love is really, really hard work. I head to work on those days with gratitude that I get a few hours off from my job as the family ringmaster.

Could it be that I  hear only from the parents who are wiping their brows in amazement that their teens are on autopilot to success? And that everyone else is just like me?

Oh please let that be true!

Because misery does indeed love company.