Teenage Monster Part II

Teenagers, who’d have them? Well, quite frankly... we wouldn’t have them, if we knew what they were like in advance of having them. Though I’m sure that in itself wouldn’t be enough evidence to wipe the 12 years we have prior to them becoming teenagers; they’re pretty good years, in the grand scheme of things. My secret concern is that I’m not yet sure what “the grand scheme of things” amounts to. If it’s a continuation of what I’m currently experiencing it’s fair to say the jury is still out, cautiously deliberating.  

If that sounds unreasonable, let me elaborate on the current state of affairs. I’d liken it to living in fear of a tsunami, without the safety net of knowing there’s an emergency checklist that covers off all possible scenarios. If it was as easy as running to the hills via the local crossing, I wouldn’t feel so constantly anxious about the safety of my family. By that I refer to the mental safety of my family rather than the more traditional physical aspects one might associate with a tsunami.

I won’t go into details of incidents because it would be the death of me if I had to mentally recall and subsequently relive them. It’s more about the gradual whittling down of emotional strength I feel as each day passes. All the mindful practices I’ve practiced over the years (and believe me, I’ve tried many) fail me. I have nothing in my mental toolset to assist with obstinate responses, exhausting contention, and levels of respect that parallel what a dinosaur might grace an ant. I know, from all my glorious mindful practicing, it’s all about learning to control my own reactions to his behaviour, because they’ll be a cold summer in Africa before I’ll ever get to control his. I know that I should affirm peace and harmony every morning when I wake up and visualise it engulfing my home and family, but sadly no amount of conscious intending is powerful enough to reach inside his brain and spread the joy. There’s no question Mum’s are blessed with supernatural physical strength to bear their children; what a wonderful world it would be if only we were additionally blessed with the emotional strength required periodically beyond that point.

The fact that our children live in the computer age does nothing to assist with the struggle. They find solace (and separation from us ants) staring at a screen, which increasingly becomes a surrogate for real life companions and authentic communication. It’s no longer just a battle with the teens (our parents had it easy), it’s a battle with the screens. On the downside, it’s a constant foe always lurking in the wings, promising fun, enticing participation. Only we know, as parents, it’s not really ‘social media,’ it’s the opposite. On the upside, it’s leverage. I can’t tell you how many ‘game plans’ my husband and I have had in recent times around the use of computers as both rewards and punishments. We still don’t know which is more effective... granting them time from zero for good behaviour, or taking pre-allocated time away for bad? Sigh. Of course "All" my son's friends have "unlimited" screen time, which makes us ogres either way. We keep revisiting our battle strategy which doesn’t bode well for consistency - apparently a key component of good parenting. Our current approach is that screen time is limited to specific times and there’s a mandatory requirement to spend a reasonable amount of ‘family time’ together after meals. I expect that’s quite easy to achieve when you only have one child. An additional element of uncertainty comes into play when you have more than one. The struggle then becomes who can agree to which game to play, or which T.V. programme to watch, you know, in the ‘family time.’ I think you can see where I’m going with this. I don't propose to have the answer. For those who know me, you'll appreciate I find that quite disturbing. I’m the kind of person who likes to find solutions, who likes to have a plan. I often reflect how in my past life I was a project manager responsible for the installation of a global computer application, and now I can’t even successfully manage three people (husband included). I guess there’s a big difference between a global corporation with people who are paid to get a job done, and family. Family you can’t predict, circumstances and emotions aren't always in our control. And of course, we always hurt the ones we love. There’s a good reason for that though. It’s because we’ll always be there for each other, not matter what.

I’ve decided, with the help of dear friend and fellow teen strategist that my son needs to engage in activities outside the home and away from the screens. This is very helpful for me, because now I have a plan! While I don’t have the answers, I see light at the end of the tunnel. Whether it’s a job, a sport, or a club, we need to find a way to meet halfway, to freshen things up a little. At the end of the day, I am still the parent, and even though he thinks he’s a dinosaur, I know what he really is... a little boy who's growing up and still needs his Mum to walk beside him a little longer, albiet quietly.

Mum’s the Word:

HELP, I've Created a Teenage Monster!

I remember it well... T.V. snuggles, bedtime cuddles. Today a sharp memory penetrated my weary mind - one of blowing raspberries on my son’s stomach as I changed his nappy. Followed by his glorious chuckle, empowering me with the knowledge I was blessed to have such a beautiful little boy, a glorious carefree bundle that made me feel happy and fulfilled. His life was carefree anyway.

Naturally when you become a mother, you marry into worry. You check they’re still breathing when the monitor goes quiet, rather than relax in the knowing they’ve actually just gone to sleep. You watch them intently when they eat a cracker, while a back slap lingers for action inside a tense body in case they choke on it. You chart their bowel movements to make sure bodily functions are operating appropriately for a human being, and adjust the fibre content in their diet accordingly if the chart doesn’t accurately reflect plunket standards. While our little carefree bundles make us feel happy & fulfilled, it was clear from the onset that being a mum was never going to be conducive to a stress free life.  

When my son was a baby, I was sharing with a woman I worked with how much I enjoyed being a Mum, and I remember clearly her telling me “it just keeps getting better” the older they get. She had teenagers then and in the rose-tinted naivety of early motherhood, I was inspired by her comment. I looked forward to the years ahead, believing that it would “just keep getting better.” In all honesty, I couldn’t imagine it was possible, but I trusted her, she seemed like a wise woman.

To be fair, it did get better as each year passed. It was a beautiful thing to watch my son grow and learn, and become more independent. You can’t put a price tag on the pride a mum feels watching her son go to school on his first day, or when he invites his new friend for a play date. One of the lasting memories I have of his early childhood was when I took him to the circus and he had $5 in his wallet to spend as he desired. He saw glow-in-the-dark fans being paraded for sale amongst the aisles and desperately wanted one. So I urged him on his way with his little green wallet to make the purchase. I cried quietly with a mixture of happy and sad feelings as I watched him anxiously approach the girl and open his wallet to give over his $5 and receive the fan. His face when he came back to me is something I’ll never forget. He was so full of pride for himself and what he’d achieved. It struck me then and will always remain with me as his very first act of independence without me at his side. He was so trusting of my subtle guidance, and in his ultimate success that it would never have occurred to him in a million years what a significant act that was in the history of his growth, and our relationship. It was the first time I realised he could achieve things without me.

This week that little boy turned 13. Now he has a black wallet with skulls on it and an EFTPOS card inside, linked to his personal bank account. I am absolutely no longer needed to suggest or encourage him in any way to make independent purchases; he can do that all by himself. I don’t get snuggles on the couch anymore, and as of last week, I no longer get a cuddle at bedtime either. In fact, bedtime isn’t really even a “thing” anymore, because I’m normally asleep before him.

I’m hesitant to put a label on it, because he’s only just hit ‘teenage’ years, but something has changed; roles have shifted, big time. It’s not a case of me feeling I’m not needed so much, it’s a case of me being obsolete. Unlike the green wallet days, there’s no amount of urging him to do something now that will actually make him do something. Everything has somehow turned on its head. It’s now him dishing out the demands, mine fall on deaf ears. Recently he was hounding me incessantly to buy something on his behalf from trade me, all the while grief stricken he wasn’t old enough to do it himself, and I told him it would have to wait until after I’d cooked dinner (yes, the current state of affairs is that his needs are far more important than feeding the family). After dinner when I had some free time, I approached him and said I had time to make the trade. However, he had subsequently engaged in another activity, so my ‘intrusion’ was disruptive. When I then suggested to him that I was offering him a window of opportunity and couldn’t promise when I’d next be free to do it, he replied “Why do you suddenly care about me now when you haven’t cared for me for the last 12 years?" Nice, green wallet boy, way to go dismembering cherished memories.

My husband and I went to a lecture recently about the “teenage brain” and what happens. Apparently they regress to the same state of mental affairs one describes as the terrible-twos. They temporarily (there’s hope) lose the layer of reason and judgement and regress back to the base emotional layer they first develop when they’re still very young. So something very small and seemingly insignificant can blow out of all reason and context towards apocalyptic proportions. Apparently the parental method to deal with this is exactly the same as one would do in the terrible-twos situation, which is to ignore. DO NOT ENGAGE. Take it from me, that’s easier said than done when your child is not two, but 13.

Sadly, it seems to me the only thing that motivates a teenager to act is quite simply whether it’s self-serving or not. This ignites the parental struggle and responsibility we feel to teach our children that’s not the reality of life. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do, for the greater good, for the team. But try telling that to a two year old.

What he doesn’t understand now, but will come to again one day, is that I’ll always be his mum, and he’ll always be my little boy. I’ll be by his side whether he wants me to be or not, whether he sees me or not, whether it irritates him or not. I married worry when I had him; I’m committed. I’ve grown to become secure in the knowledge he breathes on his own every night, but I’ll never stop caring. What he also doesn’t understand is that I still see him often, the green wallet boy. Underneath his new independent exterior, I see him. When he weakens in his rebellion, I’ll be there. When his layer of reason & judgement returns, I’ll be there.  When he cries, and he will, I’ll be there. I’d never trade my non-stress-free life for anything. It’s been my privilege.

 

 

Mum’s the Word:

One of those days...

Ever had one of those days? I’ve just had two weeks worth. The kettle is boiling. The tsunami is rising. And we all know who’s going to be crushed in its wake.

Where do I begin? I’ve volunteered to be the coach for Elliot’s hockey team and I know a fraction more about rocket science than I do about hockey. I wasn’t able to work in the school holidays so now have two weeks of pressure to release at the same time I’m in parallel studying via Google how to play hockey. My children who are never ill have simultaneously developed throat infections so sleeping is secondary to keeping an ear out for them at night. They’re not so sick though that they can’t yell out in the middle of the night to remind me I need to buy a new soda stream flavour because they’ve just remembered they’ve run out. Yes my dears, I’ll just add that to my "to do" list because that will give me something to do tomorrow. Shall I peel some grapes to put in your lunch boxes in the morning too before I go out to buy you a new flavour? My beautiful little Molly has just had an operation to remove all her womanly bits so now I not only have to watch Elliot like a hawk to make sure he doesn’t bust her gut by picking her up inappropriately, I have to make sure she doesn’t injure herself as an aside by banging into things because she has a bloody great big cone on her head. 

I’ve had to prepare our company financials for year end. I have discrepancies. I’ve been responsible for selling our car, which means entertaining a plethora of visitors to view and critique it. “When did it last have the coils changed? When did it last have it’s transmission checked?” What? Um. Dunno. Just give me some money and take it away please. In fact, I’m getting to the point where I’ll give you some money to take it away, please! Whenever I do snatch a moment, I seem to spend it wiping urine off the far left corner and wall of the communal toilet, and wiping toothpaste off the mirror in the bathroom. How does that happen? I should install some security cameras to establish the facts because what I’m told and what actually occurs are completely different versions of the truth. 

My husband has grown a moustache surrounded with random facial stubble and has made it abundantly clear that my input on its growth is null and void. Message received. I’m pretty confident he thinks my less-than-subtle suggestions for him to be clean shaven are an attempt to emasculate him. I don’t think he gets that I quite simply don’t like the sensation of kissing sandpaper. If I did, I’d spend more time in the garage with him as I could entertain myself while he was doing his thing. Then again he won’t be in the garage this weekend because it’s Mother’s Day and he always goes motorbike riding with his friends on Mother’s Day. I'm still haunted by my very first Mother's Day when I asked why it wasn't acknowledged to which came the reply, "Well, you're not my Mother." Hmm. I don’t have good feelings about it, as you can appreciate. That reminds me, I must book myself in for a facial on Father's Day. 

I haven’t had a period for nearly 3 months, so have been in a state of PMT for approximately 9 weeks. I think we all know that doesn’t bode for good relations and won't end well. My friend suggested I was perhaps in a state of pre-menopause. God help my family if this is a sign of things to come. Please may it be swift and over as soon as possible. It’s a shame one can’t just flick a switch when one decides they don’t want to have any more children and that just be the end of it. 

My head hasn’t got any space left in it. Then school begins again. Now I have to assist with helping one of my children build a volcano. Fabulous. I have so much time and energy to assist with building a volcano. If I could invest as much time and energy assisting with building a volcano as I do cleaning urine off the toilet floor and toothpaste off the mirror, we’d have the most spectacular volcano the school has ever seen! We’d be superstars! Probably next week’s homework will be to write a debrief reflecting on what we ‘achieved’ building a volcano. I’ll have some choice words to contribute to that I’m sure. 

Anyway. I’ve ranted on enough, just had to get that out of my head. Many of my friends who I share this Mum’s The Word with have often said it’s healthy to be honest and to speak the truth because it makes them feel ‘normal.’ I’m sure that all of you can sympathise with the nature of events, such as these, that can snowball towards driving one to madness and a sense of losing oneself, as I have done this past couple of weeks. 

That’s not the end of my story though. Some other things have happened this week that go far beyond the trivia that inspired me to start writing this Mum’s The Word in the first place. Someone I know, who I went to school with when I was a little girl died from cancer. She was diagnosed only a few months ago, and now she’s gone. My boss at work was in a near fatal car accident and has a gruelling, painstakingly slow road ahead to recovery. Both of them have families who love them dearly and are suffering an indeterminably greater amount of stress and grief than I’ve had to endure because of my own (in hindsight) silly little problems. 

When things like that happen, it wraps everything into perspective. The world shifts on its axis and suddenly nothing in life is linear. Nothing can be taken for granted. Suddenly I love that I’ve volunteered to be a hockey coach, because it will bring joy to a lot of children. Learning about how to play hockey so I can teach them is more important than work. And who cares if if there is urine in the bathroom and toothpaste on the mirror, really? That’s life. If my husband wants to grow a moustache and have facial stubble, so be it. I will love him anyway. Even if he does go riding on Mother’s Day. If I am in pre-menopause, then bring it on. At least I’m alive to be experiencing it, it’s better than the alternative. And the volcano project? Well, it gives me an opportunity to spend time with my child, and at the end of the day, nothing is more important than that. LIVE. LAUGH. LOVE.

Mum’s the Word:

Molly

As some of you will already know, I’m a new Mum again, hence my absence from writing for a short while. My baby is 3 months old now, and she’s the most beautiful and well behaved Spoodle that ever lived. To my friends who have also recently acquired Spoodles (including all Oddle variants), you know how it is.

It might sound like a different beast altogether to a child, but I’m noticing many similarities in terms of aspects of life that need to be taught. I’ve heard it said many a time that it would be nice if our children came with a manual. The beauty of getting a dog baby is that it does come with a manual. In fact I suffered from so much information overload before she came home that I was unsure I would cope with the weight of responsibility and almost changed my mind at the eleventh hour - a luxury one doesn’t have with children, so I acknowledge there’s a fundamental difference there. Somehow when one is exposed to all the facts up front, one feels a heightened obligation to succeed. Fortunately we don’t do Oodle coffee groups or we’d all be under pressure to conform to expectations. Is your Oodle sleeping through the night yet? Mine is. Does your Oodle know how to sit yet? Mine does. I wonder why yours doesn’t? Do you think perhaps there’s something wrong with it? 

Our family is adjusting to Molly being a part of us. We’re having family conferences to explain that she is a baby and should be treated as such. In other words, she is not a toy. She is not for our entertainment; she is a living, breathing soul with her own thoughts and feelings. She should not be picked up and dangled by her front legs to see if she can walk on the back two. It’s not a natural thing for dogs to do. We do not now, nor will we ever have, any remote inclination to submit her for New Zealand’s Got Talent auditions. Happily we’ve not encountered any sibling envy. In fact we have the opposite problem where the boys have found something new to argue about in terms of who gets to spend the most time with her. They’ve gone to such lengths as to voluntarily relinquishing their computer time in a bid to be the most favoured sibling. 

From a Mother’s point of view, I now have a new soul to add to the burden of guilt a Mother feels on a daily basis. In Molly’s case, it really is a case of being subjected to puppy dog eyes, which we all know are extraordinarily hard to resist. It’s hard enough to bear the cross myself without the suffering appeals for a second chance I get from the rest of my family when she is shut outside on a rainy day because she’s been naughty and sits outside the door with her ‘eyes.’ Now the ’others’ think I’m uncaring and heartless when really all I’m trying to do is set boundaries for the sake of us all. I’m playing the long game. As one does with children. “Don’t make a rod for your back,” I hear my own Mother’s words echo. Mean, but necessary. 

I had a few sleepless nights with my baby girl when she first came home but as a Mum I’m used to that. She gave an minuscule whine for a week or so when her little bladder was too full to hold on and we trotted off outside for some relief. Beyond that, toilet training has been a breeze with Molly. She actually listens and understands, or at least gives the appearance of doing so, which is refreshing compared to what I’m used to. She quickly goes out to do her business now on command before bed and then doesn’t disturb me until morning. It’s actually me that has to wake her up - another concept that is foreign to me since I had my human children. If I had known then what I do now, I would have sat my boys on the toilet every half hour at 12 weeks old and chanted “busy busy” until they did a wee. Then I would have given them a treat. Soon enough they'd have got the drift and I'd have saved hundreds of dollars on nappies.  

Feeding Molly is a doddle too. Her food is put out and if she doesn’t eat it within ten minutes, it’s taken away. There are no substitutes, and there is no bargaining. If she doesn’t eat it, it will keep for another day. She has no voice to argue so it works well. I’m not concerned because she’s a very healthy little bundle and I’m sure she would survive splendidly for a few days on her puppy fat.

Molly is lying placidly at my feet as I write this. In the short time we’ve known each other, she’s become my little buddy… unconditionally so. I love her so much already that I can’t imagine what my life was like before she arrived. Reminds me of two other little creatures who exploded into my life and filled a gap I didn't even know was there. Just when you think you couldn't feel any more love than you already do, you do.

Mum’s the Word:

Perspective

I woke up this morning feeling blessed and grateful for the brilliant blue sky and peaceful surroundings. Both of my boys were still in bed I was glad for them to be catching up on some much needed sleep. Today would be a fabulous day! Holidays, sunshine, laughter, joy.
 

If you’re a Mum, you know how quickly that worm can turn. The ‘issues’ started shortly after breakfast. I told the boys I needed 15 minutes alone in my office to check some work emails and make a couple of calls. Having devoted the previous two weeks of my time to them unconditionally, it didn’t seem an unreasonable request. I was alone for approximately one minute before the first interruption came while I was mid-way through responding to a very important email. My blood started to simmer as soon as I heard the frenzied noise and footsteps approaching the office. I thrust my hand out into a STOP position and vigorously re-stated my position:

“I said I needed 15 minutes to myself - is there a part of that you don’t understand?!”

“But MUM! It’s SERIOUS!” For his sake, I really hoped it was.

Louise Hay whispered in my head: My intention is for peace, I am calm and relaxed. Yes, that’s right. I decide to consider the remote possibility that the pressing issue might actually be serious. After all, how would I live with myself if it really was and I’d turned my back?

“What is it?”

“Daniel said Katy Perry is ugly and can’t sing!!”

Some choice words erupted in my head and I prayed to any God who could hear me for strength. Louise’s ethereal whisperings went deathly quiet. Meanwhile, Daniel had chased Elliot down the hallway in a vain attempt to stop him coming into my office to express his grievance. Daniel has three more years experience when it comes to predicting my potentially explosive reaction to incidents of this nature and to his credit, he was probably trying to warn Elliot of the imminent danger. Suddenly they were both in my office simultaneously establishing and disputing facts surrounding the slanderous Katy Perry allegation.

My blood stopped simmering and started full-on boiling. It was my turn to share some vital information with them: "If you don’t leave my office as fast as is humanely possible then something serious will happen."

When they left, echoes of bickering and twittering trailing them down the hallway, I took a moment to let my heartbeat resume its normal pace and allow my headspace to recapture its previous thought. Calmer, I pressed on with my very important email. Then it happened again approximately 2 minutes later.

“MUM!” This had better be good; like one of them has broken a leg. 

 “GRRR. WHAT NOW?!”

“ I really need an envelope. Oh, and how do you spell TRAITOR?”

I pinch myself to make sure I’m actually awake and this isn’t a nightmare. I won’t tell you what I did next because I have a reputation to protect. I can tell you that in the surreal silence that followed (boys suitably subdued and absent) some tears were shed and I had a stern word with myself. Something along the lines of: Why do you persist in doing this? This is no time to be working. Now everyone is crying and unhappy. I’m a terrible Mum. All he wanted was an envelope. You know how it goes. 

I’m a slow learner. This experience demonstrates that. I should have learned by now that holidays are holidays and work is work: oil and water when children are in the mix. There’s no issue at all if I’m just doing frivolous stuff in my office like surfing Facebook or paying bills. It’s only a problem when I try to tune out ‘home’ and tune in ‘work.’ For me, it just doesn’t work with children in the house; it messes with my head and never ends well. On reflection, the whole saga is completely unnecessary because I don’t need to work - my ‘work’ has no expectation I’ll be working. As far as they’re concerned, I’m on holiday! Was the email I was engaged in so critically important? Let’s just say the world wouldn’t have self combusted had I not replied. Another equally competent professional (no doubt in a much sharper state of mind) could easily have taken ownership of the issue in my absence. I am dispensable; the world will continue to turn without me. So admittedly I am the master of my own stress creation. Consequently I’m the master of my children’s stress too.

A change in perspective works wonders. When the storm passed, I suggested to the boys we go for a bike ride to get an ice cream and feed the ducks. The remainder of our day turned out to be just as fabulous as I had originally predicted: holidays, sunshine, laughter, joy. The worm had turned again. All was forgotten.

We were on a road trip last week and I was struck with an analogy relating to perspective. One moment we were driving on a straight road and I saw a large mountain in front of us. Then just as I was talking about it, we turned a corner and I couldn’t see it anymore. The landscape hadn’t changed; the mountain was still there. All that had changed was my perspective. I got to thinking it’s like that with our children. Our love for them is undoubtedly monumental and part of the landscape. It won’t ever change. But sometimes our perspective does - we lose sight of what’s really important. What I admire about our children is that they always seem to have a view of the mountain because it's all around them – our unconditional love. Their journey is a lot more straightforward than ours. They have unquestionable faith that we will navigate the twists and turns on their behalf. So they really only have a single perspective. They unashamedly live their lives driven by their own desires and pure self-fulfillment. They act on instinct. They do whatever makes them happy. They act obliviously and unequivocally like children. Not a bad way to live life when you think about it. In fact I’ve decided to follow their lead for the rest of our holidays.

Mum’s the Word:

Live in the moment. Enjoy the view.

Letting Go...

I always feel very proud when my children achieve independence milestones. It started out with little things, like watching Daniel make his very first purchase without me at his side. He had $5 pocket money in his brand new bright green wallet and he walked up to a clown at a circus and purchased a battery-powered hand-held fluorescent fan. The look on his face at that moment is tattooed in my mind - electrified excitement cloaked with anxiety, all the while casting looks back at me for reassurance as he completed his little transaction and received 50 cents change to put back into his brand new bright green wallet. I  actually cried a little with pride as I watched him. I loved sharing in the thrill he felt at having achieved something so significant and great; being witness to the flush of personal power he glowed in after accomplishing something for the first time. Priceless.

With Elliot it was letting him walk to school on his own for the first time. That was a big deal. He was shaking so much with excitement when he left that I nearly lost my nerve because I thought he might not concentrate hard enough on crossing the single road along his journey (actually just between us, I did follow him in stealth mode to calm my nerves and ensure his safe arrival). Sadly I couldn’t be present on that occasion to see his pride but I knew he’d feel it. When I let both boys walk home on their own for the first time it was the longest half hour of my life. Not that I’d let them know that... staring out the window down the driveway thinking they should be here by now... they should be here by now... Then as soon as I caught a glimpse of their little hats bobbing up the road I flung myself casually on the couch (heart thumping) and acted very nonchalantly as they came through the front door. “Hi guys! Good day?” I didn’t want let on how much of a big deal it was for me, I wanted them to own their pride and independence. For them, it was as if they’d been doing it their whole lives; that’s when I realised that for them these achievements are a natural progression. Our job as parents is simply to facilitate the process.

I think the two main challenges we face as ‘managers of the process’ are first to know when it’s appropriate (and safe) to let the rope out, and second to have the courage to take that leap of faith. My instinct is that one just feels when the time is right. If it doesn’t feel right then it probably isn’t. For me that works fine for simple things, like when it’s OK to let them go into the $2 shop on their own to make a purchase, or to walk to a friend’s house in the neighbourhood. I must admit though I’m a little more hesitant trusting my instincts when it comes to things I perceive to be more ‘dangerous’ or unknown, like bike riding after school to a friend’s house who doesn’t quite live in the neighbourhood or catching the bus with a friend who claims to be most proficient at catching buses and ‘knows all the timetables by heart.’ I guess that’s because I’ll lose some control at that point and feel a little out of my comfort zone. So the challenge becomes when is it OK to let that particular bit of rope out? Where’s the line between protecting or suppressing them to a smothering degree and setting them free to gain their independence? It’s a tough call. 

I got to thinking what my own childhood was like, but must admit I didn’t find much consolation in that in terms of how to best manage situations of freedom. My parents used to let me go and play at the creek with my friends when I was a tween. I’d be there all day - climbing willow trees, swimming in water holes and generally exploring. To be fair I was with my big brother, but he was only 13. My friend Emma and I also used to ride our Raleigh 20 bikes from Kawerau to Lake Rotoma for a swim, both of us wearing nothing but bikinis with our towels and a packed lunch slapped onto our carriers. Oh, and no helmets. The “Rotomas,” as that particular stretch of road is called, is one of the most hazardous stretches in the North Island, littered with white crosses in memory of those who attempted to navigate it and never lived to tell the story. I actually wonder now if I imagined the whole thing, it seems so surreal. Was that appropriate? Probably not. Since I’ve had my own children I’ve probed my parents about their seemingly casual attitude towards those events. That wasn’t letting the rope out, that was letting go of the rope entirely. They couldn’t really explain why they felt it was OK, they just did. Perhaps it was my Mother’s belief in God. I’ve spoken about this with many friends over the years and they all had very similar experiences. In my parents defence, and those of my friends, it was another time; another generation. So what’s different now? Would we let our children do that? I think I speak for all when I say no, we categorically would not. I know the reason our parents let go of the rope wasn’t because they cared for us any less than we do our own children and I’m hesitant to say it’s because they were more naive. So why? All I can think of (apart from unequivocal faith in a higher power) is that it’s related to the explosion of fear-mongering media and its extensive coverage. When we were children the biggest media event of the year was Telethon. Now you can’t turn on the news without hearing about the latest child abduction, drunk driver, or infant battering. There’s nothing positive to report. We’ve grown up in this explosion so we have an inherent fear our parents never had and as a consequence, an inherent need to protect our children more closely.

So what can we learn from it all? I think we can learn there has to be a considered resting place between fear and freedom when it comes to letting our children explore the world for themselves. We have to consider the way society is today but we also need to remember our children have a right to be set free to gain their independence without our own fears chaining them. This is a new generation and these are new times. The best we can do is ‘find the line in our own time.’

Mum’s the Word:

Good Things Inherited?

I’m not quite sure how or when this happened, but Elliot recently declared how much he loves brown bread. I can honestly say I didn’t know that about him. While I confess to being acutely aware of the benefits surrounding brown bread for health, nutrition, bowel movements and the like, I must also confess to being remiss in exposing my children to it. On reflection, my own preference for white bread is more than likely an inherited tendency rather than it being the result of any considered experimentation on my part. 

When I questioned Elliot about his newfound love, he said it was because whenever Dad took him out for brunch (which occurs in the weekend when it’s my turn for a lie in, the cereal has run out, and imagination around alternative options is null and void), his favourite thing to order is an egg sandwich on brown bread. I was thankful at least I knew how much he loved eggs otherwise the shock might have been more than I could process in a single revelation. 

It got me thinking about how much of our children’s likes and dislikes are simply inherited from us. To what degree do we expose them to new things we might never have even tried or liked ourselves? Just because I like white bread, I’ve always offered that to my children. I don’t think it’s a conscious thing, it’s just the way we tend to be. I have a friend who is a vegetarian and consequently she’s never given her children meat. One of her boys came to a birthday party of ours once and I was under instruction not to let him eat the savaloys or sausage rolls. Naturally I respected her discipline around that; but I could tell they really wanted to eat them. I wondered at the time whether their imposed deprivation was a good or a bad thing. I would have understood it more if my friend’s personal position was ethical, but it wasn’t - it was just that she didn’t like the taste of meat herself. I guess in hindsight now after the brown bread incident, it’s just a more extreme example of how we pass our own ideas onto our children. 

More often than not I think, we get our ‘foundation’ ideas from our own parents... and so the cycle repeats itself. It reminds me of the story about the woman who cut the ends off the Xmas ham before she baked it in the oven. Her child asked her why she always did that, and she replied, “I’m not sure what the reason is, I just know it’s the right way to do it... ask your Grandma, she’ll know.” So the child asked her Grandma, who replied, “Well, I’m not sure why your Mum does it, but I did it because my oven tray wasn’t big enough to hold a full ham.” And there it is. We repeat history; we believe it is so and we never question it. 

Because our children are young and impressionable, they simply go along with us because in truth we’re all they have to go along with, at least in the early years of their lives. Are we doing them an injustice by teaching them our ways? Are we (albeit unconsciously) ‘programming’ them? They often grow up talking like us; acting like us. I guess the reality is that we can only teach them what we ourselves have learned.  

It’s not just our personal tastes and likes we pass onto our children; it’s preferences, prejudices, beliefs and opinions too. That’s a whole lot of baggage for a new soul to absorb. They're born perfectly clean like a blank canvas: unaffected and free; unbiased and innocent. Then we start to paint them. I’m not entirely sure the spirit with which they came into this world is fully nurtured by us limiting their design to the colors of our own palette. The words of the great Kahlil Gibran have always resonated strongly with me:

“Your children come through you; but not from you.

You may give them your love, but not your thoughts;

For they have their own thoughts.

You may strive to be like them;

But seek not to make them like you.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.”

Our children, although little and precious and in need of our protection, are individual souls in their own right. Sometimes we forget that. 

So what can we do? We can do our best. We can teach them what we know to be good and right. Ideally, we can teach them to live a life without prejudice or judgement, whatever our own beliefs might be. We can teach them to always be true to themselves and to always be honest, despite what we might think. If they want to eat a sausage roll or brown bread, we should make ourselves approachable enough for them to tell us so and know absolutely that we will respect their view. We can teach them to live their lives with an open mind; to know that just because we do or think something, it doesn’t mean they have to. Above all, we should respect their choices in life. What an amazing thing it will be to watch them create their individual art as the patterns of their own soul emerge. 

Mum’s the Word:

Plane Thoughts

Today I was sitting in a bar at Auckland airport after a trip to the office, quietly sipping a cool glass of chardonnay. I was soaking in the atmosphere, fascinated as I always am by the vast and eclectic range of people hustling and bustling from here to there and everywhere. I was reminded of Dr. Seuss’s famous poem: “You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You’re on you own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who’ll decide where to go...” Everyone looked so purposeful; everyone had a place to be. If they weren’t there yet, they would be soon. 

Then a woman caught my eye. She was striving valiantly to juggle a suitcase, a small  squirming baby, and the accompanying ‘kit’ - you know, the kit one carries like an extra appendage when one has a small baby. As I continued to sip my chardonnay watching her, I was smiling on the inside because I knew her struggle. A thought crossed my mind that I’m so glad I’m not her anymore. I’m so glad I’m here on my own, sipping my chardonnay. 

When my plane was called to board, I noticed that she was checking in with me and felt compassion for her that she’d have to endure the flight with her baby and her kit. I followed her onto the plane and discovered she would be sitting right next to me. I was secretly happy. After a long wait in the aisle while she apologetically positioned both baby and kit, I sat next to her. That’s when it happened. The baby started making eyes at me, and giggling at me for reasons known only to himself. Something happened to me emotionally at that point; I melted. I became one of those strangers who wanted to squeeze the cheeks of this other Mother’s baby. I wanted him to sit on my lap. I had to try very hard not to act on my impulses. After a brief flirtation with the child, I started to think about my own boys when they were that age - about 3-5 months old. What struck me was that I couldn’t remember. If you don’t already know this about me, I’m quite soft. I turned my head towards the window and fought back the tears because I suddenly missed my boys so much. I don’t mean I missed them just today, I mean I missed all of them. I missed them when they were 3 months old. I missed them when they were one. I missed them when they were two... I missed everything about them, including the day I’d missed today. I got to thinking why it was so hard to remember them being all of that. I figured it was because we were so close, our growing together had just become absorbed into my being. It just was. They are in the blood that runs through my veins. They are in every breath I take; my life force. I was reminded of another famous poem by E.E.Cummings: “I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart). I am never without it (anywhere I go you go my dear).”

While the grumpy woman in the back seat of the plane behind us cast judgmental looks  and sighed judgmental sighs throughout the flight, I reveled in my position and was so grateful to have been reminded of what my life has been. I decided it was OK I couldn’t visualise myself positioned in the seat next to me anymore - this is their time. Everything my boys are today, and everything I am, is a product of what we’ve been together right from the beginning until today.   

I was amazed to have come full circle in my experience with this woman in a 25 minute flight. I started out being glad I wasn’t her; being glad that I was the one casually sipping on my chardonnay at the start of it all. In the end, I envied her position because she still has it all to come, and that’s the most exciting journey of all. 

When I got home, I gave my boys a big hug and told them how much I’d missed them. More than they’ll ever know.

Inquisitiveness

Daniel was introduced to a new concept in a book he read recently – Insurance. Consequently, I’ve been subjected to some probing about the topic. I've always struggled a little trying to describe the intricacies of such things to little people, especially Daniel.

It's not that the subject is particularly intricate, so it might come across as sounding a little curious when I say I hesitate to launch into it, it's just that I know what Daniel's like. If there are intricacies or anomalies to be found around a concept that's new to him, he will find them. He won't ever settle for some half-baked explanation. My Mum will no doubt read this and feel a flush of remembrance (and relief that it's over) because that's exactly what I was like as a child. I wasn't called "I.Q." because I was intelligent, though I was happy to wear that badge proudly amongst the uninformed. It actually meant "Inquisitive Queen."

The thing is, Daniel's need to understand everything in great detail equates to my own desire to be able to tell him everything. Unless there is something to divulge that isn't age-appropriate, I'd like to be in a position to quench his thirst for knowledge. I'd like to be able to cover his elected topics to the degree it will do them enough justice to elicit a comprehensive understanding. It's a two-sided strategy. On the one hand, I feel a personal need to validate my own intelligence. On the other hand, I don't want to be backed into a corner by his, unable to bring forth a conclusive answer that will satisfy his inquisition.     

I still bear the emotional and intellectual scars from the suffering I endured as a child when my brother repeatedly called me an ignoramus. The first time he called me that, I remember going to get the dictionary from my Dad's desk so I could find out what the word meant. In a nutshell, it means a person who doesn't know anything; one who is unlearned. Because I've always had an inherent determination to know everything, that was a particularly cruel tease for me. I can forgive my brother for it now because I'm sure he never intended for it to be malicious or psychologically damaging - he probably didn't even know what the word meant himself, really. However, the fact I still remember it 35 years after the incident indicates to me that it lurks deep in my subconscious, and this I feel is what rises to the surface when I'm interrogated by Daniel. It's one thing my brother thinks I'm an ignoramus but quite another for my son to believe it. One of the great leverages we have as parents is that our children think we know everything, at least in their formative years.  

I must confess, I do have a tendency with my children to adopt a 'fob-off' approach around matters of technical curiosity if possible, which basically means if my husband is home. He's a lot more patient and able when it comes to transferring information associated with that realm. Besides, he just knows more about 'stuff' like that than I do, so his coverage of content is likely to be a lot more thorough than mine. His presence has been my saviour on many occasions in terms of my being able to retain the omniscient aura I present to my children. It's a good partnership really, because my strength lies in discussing more philosophical, ethereal matters. I happy to invest a great deal of time indulging in conversations of that nature with my children - there is never a wrong answer.

Anyway, back to the question on insurance, which had become pressing. We were midway through a long car trip at the time and Dad wasn't there so I couldn't apply the fob-off technique. I'd forgotten to take my iPod along for the trip too, so there was silence to be filled and no valid justification for me to not respond. Elliot was in the back seat urging the subject on, having suddenly acquired an equally passionate, albeit passively, desire to understand what this insurance thing was all about.

I decided to start with a simple approach. "OK, so we pay money every year to a company who 'insures' our car. That means if I crash the car, the same  company will give us enough money to replace it." I was pleased that it sounded quite simple and easily understood once I'd said it. "What if you die in the crash, who gets the money?" Daniel said. You see, this is why I don't like having these conversations with him. Because I didn't know the answer. Who does get the money if I die in a car that I've personally insured? I figured in the (brief) silence that followed, it would probably go to my 'estate' and be sorted out via my will... but that just brings forth a labyrinth of issues I wasn't really inclined to discuss with him. But do you think the probing stopped there? No, it did not. Elliot's contribution to the discussion was "Cool, we'd get to buy a new car," like he thought it was akin to a lotto win.

We talked about the other things that could be insured. We covered contents insurance, which left Elliot feeling very aggrieved about whether he'd be able to replace Cookie in the event of a fire. Cookie being his bed-time buddy since birth, who ranks No.1 on his list of all time favourite people - one above me. I told him that sadly some things could never be replaced and then spent some time trying to explain the difference between value and money.  Remember, I was probed - I didn't invite this grief upon him.  

Daniel hadn't let go of the loss of life issue. Thankfully I'd managed to swerve him away from the previous  vehicle insurance intricacy, only because there was a lot more yet to be understood around the main topic. So we moved on to life insurance. I continued, "That means if I die, Dad gets heaps of money, and if Dad dies, I get heaps of money." Naturally the question that followed was, "What if you both die?" Sigh. That brings us back to wills again, and whether they are of an appropriate age to inherit the money or not. I decided to skip the part about guardianship and all that jazz, and leaped to assuming they'd both be adults in the tragic event their parents died simultaneously. Lovely conversation we were having. Wish I'd brought my iPod. Daniel reached back to Elliot and gave him a high-five! "Awesome, we'll be rich!" They obviously have no idea we have no money because we're still paying off our house. Which begged the question for me - if we both die, does life insurance still apply and would they still get money? My mind was mush at that point.

I decided it was an appropriate time to ask a poignant question to get their minds (and mine) back on track. "Would you rather have a Mum and Dad alive, or heaps of money?" One of them answered, "Mum, don't be silly, of course you know the answer to that." The other one answered, "Depends really... how much money are we talking." I'm going to assume that was an attempt at humour.

Mum’s the Word:

What I'd really like to be able to do is insure my children. To ensure they'll live long and happy lives, and always remain delightfully inquisitive.

Social Networking

My nephew sent me a friend request via Facebook recently. It would have been rude not to accept, particularly as he pro-actively labelled me publically as his Aunty... pending acceptance (?). It was my first Facebook request from a teenager, so I was intrigued to catch a glimpse into the 'goings on' of the new-age online. My first insight was intriguing... upon acceptance (thereby officially his Aunty), I noticed I was his 260^th friend. He’s 13 years old. Either something has dramatically changed in terms of the process by which the new generation make friends, or the definition of friendship itself has changed.

Friend [noun]: a person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard; a person who gives unconditional assistance or support as needed.

It seems the definition hasn't changed. I consider I fit the bill with regard to being his friend in terms of the current Oxford interpretation. I reflected though that when I was his age, I could probably have counted on two hands the people who held that status in my world. So he’s doing exceptionally well to have amassed such a vast quantity at such a young age;  I assume his 'friends' constitute the majority of his school role. Which begs the question: do children today understand the true nature of friendship... are they able to distinguish clearly between their authentic friends, and their sometimes, when-I-feel-like-it or when-I'm-online friends? Or has the internet age that has delivered to us social networks like Facebook distorted their view to the degree that their quantity of friends holds more 'cred' and kudos than their quality? Without a doubt, something has definitely changed. I'm certain the shift in perspective has been driven by technology, but am currently undecided about whether it's a good or a bad thing in terms of social development.

Certainly, the children of this generation have access and exposure via IT devices that deliver to them an enormous, practically limitless 'ethereal' playing field that extends well beyond the strict perimeters of the school yards we used to kick a ball around in our day. I can appreciate how alluring that must be to an easily stimulated adolescent trying to win friends and influence people. I don't doubt that freedom of expression and exploration can be a positive thing to some degree, but I do believe that unforeseen consequences could accompany it, so there is a balance of responsibility that must be considered around the freedom.

When I was young, I didn't have the luxury of 'poking' my friends remotely from my computer when I wanted to make contact. I used to call them on the phone. It was a pretty radical, direct approach. When we met (in person), we'd have an actual discussion. If one of us said something the other particularly liked or didn’t like, it was obvious by our facial expressions. We would laugh or frown, or make some other human gesture that gave us an indication as to how the conversation should progress. We always kept it within the bounds of mutual respect and social acceptance. These days on Facebook, we're gifted with the awesome power to make a one-directional comment, sometimes fearlessly bold and liberated, which allows us to extend ourselves beyond the boundaries of what we might dare to say in 'real life.' There are no immediate consequences. One or more of our friends might ‘like’ our comment, which is naturally fabulous and self-fulfilling. However, for a sensitive and impressionable young soul, it's not a far stretch to assume that if one of our friends didn't ‘like’ our comment, it must mean they disliked it. There is no allowance for absence or apathy, nor any allowance for a mutually reasoned, healthy discussion around a subject. Even if an abbreviated word exchange does result from a comment, voice intonation and expression are missing, so the potential for misinterpretation is rife. So trapped forever in the 'ether' are the insecurities of impressionable souls... freed only by real-life connections and communications.

I confess there were times in my susceptible youth when I felt a pinch of friendship insecurity. It's something we've all felt throughout our lives at some stage or another. For example, if I agreed to meet a friend to ride our bikes to school together and she didn’t show up at the arranged time and place (there were no mobile phones in those days to alert me to any variation in plan), I'd worry she'd gone with someone else, or just forgotten about me. What concerns me in this age of Facebook is that there's a risk one might feel insecure simply as a result of someone not liking their comment. Or God Forbid, someone not accepting their friend request when they'd put themselves out there. And what of the more recent Facebook application: “Top Friends,” which enables people to exclusively mark their 'favourite' friends so they’ll stand out from the crowd. How crushing would that be to someone who thought they were one of your ‘top friends,’ only to find out they hadn’t been marked? I’m genuinely concerned that the Facebook phenomenon (and IT advancement in general) has brought with it the potential for a plethora of new social psychological issues that make it a good time to consider re-training as a psychiatrist or a counsellor. In fact, it might be a good career path to encourage my children to pursue... it could set them up for life.

I worry that our children's access to the internet and social sites will seriously diminish their chances to develop real social skills. I don't doubt they'll still make some genuine friends the same old fashioned way that we used to, but I think the "Facebook" age could ironically expose them to greater risk of potential bullying, insecurity, and isolation.  I also believe attachment to social networks could easily become an addiction. The compulsion to go online at every opportunity could override the more healthy alternative of arranging human contact, which in my view is far more fulfilling and rewarding.

Having said all of the above, I do subscribe to Facebook myself. But in my defence, I employ in parallel the old school tactic of making phone-calls to my friends. I must say though that even amongst my own generation, I think phone communication is becoming a dying art. We all have busy lives and it's definitely easier to drop a message online than to make a call, but  personally I don't think that can ever replace hearing someone's voice. And a Facebook hug can ever replace a real hug, from a real friend - you know, the kind who would take you in if your house burned down. 

Of course, it could just be that I'm an old fossil, and my nephew will read this and think... whatever. Either way, I'm just going to have to flow with it, because it's here; it is what it is. What I do know is that without question I'll make sure my children 'befriend' me when they're eventually old enough to join Facebook. I need to be amongst (albeit passively) the 'in' crowd when a party invitation goes viral, especially if it's at my house. And I'll need to make sure I have my real friends on speed dial if my house burns down as a consequence.  

Mum’s the Word:

Social networking is inevitable. It's already happening, and our children won't escape it's claws. It’s our responsibility as parents to make sure they at least grow up learning the value of true friendship and the art of face-to-face socialisation.