My oldest boys have one hard and fast rule for me. Maybe I shouldn’t complain. After all, I’m given a lot of leeway. I’m free to cook “good” food, clean their rooms (as long as I don’t snoop) and make my car available 24/7. I can “loan” them $10 and come up with a Mardi Gras feast when friends drop by. I can find their socks stuffed in the sofa and if I’m lucky their plates under the bathroom sink. I am occasionally allowed to put an arm around their broad shoulders or to steal a peck on the cheek, and am super popular when one needs a good back rub.
The only thing I’m not allowed to do is talk to their friends. I learned this the hard way. Running around like a crazy woman preparing for a 16th birthday party, I was all excited. Since we’re old-fashioned and insist on being home during such events, I’d been prepping myself with things to say to teenagers: “So, how’s school going?”, and “How much is your parents’ car payment?” I was going to be a fun parent, fit in with the kids and not lurk around like a thug. I’d seen the type, usually chaperoning at school dances, hiding in the corners, shunned by all.
Before anyone arrived, before I even had a chance to offer some onion dip, my big boys sat me down and without preamble told me how things were going to be. “Mom, don’t talk to anyone about anything,” Connor said. I was indignant. I tried to explain that the only time I had ever said anything even mildly inappropriate was at the urging of their own peers, who wanted to hear stories about them. What mom wouldn’t share some of the best moments? “No. Nothing,” added Jake. Then they left to shave their chins.
Ok, I wouldn’t hang out with the guests, I’d just make them feel welcome. So when they started tramping in like they owned the place I was there with a smile. But before I could point the way to the taquitos I was escorted to my office and shackled to my desk. “You can have 3 hours on the computer, mom,” said Jake. “This is a first offense so we’ll be lenient, but don’t let it happen again.”
The only thing I’m not allowed to do is talk to their friends. I learned this the hard way. Running around like a crazy woman preparing for a 16th birthday party, I was all excited. Since we’re old-fashioned and insist on being home during such events, I’d been prepping myself with things to say to teenagers: “So, how’s school going?”, and “How much is your parents’ car payment?” I was going to be a fun parent, fit in with the kids and not lurk around like a thug. I’d seen the type, usually chaperoning at school dances, hiding in the corners, shunned by all.
Before anyone arrived, before I even had a chance to offer some onion dip, my big boys sat me down and without preamble told me how things were going to be. “Mom, don’t talk to anyone about anything,” Connor said. I was indignant. I tried to explain that the only time I had ever said anything even mildly inappropriate was at the urging of their own peers, who wanted to hear stories about them. What mom wouldn’t share some of the best moments? “No. Nothing,” added Jake. Then they left to shave their chins.
Ok, I wouldn’t hang out with the guests, I’d just make them feel welcome. So when they started tramping in like they owned the place I was there with a smile. But before I could point the way to the taquitos I was escorted to my office and shackled to my desk. “You can have 3 hours on the computer, mom,” said Jake. “This is a first offense so we’ll be lenient, but don’t let it happen again.”
our cardinal rule is "you cannot join the neighborhood gangs" under ANY circumstances. you must play at our house/yard or south. NEVER NEVER north
ReplyDelete