Just Be The Parent

The latest craze these days seems to be making a deal or a contract with your kid to get the expected behavior out of them.  Recently, a mom blogged her “contract” with her 13 year old son—a contract she wrote to coincide with giving him an iPhone for Christmas. 

 

The contract, written by Janell Burley Hofmann, is seen here:  http://www.janellburleyhofmann.com/gregorys-iphone-contract/

 

It’s an amusing read, I agree.  But I sincerely hope she wrote this for the sake of good writing, and not for the sake of having a binding agreement with her 13 year old CHILD.

My thoughts?  First—what 13 year old child needs a Smart Phone??  My husband doesn’t even have one, and he’s a successful man in the business world.  He can still talk and text from his phone, but one does not need access to Facebook or Google at one’s fingertips at all times.  Especially a 13 year old.  You’re one lucky kid, Gregory.  Your parents not only shelled out a couple hundred dollars to secure you a sweet new phone, but they’ll be paying a good solid $40-70 per month in addition just to make it function.

We did purchase a phone for our oldest child for her 13^th birthday.  We even set some ground rules—the first being that she has to pay her monthly bill on her own.  We bought the phone for her, and gifted her 3 months of her payment.  She had to have 6 months worth of payments already saved up before we’d consider it.  She has to pay $15 per month to keep the phone--$10 covers our add-a-line, and $5 covers a percentage of our monthly unlimited texting, of which she takes full advantage. 

Initially, we told her she only had 250 texts – incoming and outgoing – per month.  We didn’t tell her until month four that she has unlimited.  Why?  What cruel parent would do that, you ask?  Well, it helped set the standard from the start that she needs to still remember how to communicate verbally with people, and that she shouldn’t have her phone in her hand at all times.  By month four, her habit was formed.  She does text more than that now, but she still keeps it to a minimum.

We’ve taken the phone away before—not for violating a contract, but because we are parents and feel it is our duty to punish an unreasonable act of behavior or other activity by a punishment we feel fits.  Sometimes that may mean no phone.  Sometimes that may mean no outing with friends.  Sometimes that means she has to go to bed when her little siblings do.  Mean?  No.  Parental?  Yes.

 

By no means am I saying the author of the above contract is wrong to do that--we all parent differently--but I do think it warrants a second thought.

 

When Someone Throws You an Anchor Instead of a Life Ring, You Should Consider Swimming Away

Last year, I felt as though I should be mourning a friendship.  No one died—not mourning a friend.  But mourning a friendship.  Someone whom I had thought had been a really close friend for many years had been giving me signs to the contrary.  Why the hell can’t we act our age, especially as women, and either speak what’s on our mind or just be nice? 

I’d seen signs for awhile, really, when I think of it.  Bad-mouthing of other friends from her.  I should have known this was coming.  When she repeatedly commented on the vanity of another woman we knew in common, one who was supposedly one of her very best friends, I started realizing that everyone must be fair game.  Why the hell belittle your best friend?  Why the hell belittle anyone?  Is anyone perfect?  I know I’m not.  I try to own my flaws, hard as it is.  And if someone would like to point out a new one to me, I usually sit quietly and listen rather than defend myself foolishly.  Obviously, if someone else sees something in me that’s negative, that’s a problem. 

Or maybe it’s just a problem for that person.

Flawed though I am, I consider myself to be a pretty decent person.  I try to help others, often at my own expense.  I’m often nicer to strangers than I am to my own husband.  And I have readily admitted that to my husband when we’re having a down point in our marriage.

This gal and I had been working on a project for awhile together.  She told me that the rest of the board was “concerned” with the way I was running things, and that “things were being discussed behind my back.”  Because I don’t want anyone to feel things are unfair, I started calling each board member, one by one, to remedy what I thought was a Situation.  Unfortunately, it didn’t take me too long to figure out that she was the one discussing things behind my back.  What the hell?  I’d always considered us good enough friends that I would have hoped she would have talked to ME about her concerns or issues before going to someone else.  I was wrong. 

So I thought back over the last few months.  I had listened to her so often, telling me how another friend has done her wrong, or hurt her, or been thankless.  And there I was on the being-hurt-end now.  It made me wonder how many of those other broken relationships she seemed to be experiencing regularly had been the Other Friend’s fault.  Started to think…perhaps it’s her. 

I’d been there to hold her hair all freakin’ night when she drank too much and couldn’t even move from the bathroom.  I’d been there to bring her some requested soda to drink to nurse a hangover.  I’d brought over nice expensive organic teas when she had been sick.  I’d given her little gifts I’d found when I’d thought of her—personal touches on what I thought were moments of our deep friendship. I’d invited her on vacations, planned nights out, brought food over when her child was injured.

Then I realized there were too many “I’s” in this conversation in my head. 

When my Dad died—where was she?  Trying to tell me maybe a night out that we’d had planned with a group of women would be “good for me.”  My Dad had died three days prior, mind you, and I was trying to figure out how to juggle my family with young children with having to go out of state to sort through the details that go along with a death.  She did send flowers.  I’ll give her that.

When I had surgery—where was she?  Not coming over to keep me company, or bringing me a meal, or offering to help with my kids. 

I’d seen her Mom shortly before the friendship’s demise, and I was taken aback by the cold shoulder I’d gotten from her Mom.  I asked my friend if everything was ok—I’d met her mom before—why the hell was she acting like that?  I brushed it off to thinking she must be having a bad day.  My gut now tells me I’d been the topic of discussion at some point and her mom didn’t know how to react to me other than in a protective manner toward her daughter.  I totally get it.

Shame on me for not seeing it coming.  Shame on me for mourning this like I did.  But my energy is mine—I took it back.  I’m a good person; I try to do good things; it’s ok for me to own that.  MoJo—be mine!

Friendships all have ebbs and tides.  All relationships do.  My marriage has evolved tremendously with my husband—and we’ve been married almost two decades.  Neither of us are the same person as we were when we met and married so long ago, but I wouldn’t change that.  My relationship with my kids has changed.  It’s a normal part of evolution.  Change.  But a true friend will throw the life ring out to you in that changing tide, and she will keep you afloat, even if you’ve drifted from her.  When someone throws the anchor out to you and starts to sink you, you should probably consider cutting ties and calling it a day.

A-MOM-ymous Me

Some days I want to just be the Anonymous Mom…the gal who can run to the store without putting on make-up, or even showering, for that matter, with no judgment from anyone else, since no one will know who I am or care.  I want to walk down my neighborhood trail without having to be friendly and chatty.  It’s not because I don’t like you.  Sometimes it’s just because I don’t feel like talking to anyone.  Or making eye contact with anyone.  Why do people have to take that so personally?  Do you always want to bring your A-game and smile for the masses?  Seriously?  Doubt it.  I’m just bold enough to admit it.  Ok, maybe it is because I don’t like you.  Just kidding.  Except on those days I just don't really like anybody.   I just want to leave my smile at home, along with my keenly unique fashion sense—piled neatly in a corner ‘til tomorrow.