You know what's great about having been a parent for over 17 years? Besides having made it through the years of diapers, potty training, tantrums (for the most part) and 3am feedings? No, what's really great is that after nearly two decades of parenting you finally learn that there is no such thing as a parenting "expert".
Don't get me wrong, I was as much a sucker for those shelves and shelves of Parenting books as the next desperate mom with a screaming toddler wrapped around her leg like a chimpanzee. And, without a doubt, there were occasionally bits of information or words of wisdom that gave me some clarity and something new to stick in my bag of tricks. But let's face it, most of us come into this parenting game with our own style and personality that even the best of intentions will fail to undo.
So, while I openly admit that I have devoured dozens upon dozens of parenting books during my years as a new mom, I am finding it nothing short of liberating to finally be in a place where I no longer seek the advice and opinions of self-proclaimed experts who have never even met my particular child. Because therein lies the problem, there simply cannot be a one-size-fits-all method of parenting.
I have never been a fan of labels and perhaps nowhere do I find labeling to be more problematic than in the arena of parenting and childrearing.
Are you a permissive parent?
An authoritarian parent?
An authoritative parent? (which sounds almost the same as being an authoritarian parent but God help you if you mix up the two in the middle of a parenting seminar)
Or, the label most in vogue right now, are you a helicopter parent?
I dare you to use that term in my presence. Really, I dare you. But if you do then you might want to cover your ears because I will commence a screaming fit so ear-splitting that it will send you running for your dog-eared copy of Your Spirited Child to find the section on "how to stop a grown adult from having a tantrum".
This is what I hate (I know, hate is a strong word...) But what I hate is when experts not only create labels, but they create negative labels, with no agreed upon uniform definition, designed to make the "expert parents" feel superior. Because as near as I can tell, a "helicopter parent" can be anything from...
...a mom who runs back into the house to grab her Kindergartner's lunch box off the counter, even though she reminded him once to put it into his backpack.
...to a dad who threatens to sue the school because his daughter is failing PE after having skipped class 10 times over the course of the semester.
Are these really the same thing??
And aren't we ignoring the reality that sometimes the unique needs of our individual children require a wide range of perfectly acceptable parenting responses?
I have two sons.
My boys were born to the same parents and raised in the same household. Both of them had the advantage of a healthy birth and no developmental delays or challenges. They are both fortunate to have strong, capable bodies and have experienced no serious injury or illness in their lives thus far.
And yet for all of the ways they have both been born into good fortune and privilege, one struggled academically during his early years of school, and the other sailed through without even the slightest bump in the road.
The advice you hear these days is all about how children need to feel accountable for their own work. Parents should leave them to do their own work and allow them to fail when necessary. Providing a child too much assistance or support will only enable them and they will eventually end up unable to perform even the smallest task for themselves. In short, if you help your kid with his homework you are on a direct path to having him live in your basement until he's 50.
But how does that theory play out with the two boys mentioned above? Certainly the boy for whom school already comes easily will have no trouble being told to "work it out for himself" or "it's your schoolwork, not mine." But what about the boy who already goes to school and feels like he's staring at a brick wall that he's being asked to climb with no rope in sight? How will he discover he really is capable of learning new and challenging things if someone isn't there to break it down into more manageable steps, while providing him a shoulder to stand on, until he can climb that wall on his own?
I once attempted to have a candid conversation with an educator at my son's school. She worked in the Learning Resource classroom and I was confiding in her how difficult it was for my son to complete his homework each evening without considerable support. Not necessarily because the material was too difficult but the sheer quantity of work was enough to render him helpless.
She shrugged and said, "Well, you know, this is probably a good age for you to just let go. He really needs to sink or swim." (I could almost see the accusing words "helicopter parent" etched on her forehead).
I let her words penetrate for a moment, took a deep breath and said, "Honestly, I'm pretty sure that if I tell my son he can either sink or swim he will just throw his hands up and drown."
Again, she just shrugged.
My son was 10 at the time.
That's the best advice we have for parents with kids who don't naturally excel academically? At the age of 10 they are either college-bound or they are all washed up?
Fortunately, I have a Masters in Teaching myself so I'm not as easily cowed by the opinions of other educators. I am well aware that even among teachers there are vastly different thoughts on how children learn. So, I learned to ignore the "experts" and went with my gut.
My gut told me that my son was one of the many boys for whom time and maturity would work wonders. But in the meantime, what we couldn't do was to allow him to sink into the abyss of "I'm just not good at school..." or "I'm just stupid..." or "It's all too hard..." We continued to be his cheerleaders, his tutors, his coaches and his biggest fans all while looking for ways each year we could step back more and more and let him take the lead.
This year both of my boys will be in high school. One will be a senior and one will be a freshman. I can't tell you how much joy I feel in thinking about this year ahead in which my sons will spend one year together in the same high school. They had just better get over their complaints right now because there will be a first day of school picture of the two of them.
It also gives me great joy and pride to say that I can look forward to this year and know that both of my sons will be more than capable of handling their own schoolwork, papers, tests and projects. I'm here for proofreading or to quiz them on vocabulary if needed, but otherwise, I know they have got it covered. And, even though there might have been a few hairy moments along the way when I questioned my own instincts, I really always saw this day coming.
Helicopter parents, unite! As long as you are slowly working toward that day when you can bring it in for a landing and shut down the propellors, there is nothing wrong with a little hovering now and then.
Take it from this "expert". Because...really... aren't we all?
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Teenage Boys are from Mars
I gotta say... Superdad and I have really stepped up our game.
We are both on the same page ofdemanding encouraging more responsibility and participation in household chores from our crew and all of our nagging effort is really starting pay off.
Dishes are routinely being cleared to the sink. We are working on Step 2- putting the dishes in the dishwasher- which we've discovered will require a series of home management lessons entitled: How to Determine if the Dishes in the Dishwasher are Clean or Dirty. Who knew that was such a puzzle?
Timothy appears to have established his own once-a-day routine for gathering all of his water bottles and garbage from the downstairs and depositing them into the appropriate receptacles. Once-a-day is totally A-Okay with me.
While Annie and I were spending time with family on the Other Side of the Mountains again, the boys were given the responsibility of keeping the pup adequately exercised and loved. They performed their duties admirably and seem to have developed a deeper bond with our fluffy, funny guy as a result.
We have yet to tackle meal planning and preparation but those tasks will be easier to incorporate into our routine once we have a routine again. In other words, once school starts.
So, I'll say it again...we are making progress around here!
But part of being able to celebrate these baby steps toward greater independence is accepting that success may not always look exactly the way you envisioned.
After our "failure to communicate" and providing a bit more "education" as to what a clean room entails, Jack promised he would give it another go in the very near future. True to his word, I received a text while I was away, complete with photos, of his new and improved room. Not only did Jack make great strides in getting his room picked up and reorganized, he went one step further and cleaned out his closet and dresser of all the clothes that no longer fit him. When he informed me that he had a bag of clothes ready to be donated, I sent him back a text telling him where he could take the clothes and drop them off. Next thing I know, I receive another text informing me that the donation drop off was complete.
I told him, You know what that's called, Jack? Finishing the job!! Woohoo!!
I'm not sure his level of enthusiasm matched mine.
The photos of his freshly cleaned room were definitely a pleasure to behold. I particularly appreciated that he included a shot of his windowsill, devoid of plastic bottles and soda cups. He really hit all the angles so I could see that he hadn't just piled all of the garbage into a corner and then photographed the rest of his room.
The kicker is that in the process of cleaning his room, Jack also decided to do a little rearranging of his furniture. This has occurred several times over the years and I am always impressed with his creativity for coming up with new arrangements in a relatively small space. A particular favorite of mine was when he came up with Mega-Bed which involved pushing his two twin beds together and turning the mattresses horizontally across both beds, resulting in a quasi-queen-size bed. It didn't look comfortable to me but he left it that way for a good six months, so he must have thought it was just fine.
But this new layout really takes the cake.
Standing in the doorway of his room you wouldn't find anything amiss...
But take a few more steps into his room and you would know for certain that you are in the dwelling place of a teenage boy.
Because a teenage boy, and ONLY a teenage boy, would think that this is a good idea...
We are both on the same page of
Dishes are routinely being cleared to the sink. We are working on Step 2- putting the dishes in the dishwasher- which we've discovered will require a series of home management lessons entitled: How to Determine if the Dishes in the Dishwasher are Clean or Dirty. Who knew that was such a puzzle?
Timothy appears to have established his own once-a-day routine for gathering all of his water bottles and garbage from the downstairs and depositing them into the appropriate receptacles. Once-a-day is totally A-Okay with me.
While Annie and I were spending time with family on the Other Side of the Mountains again, the boys were given the responsibility of keeping the pup adequately exercised and loved. They performed their duties admirably and seem to have developed a deeper bond with our fluffy, funny guy as a result.
We have yet to tackle meal planning and preparation but those tasks will be easier to incorporate into our routine once we have a routine again. In other words, once school starts.
So, I'll say it again...we are making progress around here!
But part of being able to celebrate these baby steps toward greater independence is accepting that success may not always look exactly the way you envisioned.
After our "failure to communicate" and providing a bit more "education" as to what a clean room entails, Jack promised he would give it another go in the very near future. True to his word, I received a text while I was away, complete with photos, of his new and improved room. Not only did Jack make great strides in getting his room picked up and reorganized, he went one step further and cleaned out his closet and dresser of all the clothes that no longer fit him. When he informed me that he had a bag of clothes ready to be donated, I sent him back a text telling him where he could take the clothes and drop them off. Next thing I know, I receive another text informing me that the donation drop off was complete.
I told him, You know what that's called, Jack? Finishing the job!! Woohoo!!
I'm not sure his level of enthusiasm matched mine.
The photos of his freshly cleaned room were definitely a pleasure to behold. I particularly appreciated that he included a shot of his windowsill, devoid of plastic bottles and soda cups. He really hit all the angles so I could see that he hadn't just piled all of the garbage into a corner and then photographed the rest of his room.
The kicker is that in the process of cleaning his room, Jack also decided to do a little rearranging of his furniture. This has occurred several times over the years and I am always impressed with his creativity for coming up with new arrangements in a relatively small space. A particular favorite of mine was when he came up with Mega-Bed which involved pushing his two twin beds together and turning the mattresses horizontally across both beds, resulting in a quasi-queen-size bed. It didn't look comfortable to me but he left it that way for a good six months, so he must have thought it was just fine.
But this new layout really takes the cake.
Standing in the doorway of his room you wouldn't find anything amiss...
But take a few more steps into his room and you would know for certain that you are in the dwelling place of a teenage boy.
Because a teenage boy, and ONLY a teenage boy, would think that this is a good idea...
Monday, August 6, 2012
It's all true
Of all the cliched motherhood statements I have heard over the years, the one that rings most true for me is the one that goes something like this:
The days are long, but the years are short.
I am not so far out of the early years of parenthood that I have forgotten the exhaustion that comes with parenting a child through infancy and toddlerhood. You will never hear me say to some haggard young mother with an infant screaming in the grocery cart,
Enjoy it, sweetie. It all goes so fast.
All of the mothers I have known have been acutely aware of the preciousness and brevity of childhood, but that still doesn't mean there is anything to "enjoy" about the desperation that comes with only snatches of sleep and toddler tantrums. I loved my little ones with the same all-consuming love that every mother feels and part of me hated to see them inching closer and closer to grade school and bonafide "childhood". But once you grow accustomed to a full night's sleep and increasingly independent children who don't hang on your pant leg while you try to cook dinner, you can't help but realize that the passing of time does have its advantages.
And, the reality is, you can't stop time anyway so you might as well try to embrace every age and stage along the way.
But then you come to the "letting go" stage, the really big kind of "letting go". Not the smaller steps toward letting go like the First Day of Kindergarten, or letting them ride their bike down the street, or their first sleepover- all of which are monumental in their own way, and in their own moment in time- but the big steps toward letting go are still yet to come.
Watching your child drive away...in a car...alone.
Accepting that it simply isn't possible anymore to know exactly where your child is at any given moment.
Knowing that your child is going to make mistakes and that the consequences of those mistakes can be potentially costly, life altering and even deadly.
Seeing all of the ways your child has been shaped, for better or for worse, by the home and life you've provided him and that your ability to influence his future is rapidly diminishing, as it should be.
Looking at the calendar and realizing that one year from now you will be preparing to pack your child's bags and sending him to live somewhere else. And yet, right now, having no idea where that will be.
And still, in spite of all of the fears and tears that come with letting go, hoping upon hope that a year from now he really will be leaving. Because that's what baby birds are supposed to do. They grow up, they learn to fly, and they leave the nest.
It's all true. All of it. All those cliches that you may or may not want to hear when you are in the throes of diapers and 2am feedings.
The days are long, but the years are short.
You think this is hard, wait until they are teenagers.
In the blink of an eye they will be headed to college.
You are going to miss these days someday.
Enjoy it, sweetie. It all goes so fast.
It's all true.
Because one day you are a new mom with a fresh faced, chubby cheeked cherub who is simultaneously filling your days with joy and utter exhaustion.
And then you blink and he's this wonderfully aggravating, mischievous, half angel/half devil, full-of-life boy whose passions run deep and energy lights up a room.
And in the next moment he's become the big guy in the room. The one the little ones look up to and gather round, hoping to catch his eye and gain his attention.
And while you look back and cannot possibly remember all of the days and moments it took to get to this place, you are grateful for every single one.
Because as hard as it is to let go, it would be a crime to hold him back.
Get ready to fly, my boy.
I'll get ready to let go.
The days are long, but the years are short.
I am not so far out of the early years of parenthood that I have forgotten the exhaustion that comes with parenting a child through infancy and toddlerhood. You will never hear me say to some haggard young mother with an infant screaming in the grocery cart,
Enjoy it, sweetie. It all goes so fast.
All of the mothers I have known have been acutely aware of the preciousness and brevity of childhood, but that still doesn't mean there is anything to "enjoy" about the desperation that comes with only snatches of sleep and toddler tantrums. I loved my little ones with the same all-consuming love that every mother feels and part of me hated to see them inching closer and closer to grade school and bonafide "childhood". But once you grow accustomed to a full night's sleep and increasingly independent children who don't hang on your pant leg while you try to cook dinner, you can't help but realize that the passing of time does have its advantages.
And, the reality is, you can't stop time anyway so you might as well try to embrace every age and stage along the way.
But then you come to the "letting go" stage, the really big kind of "letting go". Not the smaller steps toward letting go like the First Day of Kindergarten, or letting them ride their bike down the street, or their first sleepover- all of which are monumental in their own way, and in their own moment in time- but the big steps toward letting go are still yet to come.
Watching your child drive away...in a car...alone.
Accepting that it simply isn't possible anymore to know exactly where your child is at any given moment.
Knowing that your child is going to make mistakes and that the consequences of those mistakes can be potentially costly, life altering and even deadly.
Seeing all of the ways your child has been shaped, for better or for worse, by the home and life you've provided him and that your ability to influence his future is rapidly diminishing, as it should be.
Looking at the calendar and realizing that one year from now you will be preparing to pack your child's bags and sending him to live somewhere else. And yet, right now, having no idea where that will be.
And still, in spite of all of the fears and tears that come with letting go, hoping upon hope that a year from now he really will be leaving. Because that's what baby birds are supposed to do. They grow up, they learn to fly, and they leave the nest.
It's all true. All of it. All those cliches that you may or may not want to hear when you are in the throes of diapers and 2am feedings.
The days are long, but the years are short.
You think this is hard, wait until they are teenagers.
In the blink of an eye they will be headed to college.
You are going to miss these days someday.
Enjoy it, sweetie. It all goes so fast.
It's all true.
Because one day you are a new mom with a fresh faced, chubby cheeked cherub who is simultaneously filling your days with joy and utter exhaustion.
And then you blink and he's this wonderfully aggravating, mischievous, half angel/half devil, full-of-life boy whose passions run deep and energy lights up a room.
And in the next moment he's become the big guy in the room. The one the little ones look up to and gather round, hoping to catch his eye and gain his attention.
And while you look back and cannot possibly remember all of the days and moments it took to get to this place, you are grateful for every single one.
Because as hard as it is to let go, it would be a crime to hold him back.
Get ready to fly, my boy.
I'll get ready to let go.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Winner, Winner, Meat and Potatoes Dinner
I am pretty sure that I could serve my kids just about anything and I would get rave reviews so long as there were mashed potatoes and gravy on the side.
It doesn't hurt if I serve some form of meat, too. My kids are definitely not budding vegetarians.
While walking the pup this afternoon, I took that opportunity to mull over my dinner options. I'm a terrible meal planner which means that I rarely have more than 2 nights of dinner planned and purchased at a time. Today was one of those days when I had no plan, minimal groceries and a family full of people wanting to eat.
There was no way around it. I was going to have to shop and I was going to have to cook. I do not know why this catches me off guard every. single. day.
Fortunately, the cooking corner of my brain was actually functioning today (it is often in a mildly comatose state) and I concocted a meal plan fairly quickly. I remembered one of my favorite Rachel Ray recipes that comes together quickly and contains meat which therefore meant it had been well received in the past.
The recipe is for Pan Fried Pork Chops with a Spinach and Grape Salad. Quite a tasty combination and one of my favorite ways to prepare and eat spinach, particularly in the summertime. Also, very low carb if you are so inclined to be watching your carb intake.
My children are not so inclined to be watching their carb intake. In fact, like any good red blooded American, they are quite fond of their carbs, especially when accompanied by meat (in our house we eat very little red meat so pork qualifies as "meat" to my kids).
Knowing their fondness for a nice carb-y side dish to go along with their meat, I quickly realized that the easiest plan of action would be mashed potatoes and gravy. And yes, because I'm not crazy, I do mean the store bought variety of mashed potatoes. I'm not peeling and mashing a thousand potatoes on a random Wednesday night just to earn the goodwill of my children. They wouldn't notice the difference or appreciate it anyhow.
Anyway, as expected, the pork and mashed potatoes got lots of thumbs ups and requests for seconds, while the Spinach and Grape Salad was tolerated and I think a bite or two may have been taken, at least by the boys. Annie might have been masterfully moving it around her plate in a classic 7 year old game of mealtime smoke and mirrors.
I did take a bite! See? Can't you tell?
So, even though the bulk of my children's dinner was meat and potatoes, the gravy seemed to provide enough cover for at least a few bites of spinach to make it into their mouths. I say, Victory!
I'm considering testing my new theory on some other less obvious mashed potato and gravy meals. There is a delicious sounding, packed-with-vegetables pasta primavera recipe I'm itching to try. Maybe a little mashed potatoes and gravy would finish that off nicely? Or, my favorite homemade Pad Thai recipe that no one else seems to be as fond of as I am. Maybe Pad Thai with Mashed Potatoes and Gravy has a more appetizing ring to it?
This could be the secret to my success. A never-ending string of successful meals that are met with nothing but cries of Yum! and Thanks, Mom!
All thanks to our All American friends- Mashed Potatoes and Gravy.
It doesn't hurt if I serve some form of meat, too. My kids are definitely not budding vegetarians.
While walking the pup this afternoon, I took that opportunity to mull over my dinner options. I'm a terrible meal planner which means that I rarely have more than 2 nights of dinner planned and purchased at a time. Today was one of those days when I had no plan, minimal groceries and a family full of people wanting to eat.
There was no way around it. I was going to have to shop and I was going to have to cook. I do not know why this catches me off guard every. single. day.
Fortunately, the cooking corner of my brain was actually functioning today (it is often in a mildly comatose state) and I concocted a meal plan fairly quickly. I remembered one of my favorite Rachel Ray recipes that comes together quickly and contains meat which therefore meant it had been well received in the past.
The recipe is for Pan Fried Pork Chops with a Spinach and Grape Salad. Quite a tasty combination and one of my favorite ways to prepare and eat spinach, particularly in the summertime. Also, very low carb if you are so inclined to be watching your carb intake.
My children are not so inclined to be watching their carb intake. In fact, like any good red blooded American, they are quite fond of their carbs, especially when accompanied by meat (in our house we eat very little red meat so pork qualifies as "meat" to my kids).
Knowing their fondness for a nice carb-y side dish to go along with their meat, I quickly realized that the easiest plan of action would be mashed potatoes and gravy. And yes, because I'm not crazy, I do mean the store bought variety of mashed potatoes. I'm not peeling and mashing a thousand potatoes on a random Wednesday night just to earn the goodwill of my children. They wouldn't notice the difference or appreciate it anyhow.
Anyway, as expected, the pork and mashed potatoes got lots of thumbs ups and requests for seconds, while the Spinach and Grape Salad was tolerated and I think a bite or two may have been taken, at least by the boys. Annie might have been masterfully moving it around her plate in a classic 7 year old game of mealtime smoke and mirrors.
I did take a bite! See? Can't you tell?
So, even though the bulk of my children's dinner was meat and potatoes, the gravy seemed to provide enough cover for at least a few bites of spinach to make it into their mouths. I say, Victory!
I'm considering testing my new theory on some other less obvious mashed potato and gravy meals. There is a delicious sounding, packed-with-vegetables pasta primavera recipe I'm itching to try. Maybe a little mashed potatoes and gravy would finish that off nicely? Or, my favorite homemade Pad Thai recipe that no one else seems to be as fond of as I am. Maybe Pad Thai with Mashed Potatoes and Gravy has a more appetizing ring to it?
This could be the secret to my success. A never-ending string of successful meals that are met with nothing but cries of Yum! and Thanks, Mom!
All thanks to our All American friends- Mashed Potatoes and Gravy.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Texting Tuesday
As I've mentioned before, I'm actually a huge fan of texting.
I'm aware there are drawbacks and reasons to be concerned where teens and texting are concerned, but so far, in our household, texting has only improved our communication. No doubt that it is not improving certain members of the family's spelling or grammar, but it is a very efficient mode of communication.
Recently, I had an older parent lamenting to me about all these newfangled gadgets while screeching the usual obviously-I'm-over-50 rant, "What did we used to do before cell phones?!? I mean, we survived!'
Of course we did. And people survived without seatbelts and fluoride toothpaste too, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't embrace innovation and change- especially when it is to our benefit (or makes our lives remarkably safer). I know that there were many times as a teenager I could have really used a cell phone, and while clearly I survived those incidents that doesn't mean that I can't be grateful my own children won't be left quite so vulnerable should a similar situation arise.
I'm not going to go into all the cautionary tales of how dangerous texting can be for kids. Don't we all know that by now? We had our own very minor foray into inappropriate texting with one of our boys (I won't say who and I emphasize the word minor, don't let your imagination run away with you) and so we are well versed on the need to set up safeguards and boundaries and how to deliver a lecture about how these-things-will-stay-with-you-for-the-rest-of-your-life that is sure to make your child believe that hidden cameras lurk on every street corner. I get it.
But my experience has been that, at least with boys, or, at least with my boys, once we got them through those tricky pre-teen, experimental years, they lost interest in using their phones for anything other than completely utilitarian purposes. Are you going? Ya. What time? Where? K.
The other night I had reason to heart texting yet again.
Jack and I had been texting back and forth regarding his whereabouts and whether or not he was going to come home that evening or opt to spend the night at his best friend R's house. I was fine either way but I reminded him that if he was planning to come home he needed to remember his curfew and leave with enough time that he would be home on time. He assured me he would and said he would let me know if he decided to stay at R's house.
You know those really good moms who will tell you that they can't possibly fall asleep until their child has safely arrived at home? I thought I was one of those moms. I have now been kicked out of the Good Moms Who Wait Up For the Teenagers Club. I could have possibly managed to avoid such a stern penalty if my offense hadn't been documented in a string of text messages. See, texting really can get you into trouble.
Confident that Jack would let me know if he decided to stay at his friend's house, I took my phone with me as I got ready for bed. I placed it on the nightstand next to me but when I could see that Superdad was already falling asleep I decided it would be rude for me to leave the light on and read, so I turned it off and decided to just enjoy some quiet time, resting, while I waited to hear from Jack.
I'm sure you can see where this is going...
At about 12:20am I jerked awake, looked at the clock, and when I saw the time I felt that familiar mom-feeling where your heart starts beating faster and your stomach is instantly in knots. It's the I-don't-know-where-my-child-is feeling.
I grabbed my cell phone certain I would see a text from Jack (that I had somehow missed while I was "resting"). No text.
At this point my feet hit the floor and I started texting in the dark of night, praying for a speedy response from my son.
Me: Hey there. I didn't hear from you. Did you stay at R's?
Then, the longest 30 seconds of my life went slooooowly by (cue Jeopardy music)...
Jack: What? I'm at home. I said goodnight to you.
Me: You're home? In your room?
Jack: Yep. Would you like to stroll down the hallway and see for yourself?
Me: And did I say goodnight back to you?
Jack: Yes mother. Good night. Again.
At which point I fully emerged from my sleepy stupor, realized the hilarity of texting my son while he was 10 steps down the hallway, in his own bedroom, after midnight- and started laughing hysterically.
A half-asleep Superdad mumbled, What are you doing??
I asked him, Did you know Jack was home?
He murmured into his pillow, Of course I did. What kind of parent do you think I am? He came in and said goodnight.
Which only made me laugh harder.
But I still love texting.
I'm aware there are drawbacks and reasons to be concerned where teens and texting are concerned, but so far, in our household, texting has only improved our communication. No doubt that it is not improving certain members of the family's spelling or grammar, but it is a very efficient mode of communication.
Recently, I had an older parent lamenting to me about all these newfangled gadgets while screeching the usual obviously-I'm-over-50 rant, "What did we used to do before cell phones?!? I mean, we survived!'
Of course we did. And people survived without seatbelts and fluoride toothpaste too, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't embrace innovation and change- especially when it is to our benefit (or makes our lives remarkably safer). I know that there were many times as a teenager I could have really used a cell phone, and while clearly I survived those incidents that doesn't mean that I can't be grateful my own children won't be left quite so vulnerable should a similar situation arise.
I'm not going to go into all the cautionary tales of how dangerous texting can be for kids. Don't we all know that by now? We had our own very minor foray into inappropriate texting with one of our boys (I won't say who and I emphasize the word minor, don't let your imagination run away with you) and so we are well versed on the need to set up safeguards and boundaries and how to deliver a lecture about how these-things-will-stay-with-you-for-the-rest-of-your-life that is sure to make your child believe that hidden cameras lurk on every street corner. I get it.
But my experience has been that, at least with boys, or, at least with my boys, once we got them through those tricky pre-teen, experimental years, they lost interest in using their phones for anything other than completely utilitarian purposes. Are you going? Ya. What time? Where? K.
The other night I had reason to heart texting yet again.
Jack and I had been texting back and forth regarding his whereabouts and whether or not he was going to come home that evening or opt to spend the night at his best friend R's house. I was fine either way but I reminded him that if he was planning to come home he needed to remember his curfew and leave with enough time that he would be home on time. He assured me he would and said he would let me know if he decided to stay at R's house.
You know those really good moms who will tell you that they can't possibly fall asleep until their child has safely arrived at home? I thought I was one of those moms. I have now been kicked out of the Good Moms Who Wait Up For the Teenagers Club. I could have possibly managed to avoid such a stern penalty if my offense hadn't been documented in a string of text messages. See, texting really can get you into trouble.
Confident that Jack would let me know if he decided to stay at his friend's house, I took my phone with me as I got ready for bed. I placed it on the nightstand next to me but when I could see that Superdad was already falling asleep I decided it would be rude for me to leave the light on and read, so I turned it off and decided to just enjoy some quiet time, resting, while I waited to hear from Jack.
I'm sure you can see where this is going...
At about 12:20am I jerked awake, looked at the clock, and when I saw the time I felt that familiar mom-feeling where your heart starts beating faster and your stomach is instantly in knots. It's the I-don't-know-where-my-child-is feeling.
I grabbed my cell phone certain I would see a text from Jack (that I had somehow missed while I was "resting"). No text.
At this point my feet hit the floor and I started texting in the dark of night, praying for a speedy response from my son.
Me: Hey there. I didn't hear from you. Did you stay at R's?
Then, the longest 30 seconds of my life went slooooowly by (cue Jeopardy music)...
Jack: What? I'm at home. I said goodnight to you.
Me: You're home? In your room?
Jack: Yep. Would you like to stroll down the hallway and see for yourself?
Me: And did I say goodnight back to you?
Jack: Yes mother. Good night. Again.
At which point I fully emerged from my sleepy stupor, realized the hilarity of texting my son while he was 10 steps down the hallway, in his own bedroom, after midnight- and started laughing hysterically.
A half-asleep Superdad mumbled, What are you doing??
I asked him, Did you know Jack was home?
He murmured into his pillow, Of course I did. What kind of parent do you think I am? He came in and said goodnight.
Which only made me laugh harder.
But I still love texting.
Friday, July 27, 2012
What we have here is a failure to communicate
Truth be told, our 17 year old son is living the Life of Riley this summer.
At least, that's what Superdad would say. I, myself, have never understood this little expression that my husband likes to employ anytime he thinks someone is living it up, or has it easy. Given that he is 8 years my senior I can only assume that the "Life of Riley" is a clever reference to some cinematic gem from the olden days, or perhaps a radio program he and his family gathered round to listen to on Sunday nights. I can't be expected to understand everything that hearkens from prior generations. I wasn't a history major, you know.
Anyway, all I know is if this Riley fellow was 17, had a car he was allowed to drive, was provided 3 square meals a day and a bit of spending money, and had a midnight curfew- he was livin' large. Because Jack sure is.
If it's true that "all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," then our Jack must be positively fascinating! Given the numerous social engagements he is invited to partake in, I guess there are others who would agree that apparently "mostly play and minimal work makes Jack an incredibly fun guy to have around." Put that on a bumper sticker.
Just yesterday, my charming boy (and I say that with all sincerity, he really is a charming boy) came to me and inquired politely,
So, my friend C's parents invited me to go to their lake cabin again with them (he already spent one night there earlier this week). I know I still need to wash the other car and vacuum out yours, but if I promise to do that when I get back, could I go?
Putting on my best gee-I-don't-know-I'm-going-to-have-to-think-about-this face, I placed an inquiry of my own and asked about the state of his room.
He assured me,
Okay, yeah. I'll clean my room first. It's really not that bad, mostly just clean laundry I need to put away. So, if I do that and I promise to finish the cars when I get back, can I go?
With a heavy sigh, in order to convey just how much I felt I was conceding in allowing him this privilege, I offered my reluctant okay.
Here's the thing, I was perfectly fine with him going to his friend's cabin for a night or two. I trust the parents and I'd rather know he was out having harmless fun tubing and wake boarding then making the rounds and driving home late at night. But a parent must keep hold of what power they have and teaching your child at an early age that they don't get "something for nothing" is an important lesson. Without using these exact words (because it would be crass) you want your kids to come to you with any request ever mindful of the fact that you are looking for the proverbial what's in it for me token gesture. The offer to clean his room and the acknowledgment that he still had a job to complete when he returned was enough for me.
Jack disappeared upstairs for a reasonable amount of time and then reappeared to say his good byes. After a short discussion in which I reminded him of my expectations that he let me know when they arrived at the cabin, that he keep in touch via text or phone, and that he didn't sully the family name with his behavior or boyish antics, I set him free.
It wasn't until much later that evening that it occurred to me that I might enjoy seeing this freshly cleaned room of my eldest son.
Yes, I might have enjoyed seeing the freshly cleaned room of my eldest son. In fact, I'm certain I would have enjoyed it immensely. But there was little to enjoy when I poked my head in the door of his room. I could only laugh.
Now, you have to understand that my boy is not a deceptive young man. I have no doubt that he really truly believed he had cleaned his room. He would never try to pull the wool over my eyes with something like this; something that could be so quickly and easily disproved by my taking a few steps down the hallway from my own bedroom door. Believe me, he knows enough to save his poker face for something a bit more critical than this.
So, yeah, he thought he cleaned his room.
I'll give him this- the floor was clear. I'm realizing now that a clear floor, available for vacuuming, must be his operating definition of a "clean room." Alrighty then. We will start there. When he gets home I'll be sure to add some sub-definitions for him.
Things like:
-no empty chip bags and soda bottles on your desk, windowsills, or dresser....or anywhere.
- a made bed
- no piles of clothes on the extra bed in your room- just because you don't sleep on it, doesn't mean it is an extension of your closet.
- if there is a suitcase in your room still needing to be unpacked from a prior vacation, well, ummm... unpack it.
I think we will just start with those.
Rome wasn't built in a day...right?
At least, that's what Superdad would say. I, myself, have never understood this little expression that my husband likes to employ anytime he thinks someone is living it up, or has it easy. Given that he is 8 years my senior I can only assume that the "Life of Riley" is a clever reference to some cinematic gem from the olden days, or perhaps a radio program he and his family gathered round to listen to on Sunday nights. I can't be expected to understand everything that hearkens from prior generations. I wasn't a history major, you know.
Anyway, all I know is if this Riley fellow was 17, had a car he was allowed to drive, was provided 3 square meals a day and a bit of spending money, and had a midnight curfew- he was livin' large. Because Jack sure is.
If it's true that "all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," then our Jack must be positively fascinating! Given the numerous social engagements he is invited to partake in, I guess there are others who would agree that apparently "mostly play and minimal work makes Jack an incredibly fun guy to have around." Put that on a bumper sticker.
Just yesterday, my charming boy (and I say that with all sincerity, he really is a charming boy) came to me and inquired politely,
So, my friend C's parents invited me to go to their lake cabin again with them (he already spent one night there earlier this week). I know I still need to wash the other car and vacuum out yours, but if I promise to do that when I get back, could I go?
Putting on my best gee-I-don't-know-I'm-going-to-have-to-think-about-this face, I placed an inquiry of my own and asked about the state of his room.
He assured me,
Okay, yeah. I'll clean my room first. It's really not that bad, mostly just clean laundry I need to put away. So, if I do that and I promise to finish the cars when I get back, can I go?
With a heavy sigh, in order to convey just how much I felt I was conceding in allowing him this privilege, I offered my reluctant okay.
Here's the thing, I was perfectly fine with him going to his friend's cabin for a night or two. I trust the parents and I'd rather know he was out having harmless fun tubing and wake boarding then making the rounds and driving home late at night. But a parent must keep hold of what power they have and teaching your child at an early age that they don't get "something for nothing" is an important lesson. Without using these exact words (because it would be crass) you want your kids to come to you with any request ever mindful of the fact that you are looking for the proverbial what's in it for me token gesture. The offer to clean his room and the acknowledgment that he still had a job to complete when he returned was enough for me.
Jack disappeared upstairs for a reasonable amount of time and then reappeared to say his good byes. After a short discussion in which I reminded him of my expectations that he let me know when they arrived at the cabin, that he keep in touch via text or phone, and that he didn't sully the family name with his behavior or boyish antics, I set him free.
It wasn't until much later that evening that it occurred to me that I might enjoy seeing this freshly cleaned room of my eldest son.
Yes, I might have enjoyed seeing the freshly cleaned room of my eldest son. In fact, I'm certain I would have enjoyed it immensely. But there was little to enjoy when I poked my head in the door of his room. I could only laugh.
Now, you have to understand that my boy is not a deceptive young man. I have no doubt that he really truly believed he had cleaned his room. He would never try to pull the wool over my eyes with something like this; something that could be so quickly and easily disproved by my taking a few steps down the hallway from my own bedroom door. Believe me, he knows enough to save his poker face for something a bit more critical than this.
So, yeah, he thought he cleaned his room.
I'll give him this- the floor was clear. I'm realizing now that a clear floor, available for vacuuming, must be his operating definition of a "clean room." Alrighty then. We will start there. When he gets home I'll be sure to add some sub-definitions for him.
Things like:
-no empty chip bags and soda bottles on your desk, windowsills, or dresser....or anywhere.
- a made bed
- no piles of clothes on the extra bed in your room- just because you don't sleep on it, doesn't mean it is an extension of your closet.
- if there is a suitcase in your room still needing to be unpacked from a prior vacation, well, ummm... unpack it.
I think we will just start with those.
Rome wasn't built in a day...right?
Thursday, July 26, 2012
I'm in love
I'm in love. With a book.
It's not the first time I've been in love with a book and it's not likely to be the last given my book obsession, but for now this book can rest easy that for at least the next several weeks it has my undying devotion.
For those of you who have been following along, (you should know that I enjoy writing as though people are actually reading, even though in truth it matters little to me whether they are or not... make sense?) anywhooooo (have you- my hypothetical reader- also noticed my inordinate attachment to paranthetical phrases and parentheses in general? No? Well, hold on to your Strunk & White's Elements of Style because there are more coming up).
Again, anywhoooo....for those of you who have been following along, you will remember that this little blog adventure all started with a book. Not this book, a different book, but a book nonetheless. Books are frequently the source of my best and worst ideas. Anyway, today's post isn't about that book, we will get to that book, it is about a book I found as the result of the first book, the book we aren't talking about today. Are you with me?
The object of my affection is this book. And given the fact that I've been pretty candid about the fact that the Family Dinner is my Achilles heel of homemaking, you might find it to be a case of opposites attract. You'd be right.
But this is no ordinary God-Save-The-Family-Dinner manuscript. There is no shaming, no guilt-inducing lectures, no "how easy was that?" Barefoot Contessa table settings, and no recipes requiring ingredients that can only be ordered on the Internet. And did I mention the writing is superb?
There is all of that and so much more, but really this Patron Saint of Family Meals, Jenny Rosenstrach, had me at the Introduction which she titled "Notes from Jenny" and is essentially a bullet-pointed disclaimer as to what you will not find in her book. Each one of them is excellent, draws you in, makes you smile, and gives you faith that this is a person you want to hear more from, but in truth, it only took the very first "Note" to have me clicking the "BUY" button on Amazon.
You will not find dire warnings that your children are going to become meth addicts if you're not eating with them five nights a week.
It was then that I felt the crushing weight of guilt I had laid on my own shoulders begin to lift. Then my next move (as my new, lighter self) was to launch the Jenny Rosenstrach Fan Club, declare myself her #1 Fan and have T-shirts made up. It might have been overkill but love knows no boundaries.
Having now worked my way through over half of this brilliant book, I am still every bit as enthralled. I am charmed by her anecdotes, inspired by her recipes and feeling ever so much less guilty for the periods of time when my efforts at sustaining the Family Meal have been less than stellar. I honestly didn't think it was possible for a book written to promote the Family Dinner to do anything but instill a high level of shame and guilt for anything less than consistent, nightly, homecooked, organic, farm-raised, grown in your own vegetable garden while your daughter provides background music on the piano she taught herself to play because she was never allowed to watch television, family meals. But this book doesn't.
I leave you with these words from Jenny herself, given to you by way of her #1 Fan:
Love,
Your #1 Fan
It's not the first time I've been in love with a book and it's not likely to be the last given my book obsession, but for now this book can rest easy that for at least the next several weeks it has my undying devotion.
For those of you who have been following along, (you should know that I enjoy writing as though people are actually reading, even though in truth it matters little to me whether they are or not... make sense?) anywhooooo (have you- my hypothetical reader- also noticed my inordinate attachment to paranthetical phrases and parentheses in general? No? Well, hold on to your Strunk & White's Elements of Style because there are more coming up).
Again, anywhoooo....for those of you who have been following along, you will remember that this little blog adventure all started with a book. Not this book, a different book, but a book nonetheless. Books are frequently the source of my best and worst ideas. Anyway, today's post isn't about that book, we will get to that book, it is about a book I found as the result of the first book, the book we aren't talking about today. Are you with me?
The object of my affection is this book. And given the fact that I've been pretty candid about the fact that the Family Dinner is my Achilles heel of homemaking, you might find it to be a case of opposites attract. You'd be right.
But this is no ordinary God-Save-The-Family-Dinner manuscript. There is no shaming, no guilt-inducing lectures, no "how easy was that?" Barefoot Contessa table settings, and no recipes requiring ingredients that can only be ordered on the Internet. And did I mention the writing is superb?
There is all of that and so much more, but really this Patron Saint of Family Meals, Jenny Rosenstrach, had me at the Introduction which she titled "Notes from Jenny" and is essentially a bullet-pointed disclaimer as to what you will not find in her book. Each one of them is excellent, draws you in, makes you smile, and gives you faith that this is a person you want to hear more from, but in truth, it only took the very first "Note" to have me clicking the "BUY" button on Amazon.
You will not find dire warnings that your children are going to become meth addicts if you're not eating with them five nights a week.
It was then that I felt the crushing weight of guilt I had laid on my own shoulders begin to lift. Then my next move (as my new, lighter self) was to launch the Jenny Rosenstrach Fan Club, declare myself her #1 Fan and have T-shirts made up. It might have been overkill but love knows no boundaries.
Having now worked my way through over half of this brilliant book, I am still every bit as enthralled. I am charmed by her anecdotes, inspired by her recipes and feeling ever so much less guilty for the periods of time when my efforts at sustaining the Family Meal have been less than stellar. I honestly didn't think it was possible for a book written to promote the Family Dinner to do anything but instill a high level of shame and guilt for anything less than consistent, nightly, homecooked, organic, farm-raised, grown in your own vegetable garden while your daughter provides background music on the piano she taught herself to play because she was never allowed to watch television, family meals. But this book doesn't.
I leave you with these words from Jenny herself, given to you by way of her #1 Fan:
All I hope for with DALS [Dinner: A Love Story], really, is to provide recipes and strategies that inspire you to keep fighting the fight. I know how many reasons there are to fly the flag of surrender. Believe me, I know! Your kids refuse to eat anything, your fridge is full but your brain is blank, you don’t know how to cook, you have no desire to cook, you have a big project due tomorrow, you have no help with the cooking or the planning, you can’t even get everyone seated at the table at the same time, let alone eating the same meal. These are all legit, of course, but if you’re here reading this, it probably means that somewhere in the back of your mind you feel a little bad about your dinner situation. I’m not saying you should feel bad about it. (On DALS, you will never read those studies saying that kids who don’t eat family dinner will, you know, be gobbling handfuls of ecstasy by sixth grade.) What I’m saying is that there are things you can do — really easy things — that will make you feel a lot less bad about yourself when it comes to feeding your kids. You have my word: I will not be asking you to cook from scratch every single night — or even every other night. The only thing I will ask you to do is to stay in the game.You got it, Jenny. I'm staying in the game.
Love,
Your #1 Fan
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