The Sound of Silence

Mornings are not the most pleasant time of day around here. 

We have a teenager. 

(I understand you're tired. I realize you were up late studying math. I apologize that school starts at 7:50 am. I know life sucks. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.)

Today, as usual, my teen daughter grudgingly got herself out of bed and was puttering about in her room. I don't know what she does up there. The alarm (her second) goes off a few minutes before 6:30. Her father drops her at a friend's house at 7:05. In-between, I make her breakfast and lunch (the high school cafeteria "blows"). And, like clockwork, at 6:55, I call upstairs.

"Breakfast is ready."

Today, she came down and started one of those conversations that I hate, the ones where she requests that I change something we've always done. (BTW, she does this in a really condescending voice, like she's a Nobel Laureate and I'm the village idiot.)

"Mom, can I ask you something? I think I've asked you before."

"Um. What?"

"Can you not call and tell me breakfast is ready every day? I really hate it."

I had a hundred snappish comebacks on the tip of my tongue. For example ...

"Well, I wouldn't have to if you got down here faster. And, by the way, your room is a disaster area."

Or ...

"Well, excuuuuuuuuse me for trying to be a good mother and slaving away in the kitchen and making you a nice meal."

Or ...

"Well, that really hurt my feelings. I don't see why you have to be so hateful when everything I do is for you." 

Here's what I said instead ... 

"Okay."

That's it. Really.

I'm so proud of myself I could burst! I feel like I have reached some heretofore unattainable peak of maternal zenliness. I am patience. I am tolerance. I am composure. Look up "grace under pressure" in the dictionary and you will likely see a picture of moi!

My daughter is downright surly in the morning — that's on a good day. And, I do crave appreciation. (For the record, my breakfasts and lunches are quite nice.) But, if she wants to wallow in ... er, I mean ... ease into her busy sophomore life in silence, why shouldn't she? 

There's the rub. The silence is what kills me these days. When my daughter was little, we had such a happy, chattery routine. It included two-way conversations in the early hours and books read aloud together in the evenings. After I tucked her in, we had that little ritual beloved by so many moms:

"I love you.

"I love you more.

"No, I love you more."

Now? No more. 

As often as not, I go to bed while my daughter's still doing homework or studying. I give her a kiss (usually on the top of her head before she can pull away or grimace), wish her "good night" and get the hell out of dodge. When she isn't working, she's engaged with friends online or streaming a show on the iPad via Netflix. I used to get a few back-and-forth words in when I drove her to the stable every other day. But, with her brand new license in her eager hand, she heads off alone now.

When my daughter was little, I missed the quiet I had known before she came into my life. Now, I miss her stories, the jokes, the affectionate banter. I try not to sound desperate or repetitive. I try not to fill the quiet with gentle mom nags: "Have you got everything? Did you remember your permission slip for the photography field trip?"

I try to be silent.

After all, Thomas Carlyle said "Silence is golden." 

We choose our battles, and this ain't one of them. From now on, I won't announce that breakfast is ready. 

Or, as Belinda Carlisle (no relation) said, "Our lips are sealed."

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.   

Maternal Vigilance

According to www.merriam-webster.com ...

vig•i•lance [ˈvi-jə-lən(t)s] is the quality or state of being alertly watchful especially to avoid danger

I agree and will take it even further. According to the dictionary of mom, vigilance is the state of being alertly watchful in order to avoid those unforeseen circumstances when one's tween has caught you with your guard down. These seemingly meaningless events can spell danger, indeed. They can uproot long-established order. They can bend rules irreparably. They can set precedents, that no amount of parental regrouping will ever un-set.

Case in point: breakfast at my house.

Ten years ago, if the American Academy of Pediatrics had wanted to award a Best-Breakfast-for-a-Toddler Prize, I would have been a strong contender. My daughter used to sit down to a yummy variety of healthful wholesome foods. A typical morning started with fresh fruit. Then, she would have some protein: a hard-boiled egg maybe, or a slice of cheese, or a nice yogurt. Next, some grains: maybe half a bagel, or a muffin, or some cereal. To wash it all down? A tall glass of 2-percent milk. Mmm mmm good!

She never argued or complained, just ate whatever was put in front of her. Every morning, she pretty much cleaned her Hello Kitty or Disney Princess or Pooh Bear plate.

Mornings changed as she grew older. She stopped liking hard-boiled eggs. She stopped liking yogurt. We evolved to pizza bagels, breakfast burritos and the occasional chicken noodle soup breakfast. She still ate fruit. And ...

She still drank milk.

She didn't like it, but she drank it. It was — supposedly — non-negotiable.

Hahahahahahahahahahaha.

Several months ago, she hit me with her usual, "But, Mo-o-om. I hate milk!" and "This milk tastes bad!" and "Why don't you and Daddy have to drink milk if it's so good for you?" I don't know what happened. I was tired? I was distracted? I was stressed out? Maybe. What I wasn't was ... vigilant.

"All right, all right," I said. "Here. Drink this instead!" I replaced the dreaded dairy with a cup of calcium-enriched orange juice. And that, dear readers, was the beginning of the end. Wait. Actually, it was just plain the end.

The reason that vigilance is so incredibly important is because tweens, in the words of Winston Churchill: "Never, Never, Never give up." It is the tween's nature to climb every mountain, forge every stream, find every chink in their parent's proverbial armor and then ... GOTCHA! ... use it to their advantage.

My short-term fix ("Here. Drink this instead.") resulted in a long-term paradigm shift. That one moment of weakness made the milk-with-breakfast rule null and void. Not for one day, but forever.

There have been other moments of truth in which yours truly has lost both the battle and the war. Most involve time limits, electronics, family traditions, electronics, chores, electronics, consequences and ... electronics. If only a little warning bell would go off right before those "All right, just this once" words leave my lips. But, no. Like so much else in my life as the mother of a tween, I fall into these situations blindly. By the time I understand the ramifications, it is too late.

My hope is that back when she use to listen and comply, she picked up the underlying reasons and beliefs and moral foundations I was trying to impart. I didn't want her to drink milk because I own stock in the dairy industry. I wanted her to get a nutritionally sound start to her day. I wanted her bones and teeth to be strong and healthy. Maybe somewhere inside, she absorbed a little of that balanced diet idea. Maybe someday when she's on her own, she'll make smart choices. But, until then, I'll just try to look on the bright side ...

Think of all the money I'm saving on milk!