I’ve come to the conclusion that as a parent, you can only do so much to prepare your kids to experience life.
You can give them lectures, which when they are teenagers they will promptly tune out, or provide constant encouragement to make the smart choices.
And be prepared for your children to query you on the decisions you made at their age.
As most of you know, Mary Beth and I have a teenaged daughter, of whom we are extremely proud.
She really is a good kid; we’re blessed.
But she is still a teenager, doing teenager things. And what is frustrating to me is when she doesn’t listen.
I have to admit, I’m at times a little too sarcastic when passing on my wisdom and knowledge to her. And I look back and see perhaps too much of my own upbringing leading my approach.
When I did what other teens did, even though it may not have been a sound choice, I received the lemmings comparison – in that all teenagers are lemmings and if one decides to jump off a cliff, it seems all of them do.
I don’t think I’ve tried that analogy on Brenna.
But we do encourage her to make her own informed decisions, and she usually does, with the choice very often being the correct one.
Does she go to parties? Yes, something I did at her age as well. Except that unlike the teenaged version of me, Brenna will keep a close eye on her friends and make sure everyone is in good shape.
Does she procrastinate in doing her homework or chores around the house? Certainly. She is a teenager after all, and she’s my kid. I was the king of procrastination. At times, I still pull out the crown.
So, with our teen, it’s the little things that can be frustrating. And I have to learn that they really are little things.
The biggest hiccups we have these days are things most every parent of a high-school kid have. And one of those is dressing for the occasion. I’m not talking how she dresses for school exactly – she’s at the Pines and there is a uniform. I’m talking about dressing for the weather.
She’ll go out on a cool morning in just a hoodie. I’ll remind her how cool it is outside, but she’ll rationalize that she’s getting rides to and from school and won’t be exposed to the elements.
OK, good point. As a teen, I’d walk to and from school nearly a mile in each direction (uphill in both directions and in a blizzard, yadda, yadda). And for the longest time, I’d wear a ski jacket in the winter with a big rip in its sleeve. I thought it looked cool wearing ripped clothing. It was cool all right; downright freezing in the chilly winters of North Bay.
And no way I’d wear a raincoat on a wet day. Nope. I’d arrive at school with my hair plastered to my head, and shivering.
So on Saturday, with it pouring rain, our daughter, dressed very nicely, was ready to head out to watch the championship high school football game. She wanted to use my umbrella. I suggested she wear a rain poncho, something smart fans wear to games in inclement weather. She compromised, donning a water-repellent warmer coat, and took a blanket to sit on to stay off the wet bench. I gave in.
As she walked away from the truck when I dropped her off, it was then that I noticed she’d worn sandals and not shoes. At least she had socks on (ugh, what a style).
Ahh, teenagers.
She’ll learn, although she assured me she stayed (mostly) dry for the game. The blanket went straight into the washing machine.
Cat comprehension
Finn and I are at odds. To me, he’s just a cat and I’m the master of the household. To him, I’m a noisy, big human with a soft belly on which to lie and a tasty hand to chew on at times.
I’m the more intelligent species, so I’ll win this battle of wits, right? He’ll settle down at night when I tell him to, and stop his sneak attacks on the humans in the house, correct?
Yeah, I’m dreaming. The little guy goes from angel to demon in less time than it takes a Ferrari to go from zero to 60.
Worst night last week: Finn decides at about 11:30 p.m. that it’s exercise time, and the hallway from our bedroom door to the chair at the far end of the living room is the drag strip.
It still amazes me how a critter that’s supposed to hunt with stealth can sound like a galloping horse late at night when running through our house.
And when I ignored his antics, preferring to nod off in the recliner that’s off his drag strip path? Let’s just say there’s nothing quite like waking up from a slumber by having a cat run up the back of the recliner and then launch himself into your lap, landing all four paws on your private parts before launching off to the far end of the living room.
Yep, I was wide awake to say the least.
So he and I had a little “conversation.” We have these a lot when he refuses to calm down at night. Sometimes they come with me clutching onto him in my lap, but this one took place with him in one hand, mere inches from the ceiling in the hallway. I firmly reminded him it was time to calm down, and then brought him down to hold him until he stopped trying to escape, forcing him to be petted and forcing him to downshift mentally and physically.
Usually after these “chats” he leaves me for a while, realizing he’s more than got my attention, only to later return to sleep on me.
I’d like to think I’ve won the round, but, really, I’m not so sure.
