15 Jul

Separation Anxiety

Posted by I suck as a parent in Uncategorized. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , .

Three days ago my oldest son landed in Costa Rica. I thought that it would be the first time—ever—that he and I would go more than a day without communicating. Everyone told me that cell service was basically non-existent in the cloud forest. There was also no WiFi in the rooms where he was staying so if he needed to communicate with me he would have to email me from the student area.

He does not send email.

He considers anything longer than a six-word text essentially writing a novel, so, I had prepared myself for limited communication.

And then I got this email:

“I’m not in the same room as [the kids I’m traveling with] but that’s ok, I’ve made other friends…There’s no WiFi in the rooms so this is the last email that I am going to send. Love you! Bye”

It was like a knife through my heart. That’s it? I won’t get anything for the rest of the trip? He’s never been away from me for two weeks and certainly we’ve never gone two weeks without speaking. And now, nothing? I forwarded the email to my friend and wrote: “I’ve lost my baby…” (Very dramatic, I know).

I’d gone through this with my 12-year-old when he went away to summer camp but at least at his summer camp the counselors made him write home – even when he didn’t want to. And, they posted pictures of the campers so I could see if he was smiling and, most importantly, he was in this country.

My 16-year-old was in a jungle in Central America without me.

I was a bit shocked by his ability to separate from me so easily. This is the kid who checks in with me all of the time, the kid who has never wanted to be away from home for an extended period of time, and, yet now, he’s gone. Just like that.

I wallowed in my sadness for a bit but then I realized that this was what I expected and, most importantly, what I wanted.

I settled in with my book for the night when I heard a call coming in on Skype.

Really? I had just accepted the fact that I wasn’t going to hear from him and now he’s Skyping?

I almost emailed my friend to say: “Never mind. He’s back.”

He wanted to tell us about the giant tarantula in the common area and the scorpions scurrying around the rooms. You’re in a jungle, I wanted to remind him. Instead I said, “That’s so cool! Now go to bed.”

An hour later…

The phone rings.

WTF! (It’s amazing what a difference an hour makes.)

This time he wanted to tell us that he had switched rooms because there was a scorpion the size of a baseball cap in the other room.

Creepy? Without a doubt. But still, not an emergency.

I tried to remain pleasant—he was nervous about sleeping in a bed of scorpions—I get it, but I ended the conversation with this reminder: “You really shouldn’t be calling me. It’s very expensive. If it’s an emergency call me, but if not, send us an email. You’ll be fine.”

Nine hours later:

“Hi mom! I got some sleep.”

Remember when I wanted him to call? Well, now I didn’t.

I want him to be independent. He’s going to college in two years and I really don’t want him to have to call me every day. I want him to NOT want to call me – even if I want him to call me. Get it?

When he hung up he was mad at me for reprimanding him about calling. I chose the tough love approach. If I don’t shove him away, will he ever be ready to leave?

Twelve hours later…

Nothing.

I checked email, made sure I was still logged in on Skype and checked my texts.

Nothing.

Remember when I said that I didn’t want to hear from him? Well, I was wrong.

He can’t even send a text? I know that I told him not to call but he never listens to me; why would he start now?

I know I sound crazy but I’m struggling with my need to let go and my desire to hold on for dear life. I know that my job is to teach my kids to be on their own. I do not want them living in my basement when they are thirty but the alternative could be that they are living somewhere else and I never see them.

How do you navigate that fine line? How do you get your kids to want you around but not so much that they can’t function without you?

An hour later…

I hear the beep of Skype.

Damn, I really thought he wasn’t going to call.

Ah well, here we go again…

 

 

 

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30 Jun

What Were They Thinking?

Posted by I suck as a parent in boys, children, kids, parenting, Uncategorized. Tagged: , , , , , , , , .

As my youngest son and I were driving to the doctor’s office in our local hospital we began reminiscing about the time that I was racing to catch up to the ambulance carrying him to the same hospital after he hit his forehead at a local swimming pool (see #1 below). This got me thinking about some of the other, perhaps not as urgent, moments in my two boys’ young lives that resulted in injuries. I laughed a little as I looked back at these moments because these particular injuries were really just so ridiculous. I can’t imagine any girls being injured in the same ways (Maybe I’m wrong. Please tell me if I am).

Of course, I blamed myself for every one of these injuries (“If only I had been there when he decided to sled down an icy stairway!” “If only I had taught them that metal chairs hurt when you land on them from a high vertical jump!”) But, I realized after reviewing this list, that all of the lessons that they’ve learned and all the nagging that I’ve done wouldn’t have prevented any of these injuries because boys do mind-boggling things. I was simply “letting” my boys be boys.

So, here is my top ten list of stupid things that my kids have done and the resultant injury. And, just so you know, I was only present for two of them—#2 and #3—and I couldn’t have stopped either one of them if I tried:

#1 – Running into a pole in the middle of the kiddie pool. (result: 5 stitches. Also, the club has now banned anyone over the age of 5 from the kiddie pool);

#2 – Running in the house while looking behind him and turning just in time to meet the corner of the door jamb (broken nose);

#3 – Jumping up for no apparent reason and landing chin first on the back of a metal kitchen chair (3 stitches);

#4 – Sledding down the neighbor’s ice-covered front stairs. The sled continued on but his head stayed behind and hit the concrete stairs (CT scan, no concussion);

#5 – Playing soccer in the street—barefoot—and kicking at a ball that was right along the curb (broken toe, lost toe nail);

#6 – Playing soccer in the 3 1/2 foot wide upstairs hallway—barefoot—and kicking at the door jamb instead of the ball (broken toe);

#7 – Getting shot point-blank in the ear with a high-powered water gun during a water gun fight (punctured eardrum);

#8 – Lying across the top of a large ride-on truck and pushing himself straight into the dog’s elevated metal water bowl (broken nose);

#9 – Getting shot in the neck while playing paint ball without a neck guard  (a lot of bleeding and a big scar, physically and probably emotionally as well);

And, my personal favorite:

#10 – Shooting himself in the leg with an air-soft gun to prove that air-soft guns don’t hurt (they really do and, they leave a mark).

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14 Jun

Why Do Parents Have to Be the Grown-Ups?

Posted by I suck as a parent in boys, children, family, kids, parenting, Uncategorized. Tagged: , , , , , , .

Last weekend a very good friend of my older son’s showed up at my younger son’s championship baseball game – and rooted for the other team!!

Ridiculous, right? Who’s with me?

Granted he knew a kid on the other team but, still, why pick sides?

I know it sounds petty but WTF, this kid is in my house all the time and has been since he was 3 – that’s 13 years of dinners, snacks, sleepovers, movies, museums, you name it.

I didn’t let the behavior go unacknowledged – I just couldn’t. When he said, “Go Knights! (the name of the opposing team), I responded: “No more food for you in my house.” And I really meant it.

My husband thinks I’m ridiculous. I think I’m totally justified.

I want to question this kid about his behavior, let him know that I do not approve, and, more importantly, make him feel like crap about his decision. Apparently, that is not good adult behavior and I’m supposed to act like an adult.

But I don’t wanna! (If you were here you would have seen me stomp my foot).

Over the years, I’ve learned to bite my tongue when it comes to watching my kids’ friends behave badly. It tends to have a negative impact on my kid’s friendships. I once told my son that one of his friends was never allowed back in our house because he was being mean to my son in front of me and I thought that was disrespectful. Needless to say the kid never came back and my son didn’t stay friends with him. Apparently the kid is not a bully anymore but he’s still afraid of me.

I also scared another friend away when I accused him of stealing– which, let’s be clear – he did. But still, he was 6 at the time so maybe it wasn’t the best use of my energy.

I didn’t actually see him take the money but I cross-examined him and watched with relish as he tripped over his lies.

I was getting change from my purse for my son’s friend for the lemonade stand that he and my son were setting up in our front yard. I took out a five-dollar bill, put it on the counter and turned away for a minute (literally a minute and I mean literally, in the literal sense). When I turned back the money was gone and the kid was slowly walking away from the counter. Just then my son came back in the house and I turned to both boys, “Did you take the money off the counter?” I asked, not in an accusing manner more in a ‘Huh. Now where did I put that?’ kinda way.

“What money?” my son asked.

“The money that I just put on the counter?” I said, looking directly at my son’s friend. I pointed to the now barren counter. “It was right there.” I said.

“There wasn’t a five dollar bill on the counter,” the friend said.

Aha! I had him. I knew that I never said “five-dollars”; I just said “money.” But even with his slip up, he still wasn’t coughing up the dough. Short of frisking the kid and calling the cops there wasn’t much more that I could do.

A little while later the friend came back in the house without my son. “Look what I found outside,” he said, holding up a five-dollar bill.

“Really?” I asked innocently. “You just found that?” What I really wanted to scream was, “Seriously? Do I look like an idiot?” Instead, I waited.

“Yea,” he said. “I found it on the side of the house.” He went on to explain how someone must have dropped it when they were buying lemonade and it probably blew over to the side of the house.

I was really appalled at the extent of the lie. But I was on to him and I was moving in for the kill.

I asked him what side of the house he found it on and he pointed to the west side of the house.

“Was it wet?” I asked him.

He looked at me with an expression that seemed both puzzled and just a little bit frightened.

“Was the money wet?” I asked again.

“No,” he said, clearly confused.

“Interesting,” I said. “Because the sprinkler is on, on that side of the house.” I pointed (I’m sure, very dramatically) to the window where the water was spraying against the windows at regular intervals as the sprinkler moved back and forth in the yard.

It was a solid cross-examination. I didn’t go to law school for nothin’, you know.

He never actually confessed but he didn’t hang out here very much after that. Either he knew that I had his number or he thought I was crazy (probably both). Was it worth it? I don’t know. Would I want my kid to hang out with someone who swipes cash from my house? Probably not, but maybe it was just a phase the kid was going through. I’ll never know.

As for the baseball incident, my older son called his friend a traitor and they laughed about it. Very mature behavior.

I, on the other hand, am going to withhold all of the good snacks from that kid from now on. So there!

6 Jun

A Few Words of Wisdom (or Bugs, Volcanoes and Fiery Car Crashes…What? Me Worry?)

Posted by I suck as a parent in boys, family, kids, parenting, Summer travel, Uncategorized. Tagged: , , , , .

This is my first guest blog. Well, technically it’s not a blog; it’s an email that a friend of mine sent to me and another friend of ours. Our older boys are going to Costa Rica this summer for a couple of weeks. They will be traveling with a very well-respected program and yet, we parents (ok, some of us parents) tend to lean toward catastrophic thinking when it comes to our kids. After we signed up for this trip two things happened: first, the lead story on Yahoo News last week was about the prevalence in Costa Rica of Chagas, a bug whose bite leads to symptoms that mimic the early stages of AIDS and HIV, and, of course, has no cure; and, second, I read that the Turrialba volcano is set to erupt at any moment in Costa Rica which could have significant impact on travel conditions—either the boys will never get in the country or, more disconcerting, the boys won’t get out of the country and they will be living with bugs that cause an incurable infection. Add to this that all three of our boys just started driving and you have a pretty incredible stew of crazy on your hands.

My friend’s email came in response to the latest email frenzy regarding volcanoes and icky bugs and several teenagers recently killed in fiery car crashes. Her email was a wonderful reminder of what our role as parents really is and how little we can control everything:

‘I just learned that a sorority sister of mine (my age, with a 21-year-old son), lost her son in a car accident recently.  He was driving onto the highway in Burr Ridge [Illinois] late at night (a Friday night), and got hit by a truck.  Incredibly sad.

I still believe my kids have a higher probability of being hit by the Domino’s delivery car that comes tearing down our street every Friday/Saturday night as the kids continuously cross the street to play “Ghost in the Graveyard,” but I would never tell them to stop playing this game. I keep telling them to be careful and watchful.

The more experiences we give our kids, the better prepared they will be for life. If we lock them away in our warm, safe homes, they’ll stay children forever.  I tell myself this constantly.  When I was pregnant with my oldest and reading all sorts of parenting books, I came across a book that I’ll always remember.  Its thesis was that from the moment you give birth, your purpose and responsibility as a parent is to prepare your child to leave you.  As cold and hard as that sounded to me, it resonated with me because it made so much sense.

As for the bugs and parasites in Costa Rica, I reminded my son that he’s been through something similar and survived.  When he was 3, we took him to Jamaica and he came back with Subcutanious Larva Migron on his bottom and on the bottoms of his feet.  He was famous at Children’s Memorial Hospital for a while as they showed his butt and feet to all the doctors and interns who were not familiar with these microscopic worms that live and burrow just under the skin and are common in lesser-developed countries. Apparently, the cats there have these worms in their poop. My son and I played in the sand on the beach. There was a two-inch stream of water coming from the land next to the hotel and it cut through the sand and into the ocean. Stray cats must have pooped in the sand next to this stream of water. My son and I put our feet in this seemingly clean water and sat in the damp sand near it. When we got home, his butt looked like it had little red veins running through it…

…Hopefully, [the boys] will use good judgment and common sense, and watch out for each other…and have an incredible time, and have many wonderful stories to tell us when they get back.  I can’t wait to hear the stories…’

14 May

Ode to a Grecian Mother

Posted by I suck as a parent in Uncategorized.

French moms do it better.

At least that’s what the book publishers would have us believe. In our society’s quest for parenting perfection we have turned to the latest crop of experts, this time from way, way across the pond.

First there was Bringing up Bebe by Pamela Drukerman, which told me that my kids were so American because they interrupt me when I’m on the phone and they make a mess at dinner. More recently, I was told by Elisabeth Badinter in The Conflict, that along with free diapers and swaddling blankets I was handed a prison sentence as I left the hospital with my infant sons. Not to mention Karen Le Billon’s French Kids Eat Everything and Mireille Guiliano’s French Women Don’t Get Fat (which has nothing to do with parenting but it’s annoying nonetheless).

Let me be clear, I have nothing against the French. I love Paris and croissants and pommes frites and don’t even get me started about French wine, but parenting? I’m not so sure. If we are picking mothers to emulate why not pick Greek mothers*.

While French mothers pride themselves on having children who play quietly, do not disturb their parents and don’t snack, Greek mothers pride themselves on loud families, keeping tabs on their children and overfeeding everyone.

What’s so bad about that?

As a child it was perfectly normal for my Greek mother and Greek father to be yelling—at each other, at us, at the television. It was equally normal for them to start laughing immediately following a screaming match.  This yelling didn’t send us running to our rooms to hide in the closet; we knew that our parents were just disagreeing VERY, VERY LOUDLY. Eventually everyone in the family would join in at the same decibel level—you had to or you would never be heard.

This behavior was a shock to my friends who grew up in quiet families. They would look at me expectantly at the first rise in volume. ‘Should I flee?’ they seemed to ask. But eventually they came to appreciate the drama that runs through all Greek families.

See, Greeks are passionate people. They are dramatic and excitable and full of life. They don’t do things quietly or subtly. (Hell, when they have financial trouble they don’t keep it to themselves; they take down the currency of an entire continent—no small feat). That passion naturally extends to family.

Family is everything. Not wanting your kids around is unthinkable—usually because Greek mothers want to know what their children are doing at all times. In Bringing Up Bebe, Druckerman explains how French parents believe in remaining aloof while their children are playing (lest the child notice and try to demand the mother’s attention). Greek mothers want their children to notice them so the kids won’t think that they can get away with anything.

There’s also no escaping a Greek parent when children are expected to work in the family business and attend all family functions. There is no such thing as a wedding or baptism without dozens of children running around and eventually melting down when it is way past their bedtimes, clinging to their mothers who are probably longing for a book on French parenting.

And don’t even get me started about the food. Snacking is an Olympic sport for Greek mothers. There is always food, lots of food. This was great in high school when my friends would come over and my mother would throw on a few steaks—yes, steaks. My parents owned a restaurant (I know. A Greek with a restaurant? What a surprise!) so our fridge was always stocked with steaks, chicken, and really big containers of ice cream. I didn’t know it at the time, but having the house with all of the food meant that ours was the house where people wanted to hang out.  And that was my mother’s plan.

I’ve adopted this practice because I’ve found that boys like to eat—a lot. And while they are sitting around my kitchen eating, they are talking. They even seem to forget that I’m sitting in the same room as they discuss all sorts of topics that I would never hear about if they weren’t in my kitchen. This would never happen if I sent them off alone and never fed them snacks.

Does this mean that Greek mothers win?

We may have been responsible for the birth of music, theater and democracy but I don’t know if we are responsible for passionate, helicopter parenting. My husband’s Jewish family is the same way, as are some of my friends’ Italian, Iraqi and Indian families.  All I know is some parts work and some don’t. Nobody has all of the answers – not Elisabeth Badinter, not Time magazine, not even me.

 

*Full disclosure: I am a Greek mother, my mother is a Greek mother, and a good chunk of my friends are Greek mothers as are all of my aunts and cousins. So maybe I’m a teeny bit biased. But, I’m also American so I think I may have a good perspective.

 

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3 May

The Secret Life of My Teenage Son

Posted by I suck as a parent in family, kids, parenting, Uncategorized.

My 16-year-old does not tell me everything. I know, shocking, right?

The problem is that until a few months ago he really did tell me everything. I knew what all of his friends were doing (and who they were doing it with), I knew stories about all of his teachers and I knew all of his grades.

My friends told me I was lucky; they also told me that it wouldn’t last.

I would smile and shake my head. ‘No,’ I would tell them, ‘he will always tell me everything.’ And I would secretly savor the knowledge that I had a teenager who wanted to talk to his mom. All the while, my friends were savoring the knowledge that I was delusional.

This became very apparent last week at my younger son’s soccer game.

I was sitting with a woman who mentioned that our older children – her daughter and my oldest son – finally met each other at school.

“Did he talk to her or just grunt in her direction?” I asked because, as far as I knew, my somewhat neurotic 16-year-old didn’t speak to a lot of females.

“They talked for a while,” she said. “Apparently it took them some time to figure out how they knew each other’s names but they eventually put it together.”

That should have been my first clue.

I mentioned this exchange to my son when I got home and that’s when he dropped the next bomb: “Yea, I met her,” he said. “She knows Claudia, who I sit with at lunch.”

Claudia? He sits with girls at lunch!? I was so stunned that I asked him if he said “Claudio”.

“Claudio?” he snapped. “No. Claudia,” he practically spat at me.

I know that he knows girls. There was a time, not too long ago, when he and I were leaving one of his baseball games and a very cute blonde girl came bounding up to us and hugged him. Hugged him! Right in front of me!

I was shocked! Not that a girl would want to hug my son, but that he knew a girl well enough that she would hug him in public – and, more importantly, that I didn’t know her.

How is it possible that just a couple of months ago he was still sharing every detail of his life with me and now…he’s having lunch with a girl who I still want to call Claudio.

When your kids are little you know their entire world. Most of the time their world is your world. Even if you work full-time you know who the kids at the preschool are and who their parents are (usually because of the seemingly endless number of parent cocktail receptions and coffees for preschool and grammar school parents.) When they hit middle school and junior high you still get snippets of information about their friends because they need to talk about their social lives ALL THE TIME: “Jeremy is my best friend;” “You wouldn’t believe what Annie did today. She is so funny;” “John is such a prick;” (just kidding, that language comes later).

Eventually though, they meet some new kid on a sport’s team or at camp or worse, they go to a high school with 4000 students and you can no longer keep track of who they associate with. Next thing you know they are having lunch with Claudio, er, Claudia.

My mother-in-law likes to joke that her middle son didn’t talk to her during his four years of high school. Even though there are times when I would prefer that neither one of my kids talk to me – four years does seem like a long time.

What to do…

Well, let me tell you what not to do.

First, do not ask any questions. Teenagers will not answer questions—not even about the color of the sky. If they do offer you a sliver of information, Do Not Make Eye Contact.  This will cause your teenager to sever all communication – possibly for four years.

I know these rules and yet, I couldn’t help myself.

That evening I was driving my son to his friend’s house and he was chattering away about nothing in particular. This is the perfect time, I reasoned, to throw in a question or two about his new “friend.” He was in a good mood and we were both facing forward (no eye contact, remember?).

Me: “So, who else sits with you at lunch?

Son: “You don’t know any of them.”

What?? There are more changes to his world that I don’t know about?!

Me (trying to contain my curiosity): “But I thought you sat with Tyler and Mark at lunch every day?”

We drew up to a stop sign and I looked straight at him. I just couldn’t help it.

Son: “What’s with all of the questions?” he demanded. “Why do you care?” And, with that, all communication ceased. Damn, I knew not to look him in the eyes.

Fast forward a few hours.

My son seemed to have forgotten about shutting me out after our earlier interrogation exchange and resumed communication with me. As much as I would have liked to pick up our conversation where we left off, I decide not to ask about lunch anymore.

He babbled on about computer games and homework assignments before heading up to bed.

“Oh,” he said as he climbed the stairs to his room. “Can you make sure that I’m up by 9:00? I’m going to breakfast with Mike and Marina tomorrow. Thanks!”

“Marina?” I call after him. Who’s Marina?

No answer.

Maybe he said Marino…

5 Apr

Omnipotence is a Bitch

Posted by I suck as a parent in Uncategorized. Tagged: , , , , , , .

I remember when my kids were little and they thought that I was all-powerful. I could make bumped heads feel better with a kiss, I knew the answers to almost every question they asked, and I always knew exactly what could make them laugh.

I was amazing back then.

But now, even though my kids are convinced that I know nothing and they know with the utmost certainty that I have no super powers, I am—seemingly—still responsible for everything…including the weather.

Yesterday morning my 16-year-old snapped at me because it was only going to be 63 degrees – in April! In Chicago! Instead of the unseasonably warm temperatures that we had been having of late it was going to be a normal April day. And that was somehow my fault.

“Mom,” my son yelled from the top of the stairs. “Is it warm today?”

“It’s supposed to be about 60 degrees,” I responded as I walked upstairs.

“What?!” he shrieked. “60 degrees. Why?” he asked, shooting me an accusing stare. “Why?”

I actually felt guilty for a second, as if I really did have something to do with the temperature.

This was on the heels of the “why do you make me go to school at 8:15?” accusation. At the time, part of me wondered if it was, indeed, within my control to set the start time for school.

I had to shake that one off as well.

I let him rant about the injustice of his 16-year-old, suburban life and chalked up his mood swing to a lack of sleep or a hormone imbalance or whatever teenage issue was pushing out any shred of logic or reason in his brain.

I said nothing because I knew that anything I said could and would be used against me on the 8-minute car ride to school.  Besides, I clearly needed more coffee to endure another onslaught.

But he was not done.

“It’s Wednesday,” he grunted just one minute into the car ride.

[pause]

I noticed him turning toward me and I could feel him glaring at me accusingly. Was he really going to blame me for it being Wednesday?

Really?

“Why do I have to go to school on Wednesdays?” he asked, his voice rising in disbelief.

I laughed. Out loud. Actually it was more of a guffaw.

But really, what else is there to do when your kid poses such a ridiculous question?

Even if I said, “You don’t need to go to school on Wednesdays anymore,” he would just respond with, “Well, if I don’t go on Wednesday then Thursday would become Wednesday so then Thursdays would suck.” And so on, and so on, and so on.

He didn’t see the humor in all of this but that didn’t matter. Parenting, for me, is all about perception; that is, how I perceive the situation. A good spin can make anything look better. And boy was I going to spin this one—it was either that or bang my head against the steering wheel.

We finally made it to the school without further incident (well, there was that moment when he got mad at the people walking their dogs on the sidewalk so slowly, but at least he didn’t blame me for that).

As he got out of the car he looked at me and shook his head (because I was still smirking, of course). “You are so moody,” he said. And with that, he was off.

Ah, if only I was all-powerful…

 

 

8 Mar

Driving me to Drink

Posted by I suck as a parent in children.

 

I am moving my family to Manhattan.

Not because I actually want to live there and not because my husband and I have jobs there – no, I’ve just decided that the streets and subways in New York City are probably safer forms of transportation than allowing my 16-year-old to drive.

Yes, my oldest turned 16 today. He is now officially eligible to drive—alone.

I have spent so much time worrying about all of the dangerous things that could happen to him as he was growing up (Choking hazards! Bullies! Stranger danger!), but nothing is more frightening than letting your child operate a 4000 pound-death machine.

I knew this day was coming – obviously, I know how old my kid is—but I ignored the rapidly approaching milestone even as I maintained a death grip on the door handle while he practiced his driving. And as I repeatedly stomped the imaginary brake on my side of the car and prayed that he was actually paying attention to the approaching back end of the car in front of us I would think, “At least I’m here to talk him through this.”

Did I really think he was going to take me everywhere with him after he got his license? Of course not, but a mom can dream, can’t she?

I remember how stupid I was at 16. I got pulled over by a cop within days of getting my license because I had 8 people piled onto the back end of a convertible. Apparently the police frown on that kind of thing. We thought it made perfect sense. We needed to get 10 people to a party and the only way we would all fit is if I put the top down and some people sat on the back end of the car. Genius!

The scary thing is, I was way more mature than my kid is at this age (all evidence to the contrary). But if that’s true, what does that mean for my son?

Hence, my new plan.

Moving to Manhattan is the most logical thing to do.

Perhaps you are thinking that I could just not give him the car keys. Well, yes, I’ve also thought of that. But here is the problem: other 16-year-olds will drive him instead!

How is that better?!

At least I know that my kid is a decent driver.

I remember looking around our neighborhood when my son was 6 or 7 and seeing all of these little kids who were the same age as him. There were so many of them! Do you know what I saw? Not cute little kids at the park, but future drivers who would run stop signs, drive too fast, drink too much and quite possibly kill me. And now, they will be driving my kid!

Thankfully, due to the Illinois state law that requires kids to have their permits for 9 months before they can get a license, my son (and I) are safe for another couple of weeks.

That gives me two weeks to find a place in Manhattan and uproot my family.

The good news is that we only have to live there for about 9 years or at least until his pre-frontal cortex fully develops.

Oh, wait!

Make that 13 years, I’ve got another one driving in 4 years…

28 Feb

Brotherly Love?

Posted by I suck as a parent in children, family, kids, parenting.

My kids don’t get along…and I don’t care anymore.

This may seem particularly harsh but I am really tired of policing their arguments and discussing all the ways that they will be better people if they can rely on each other when they are older.  Because, really, is that true?

I know plenty of people who don’t get along with their family members and they seem perfectly happy and well adjusted. If I stop telling my kids that they should get along maybe they won’t know any better when they are older and it will seem perfectly normal to dislike each other. They didn’t pick each other, after all; they were forced together.

It wasn’t always this way – until a month ago my youngest adored his older brother—to a fault. Oh, the abuse he took! I would watch in agony as my 15-year-old ignored his little brother, teased his little brother, drove his little brother to tears with his indifference. My youngest would be so sad but he seldom lashed out and he always went back for more.

But now we have obviously turned a corner.

I say this because I can hear my 11-year-old tell his older brother that he does not want to play Call of Duty with him. “I don’t want to play anything with you ever again,” I hear him say. He doesn’t scream it at him, he doesn’t sound agitated. He is eerily composed.

Usually a disagreement between these two is charged with emotion and ends in a whole lot of tears – all from my youngest who just wants his brother’s attention.

This, however, is different…and a little scary.

I’m curious but I don’t jump in until I hear the tail end of the next sentence. “…because you’re being a dick,” he says calmly.

Now I have to intervene because of the language but I’m also dying to know what’s going on. “Now honey,” I say. “Even if that’s true, I don’t want you using that word.”

“Fine,” my 11-year-old responds. “You’re being an ass,” he says with a smirk.

Nice.

Off to his room he goes.

This, of course, leaves the Xbox free for my 15-year-old, which I’m starting to think was part of his plan all along. This “plan” must suddenly have occurred to my youngest because he comes tearing down the stairs with a crazed look about him. He doesn’t look distraught; he looks vicious.

Again, this is different…and a little scary.

I intervene this time because my youngest is supposed to be in his room and, more importantly, I’m pretty sure that he is about to dive across the couch and begin pummeling his brother who is a foot taller than him and weighs 50 pounds more – not a good idea.

Once everyone retreats and the Xbox has been removed, I try to muster up the energy to have a discussion with my 15-year-old. But what am I going to say: “Be nice to your little brother. He will be there for you when you are older, blah, blah, blah.”?  I think about reminding him of the book of poems that his little brother wrote about him for Christmas (just 2 months ago!) but I don’t.

Instead, I say something like this: “If someone doesn’t want you around, you need to respect that person’s wishes and go away. If you don’t get along with your little brother when you leave this house and go off into the world, that’s fine; but you are going to get along with him as long as you both live in this house because I don’t want to deal with angry outbursts and possible bloodshed.”

I don’t tell him to apologize, I don’t try to guilt him into being nice, I just don’t care today.

30 minutes later

I hear laughter.

I head downstairs to see who is over and find both of my boys sitting on the couch watching television. They look at my puzzled expression, give each other a knowing look and resume watching TV and laughing.

Apparently, I have stumbled across the best way to unite my children: give them a common enemy – me.

Governments could learn from me.

1 Feb

What a Chore!

Posted by I suck as a parent in children, family, kids, parenting. Tagged: , , , .

I don’t let my kids do enough.

I’m not talking about giving them more freedom; I’m talking about housework. I’ve gotten into the habit of just doing the work myself to avoid the initial fight when I ask them to do something, followed by the inevitable disappointment I feel when I view the final product.

For instance, last week when we had a fairly heavy snowfall I started getting dressed to head outside to shovel when I remembered that I have two kids! What is the point of having kids if you can’t make them do tedious work around the house?

So I turned to my oldest and said, “Please go outside and shovel. Thank you.”

You would think I asked him to shovel the snow in his bare feet with one hand tied behind his back while simultaneously painting the house—that’s how much he complained.

Just to be clear, shoveling snow at our house does not involve removing snow from a large driveway or even a 600-foot long sidewalk. It’s about 100 feet of walkway—front and back. In the time it took my son to complain about shoveling, he could have been done.

About 15 minutes after my initial request, he finally trudged out the door. Usually it’s those 15 minutes of listening to him bitch about the task that does me in and I take over just to have some peace. But this time I ignored him and kept repeating, “Please go outside and shovel. Thank you.”

Yes, I thought. It worked!

Then I tried to walk to the garage.

Apparently my son and I have very different ideas of what it means to shovel. I believe the snow should be removed from the width of the entire walk (in this case that’s four feet); he believes the width of the shovel is enough of a path. So now I’m slogging along the walk, dragging grocery bags across the snow because I only have about 16 inches of clearance.

What do I do now? Do I make him go outside and do it the “right way” or do I let him do it his way and just be happy that he did something?

Part of me is convinced that he does a crap job so I will eventually stop asking him to do anything. It’s the same theory I have about my husband washing dishes – there is so much water on the counters and the floor when he attempts to “help” with the dishes that I inevitably step in before he can even start. He denies the plot but I’m not convinced.

Is my son also plotting against me or is he just being a teenager?

I couldn’t help myself; I had to ask him what he thought about the shoveling job. I explained my predicament with the groceries. He told me that I should have lifted the bags higher.

I just stared at him.

He then suggested that I get a wider shovel. Followed by my favorite line: “It’s supposed to warm up tomorrow anyway. It will probably melt.”

While I had to applaud his creativity, it still didn’t solve my dilemma. Why can’t he see that he didn’t do a good job shoveling the walk?

I was mulling over this question when I remembered a Wall Street Journal article that I read recently entitled, “What’s Wrong with the Teenage Mind.”* The author, Alison Gopnik, a professor of psychology at the University of California, Berkeley, believes that teenagers today don’t learn practical life skills the way their predecessors did and it’s having a negative impact on them. In the past, children would be expected to help around the house (or the farm) and they would have jobs like a paper route or baby-sitting long before they were 16, she explained.

“[Today’s] adolescents,” the author notes “often don’t do much of anything except go to school.”

Getting a better education may have led to higher IQ (and in my son’s case, a more creative approach to problem-solving), but the lack of basic skill development is, she believes, at the root of why teenagers have delayed development of the pre-frontal cortex of the brain—the part that governs impulse control, motivation and decision-making. If kids don’t flex those muscles (or that part of their brain) early and often she believes, they can’t develop into the responsible and productive adults they are meant to become.

As I stood at the back door with my groceries, I reasoned that he isn’t doing a “bad” job just to piss me off; he simply hasn’t been doing enough work around the house to learn how to do it well!

Apparently, it is my job to make my kids do as much work around the house as possible!

Armed with this knowledge, I decided to simply say thank you for the shoveling…and then I made him carry in the rest of the groceries. Not because I wanted him to have to drag the groceries through the snow, of course. I’m just helping with that pre-frontal cortex thing.

 

*For Alison Gopnik’s article see: http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970203806504577181351486558984.html.

 

 

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