Many moons ago, when my daughter and I were traveling with another family, I was scolded by the other mother for "Never saying 'No'."
I thought at the time (and still think today) that this was a bit unfair. I know what "No" means. I know how to say "No." I have said "No." Really. I've said "No" a lot. A lot. A real lot.
Just not as often as I might have. Or, maybe, not as often as some other mothers do. Trust me, when it mattered, I said "No."
Fork in electrical outlet? "No!"
Knife in reach on the counter? "No!"
Running off a curb into traffic? "No! No! No!"
What I didn't do was say "No" for no reason. Our marvelous pediatrician gave me great advice when my daughter was turning two. (Actually, he gave me great advice many times, many many many times, but this one is germane to my essay here.) He said:
"Here come the terrible twos. She'll be testing you all the time now. And, you're going to have to say 'No.' But, don't say 'No' unless you're going to stick with it. If that means you say 'Yes' 98% of the time, that's ok. But, once you say 'No,' you have to see it through. If you say 'No' and she cries for 45 minutes and then you give in, all you've taught her to do is to cry for 45 minutes."
Needless to say, that little speech scared me straight. And, I particularly liked the saying "Yes" part.
The thing is, my daughter was an easy child. She rarely disobeyed. She rarely threw a tantrum. When asked to describe her with one word on her kindergarten application, I chose "compliant."
(Excuse me now while I shake my head with wonder about how things change ...
Still shaking ...
Still shaking ...
All right, I'm done.)
She may not be as easy as she once was — and I may find myself saying "No" more than I used to — but, I still think that if I can help her pursue joy, I should.
Thus, I recently found myself doing a three-day roadtrip to New York and Providence with her so she could see her favorite band. This was neither convenient, nor easy, nor inexpensive. But, it was important to her. It made her happy. All in all, we had nearly twelve hours together in the car, which gave us ample time to talk about upcoming senior year activities, new horses at her stable, and questionable decisions made by some of her friends. We ate junk food and sang along to the cast recordings of Spring Awakening and Hamilton. We were roadies together, like Thelma and Louise but with a happier ending.
And, as much as saying "No" might have taught her a lesson, I think fulfilling her request taught her something too. Like, how going out of your way to make someone you love happy is worth doing. When she heads off to college in just under four months, I want her to think of her mother as someone who said "Yes" more than she said "No."
Unlike Thelma and Louise, we made it home safe and sound, exhausted and happy. You guessed it. We were safe and sound; I was exhausted.
She was happy.
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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.
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