In high school and college (after I'd graduated from Seventeen), I used to read Glamour magazine every month. My favorite feature was the "Dos and Don'ts" page. Photographers would catch women going about their business in ensembles that were particularly well put together ... or not. Then they'd publish pictures for all the world to see. I always thought that the narrow black bars covering the models' eyes were a sorry consolation for being identified as a "Glamour Don't."
It all seemed a little harsh.
Now, about a million years later, I live with a rather harsh critic in my own home. Don't get me wrong. My teenage daughter uses remarkable restraint when it comes to judging my outfits. (Yes, I'm sure my mom jeans, print top, quilted vest and Aerosoles are looking ultra fashionable right about now.) Rather, she judges my behavior, the decisions I make and the discipline I try (try being the operative word there) to uphold.
She's quick to argue — especially if the answer to a request she just made is "No." But, it's more the look. There's a look she sometimes gives me that speaks volumes. It says "You think you're hip, but you're not." Or "You think you know what's going on, but you don't." And most often "You think you can control me, but you can't."'
Meanwhile, in my defense (this is, after all, my blog and I can defend myself 'till the cows come home), I truly believe that I am cooler, calmer and more collected than most moms. I say "Yes" more often than "No." I'm supportive. I'm loving. I'm generous with my time and money. All right, sometimes I'm generous with my opinions too, but ...
What can I say? I'm a mom.
And that's really the crux of the matter. My daughter is a healthy, normal teen. As her mom, I am often — and naturally — the enemy. In this minefield I wake up in every morning, I'm learning to butt out, to choose my battles, to stop before I say something that may set her off.
Here are a list of Dos and Don'ts that may help ...
Do applaud her for doing well in a changing and challenging world.
Don't compare her choices (or study habits) to my own from 35 years ago.
Do loosen the reins when I can.
Don't suck the fun out of everything by imposing too many conditions or curfews.
Do respect her common sense — and privacy.
Don't snoop, stalk or otherwise undermine her efforts to grow up.
Do offer respectful observations and advice.
Don't deliver edicts, absolutes and ultimatums.
Do focus on the things that matter most.
Don't sweat the small stuff (like unmade beds, dirty laundry on the bathroom floor or empty chip bags on the rug).
Do love her for the remarkable young woman she is becoming.
Don't ever make her feel that she's less than she is.
I make a lot of mistakes (my daughter would probably say "A LOT!"), but I'm trying. Letting go is difficult for any loving mother — and, especially so for a control freak like moi. We are negotiating new territory on a daily basis, and I need to say "adios" to my Don'ts to make room for a whole bunch of Dos.
And, if anyone happens to take a picture of me today, please have a nice thick black bar ready.
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My daughter just turned seventeen, and I'm fairly stunned. We all joke "Where did the years go?" But, I really want to know.
Where did the years go?
When she was little, we had this marvelous pediatrician. He had a few topics about which he was absolutely passionate. Bicycle helmets, for example — not only was my daughter required to wear one, but my husband and I were supposed to as well.
I remember one annual check-up when he coached my daughter on what to do if a friend ever offered to show her "Daddy's gun." The solution was to feign a stomach ache and insist on calling Mommy for a ride home.
The single most useful thing this doctor taught me was to choose my battles. My daughter was about to turn two (as in "terrible ...") and I was warned to "Say 'No' only if you mean it and you're going to stick with it. If that means saying 'Yes' 99 percent of the time, so be it. If you say 'No," and she cries for 45 minutes and then you say 'Yes,' you've just trained her to cry for 45 minutes."
Amen.
We were really good at it. In fact, we congratulated ourselves fairly frequently about our fabulous parenting finesse. Granted, we did say "Yes" more often than not. But, our daughter never abused that affirmative attitude. She was sweet and compliant. She followed rules: happily took her bath and went to bed on time each night; ate her fruits and vegetables; tidied her room, neatly grouping Barbies ("Mommies"), Kelly dolls ("Sweeties") and a handful of Kens ("Daddies," of course) into brightly covered canvas drawers. Tantrums were blessedly few and far between.
The only hiccup we had was potty training, and even that resolved itself in fairly short order, once she was ready. A single weekend of M&Ms (hooray for bribery) and we were done.
While she was going through her not-so-terrible twos, I was terribly busy. I commuted into Boston every day and was on the road often, servicing a couple of major ad agency clients out on the West Coast. My terrific toddler took it in stride. Our time together most evenings and on the weekends (Saturday mornings at Gymboree) made up for the hours she was with her nanny.
It was all so easy.
So, my next question (after "Where did the years go?") is this. Do moms of teens have some form of amnesia? Like the way new mothers forget the excruciating pain of labor as soon as that wet little bundle is put into their arms. Was it as easy as I recall or am I looking back through memory's rose-colored glasses. Who knows?
What I do know is that it ain't so easy anymore.
Part of our back-then success was definitely maintaining a routine and setting rules. Neither of these seems remotely possible now. Between high school and two part-time jobs, riding and competing in horse shows, and fulfilling myriad social obligations, my daughter's schedule is anything but routine. Now that she can drive herself (and soon her friends as well, Lord help me!), I have very little control over where she is and when. All I can do is feign some iota of control and authority by insisting "Don't be too late." Or asking "Is all your homework done?"
As far as rules are concerned, there weren't many to begin with and those that were in place are ... well ... pretty much ignored. To my credit (I guess), I do still try to choose my battles. My daughter hasn't been in any trouble (I'll try not to say "Yet"). Her grades are good. She's relatively polite to her elders. Not always to me, maybe, but certainly to her grandmothers and other grownups.
When I bristle at some behavior or feel the need to assert some sort of authority, I have to think about it. Am I pulling rank because she's making a poor choice? Or am I merely trying to recreate a time when I was the only adult in the relationship?
She has a major goal right now: to achieve independence. I know that, I really do. And, although she would be the last to admit it, I am trying.
It's tough. In fact, at times, it's terrible.
But, I'll look on the bright side. At least she's potty trained.
If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.
When my daughter was little, she was — as Mary Poppins would say — "practically perfect in every way." I don't think this is my over-romanticizing the past. Really, she was an easy-peasy child. And, this made it easy-peasy for me to be a good mom. She was agreeable, compliant, cheerful, sweet. I rarely — if ever — raised my voice.
How times have changed, my friends.
These days, I am torn between frustration over her actions (or, often, inactions) and self-recrimination over my own. Whether she realizes it or not, I don't enjoy shrieking at her. It isn't fun to find fault. I don't leave her room feeling good or proud or victorious. Generally, I slink off and berate myself for losing my cool.
I felt I had a lot of support from other mothers years ago when we were struggling with daycare schedules, breast-feeding and potty training. But, the issues of raising a teenager don't seem to be shared as much. Take a look at typical Facebook posts by moms about their high schoolers:
Joey made the honor roll ... again. ;)
We were just thrilled when Susie's softball team took the state championship.
Here's Kayla helping out at the homeless shelter.
And, yes, I know I am guilty myself. What will my little equestrienne do with yet another blue ribbon?
Puh-lease!
For all the sharing out there, I don't think we're broadcasting our real feelings. Here's what I'd like to see (or, let's face it, post) if we were all being honest:
Why does my teenager hate me so much?
I went to college for this???
She's a monster and I'm scared to go into her room.
Last night, I attended an ad industry holiday party. Although we all had professional stories to tell, one conversation quickly evolved into a group therapy session with myself and other parents of teenagers earnestly listening to our slightly older peers. You see, they had already lived through the terrible teens and come out the other side. "It will get better," they assured us. "They'll come back around." "You have to trust that you taught them the important stuff already."
Being the mother of a teen is tough. And, as my best friend always urges me to remember, "If she likes you, you're not doing your job."
It helps to hear other stories. For one thing, it's gratifying to know that you're not alone. For another, some of the stories are so much worse that you gain perspective. You realize your own little spawn of Satan ain't so bad after all.
So what if you spend an inordinate amount of your life policing and nagging, checking homework and reviewing grades? I have heard many grown people wish that their parents had pushed them harder. I've never once heard a person complain the other way.
I recently found this online, edited it a bit and sent it to my daughter. (I wish I could tell you who wrote it in the first place, but like so many things that go viral, it's virtually impossible to find where it started.)
My promise to my child. I am your mom first, your friend second. I will guide you, lecture you, flip out on you, drive you insane, be your worst nightmare and hunt you down like a bloodhound when needed because I LOVE YOU! When you understand that, I will know you are a responsible adult. You will NEVER find someone who cares, worries about and loves you more than I do!
Hear, hear!
