As my now seventeen-year-old daughter moved from childhood into her tweens and teens, I attended a handful of parenting workshops. These were offered, free of charge, by her elementary, middle and high schools. The PTO would invite a speaker and all the concerned moms (and a couple of dads) would dutifully attend "How to Raise a Resilient Child." Or "Helping Your Student Handle Middle School Stress." Or "Don't Panic, It's Just Puberty."
One thing we heard over and over was that we were — in essence — heading back into the "Terrible Twos." Becoming a teen and becoming a toddler had much in common. So we were advised to lock dangerous substances away, teen-proof the house as we once child-proofed it. And, most important, set firm rules and stand our ground.
The problem was — and has been — that I'm not very good at it.
When my daughter was about eighteen months old, her wonderful pediatrician explained what was in store.
"First of all," he told me, "The 'Terrible Twos' is a misnomer. It lasts longer than a year. It's more like the 'Terrible One-and-a-Half to Threes.' She'll be testing her boundaries all the time." His advice? "Only say 'No' when you mean it. If that means that you say 'Yes' 99% of the time, that's okay. Just make sure that when you do say 'No,' you follow through."
That's what I've done. As advised, I've followed through on the "No's," but they've been few and far between. In my defense, it's been very easy to say "Yes." My daughter was a remarkably well-behaved little girl. She was good-natured and compliant. There was really never any reason for so-called "Tough Love." She rarely asked for anything inappropriate and I simply said "Yes."
Sadly, what was a successful strategy for my toddler has proven to be an enormous stressor where my teen is concerned.
These days, my daughter tends to make announcements rather than asking for permission. Eight months into her driver's license (Lord help me!), she's mobile and independent. I was never really big on curfews anyway. We agreed that I'd stop micromanaging her homework and studies this year. And, like most kids in suburban America, she's wired and connected pretty much 24/7.
You can understand her utter shock, her sheer incomprehension, when she can't do what she wants with whom she wants, where and when she wants.
But, sometimes I have to say "No."
OMG!
Before you call Social Services, let me assure you (and myself) that in the grand scheme of teenage things, my daughter is a very good girl. She doesn't drink or do drugs or endanger herself in other ways. I do think she drives a bit too fast, but she (and my husband) claim that I drive too slow.
I should be grateful — and, truly, I am — that we haven't fought over the really big stuff. Still this year has been difficult. The push-me/pull-you of her growing independence (and her age-related incomprehension of the concept of consequences) has been really tough.
What she doesn't (or won't) understand is that as her mother, I do have to step in sometimes. Its my job. And it's no fun for me, let me tell you. This includes making her go to bed when she's overtired or catching a cold. It includes at least a semblance of moderating the use of electronics. It includes assuring that her grades stay at the excellent level they've always been.
Would it be nicer to take the easy road, never say "no," never disagree?
Hell, yes!
That's not my job. My job is to help her succeed and become the best possible version of herself. Really.
Sometimes my job sucks. Really.
Right now, I'm being punished for the one percent of the time that I actually say and mean "No." Someday, maybe, I'll get credit for the other 99%.
For a Christmas surprise, my daughter wrapped her PSAT scores and placed them under our tree for me. She achieved absolutely respectable scores across the board, but one of her lowest marks was part of the Critical Reading section, specifically "Determining the meaning of words."
Apparently they must have asked her to define the word "No."
You see, we're having some trouble with that one.
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Only seven days, two hours and thirty-eight minutes left (not including Saturday and Sunday), and my teenage daughter will be released from the bondage known as sophomore year. She would be completely elated — if she weren't so completely overcommitted and downright exhausted.
In the next week and change, she has regular old homework, a major paper due and five final exams. She also has two different part-time jobs and a concert. Plus, she has to pack for a vacation that starts the day after school ends.
And, last but by no means least, she has The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. You know ...
"Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink."
Always looking for a soapbox, I will (once again) protest the utter absence of women authors — or in this case, even women characters — on the Honors English reading list.
Back to the topic at hand; the end of sophomore year. I feel sorry for my daughter; I really do. But, this is not the time to give in to sympathy. Rather, I must remain ever vigilant, honing my maternal nagging skills (which are quite accomplished already) to their very sharpest. My daughter has worked so hard and done so well for so long. This is the last gasp, the grand finale, the final quarter, the ninth inning.
Enough with the metaphors, mixed or otherwise. I think you get the picture.
The thing is, in her head, she knows there's more to do. But, in her heart, she is done. D. O. N. E. Done, done, done. And so are all her classmates. Besides a challenging curriculum, they've had to deal with school board politics, new rules from a new administration, bomb threats, dress codes, and their first taste of standardized tests.
All in all, sophomore year has been a suckfest. And now?
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.
As if my poor daughter needed another albatross around her neck.
Friends of mine advise me to leave her to her own devices. After all, she's done well so far, right? If she did crash and burn, it would be a good learning experience. Blah blah blah.
These friends fall into two categories: childless and multichild. The first don't understand the pressure. And the second gave up a while ago.
We are all so stressed out about grades, transcripts, college admissions. We know better, but we still fall prey to the anxiety, the all-or-nothing sense of pending doom. In just the last week, I've heard two different cautionary tales about promising kids who didn't get in to any of the schools they applied to because of one lousy grade or one botched exam.
Meanwhile, my daughter's doing her own math. I got a text last week (midday, from school — don't get me started) that read:
I know this is bad but hear me out, if i get a 50% on my chem final i will still have an A- for my final average in chem and thats all colleges see
How to respond to that? At first, skimming as I multitasked, I thought she was telling me that she got a 50% on a test she had already taken. (I almost had a heart attack.) Once I understood, I was impressed by her math and by her proactive calculations. At the same time, I was distressed by her lack of drive (and non-pursuit of excellence). I know she's not as concerned (obsessed, okay, the word is obsessed) about good grades as I was. But, seriously.
After all, what did she expect me to say? "Good job, girl! Go for that 50% then!"
Sorry. I'm trying not to nag. But, that ain't never gonna happen.
If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.
The words "sleep deprivation" mean something very different to me now than they did sixteen years ago. (I'm awestruck, as I am so often these days, by the idea that I've been a mother for that many years.)
In 1997, I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Ten fingers, ten toes, perfectly normal in every way. You know those exceptional babies who sleep through the night practically from day one? That was her ...
Not!
We had late nights and early mornings, erratic midday naps and 2:00 a.m. feedings. By month six (MONTH SIX!), I was so perpetually tired that I briefly fell asleep driving in the Sumner Tunnel on my way into the office one morning. What can I say, the light was dim, the traffic barely moving. Luckily, a rather impatient Boston driver behind me sounded his horn before I ran into the tunnel's wall. Yikes.
That particular wake-up call (yes, pun intended, um, sorry) convinced me to try Dr. Ferber's infamous CIO or "cry it out" method. Through progressively longer intervals, you train your baby to "self-comfort." This means listening to them cry and resisting the urge (deep-rooted, instinctive, frrrrkin' primal, maternal urge) to go in. I lay with a pillow over my head through two of the longest nights of my life.
Sure enough, my daughter slept through the third and has done so ever after. My own sleep deprivation, happily, was a thing of the past.
That was then. This is now.
In our house these days, the person suffering from sleep deprivation is my now teenage daughter. Between endless amounts of homework, studying for exams, after school jobs and activities, and a minimal attempt at a social life, she doesn't have enough hours in the day. Sure, she has been known to procrastinate a bit (who hasn't?). But, compared to her peers, she's remarkably focused. It doesn't seem to matter. There is quite simply too much to do.
Add to this the fact that teens biologically need more sleep than adults. Everyone from the National Sleep Foundation to the Mayo Clinic asserts this — in no uncertain terms. In fact, it isn't just the quantity that's important for developing adolescents. It's also when they go to sleep. Unlike younger children or adults, their natural biorhythms and body temperature don't allow them to go to bed early. They naturally tire some time around or after 11:00 pm.
Here's a typical dialogue in our house:
Teen: I'm soooooooo tired.
Parent: You need to go to bed earlier.
Teen: That soooooooo won't help.
No matter how much it may pain me to admit it, my daughter's right. On the odd chance that her schoolwork was actually done by 8:00 or 9:00, it wouldn't solve the problem. She would lie awake and still be exhaustedly unable to get up at 6:30 the next day.
And, that's the other issue. Teens need more sleep. Teens don't tire until late evening. Do the math ... high school classes that start before 8:00 am are not going to make for a success story. Neither are early-morning standardized tests, like last week's PSATs at 7:45. Recent studies have proven that scores go up when teens get up later.
Well, duh!
This is what kills me. The science is there. Sleep deprivation is not just an inconvenience. It's damaging and dangerous (heck, it's recognized — and condemned — as a form of political and military torture). We're all so concerned about improving student outcomes, competing on the global stage, no child left behind ... blah, blah, blah. I propose the following:
• Adjust high school hours to better suit the needs (the actual bi-o-lo-gy) of high school students
• Decrease the amount of homework for these poor kids (I'm definitely of the "longer school day" school of thought myself)
• Schedule standardized tests like PSATs and SATs at hours when students are at their peak performance (hint, that would not mean at dawn)
To me this is all common sense. Then again, as Voltaire and Horace Greeley both observed ...
"Common sense is not so common."
If you enjoyed this post, order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.
