The Drama of Parenthood

I watched an episode of the new drama Parenthood last night. I thought it would be an enjoyable, if vicarious, commiseration over the profound and absurd of parenting.

Parenthood portrays the family lives of the various siblings of the Bravermans. As I watched, I laughed with the mom whose teen daughter communicates primarily through superbly refined eye-rolling, I empathized with the father who wants to be noticed by his young autistic son, and I got irritated with the grandparents playing Wii with the grandkids when there is still homework to be done.

But in the end I also found myself dismayed. Throughout the episode the mom of the teen daughter struggled to be "cool" in her daughter's eyes. Of course, the daughter wants nothing to do with her own mom and spends most of her time at her BFF's house. On a rare occasion of finding her daughter and the BFF at her house, our Parenthood mom convinces her daughter to let her take the two girls to a concert. On the eve of the concert, our desperate-to-be-cool mom assures the mom of her daughter's BFF that she will be with the girls during the entire concert and make sure they are safe and responsible.

In response, the other mom waves her hand as if to blow off any concern and says something like, "Oh sure, whatever."

Suddenly it becomes clear to the discerning viewer why the teen daughter prefers the BFF's house to her own: lack of supervision. And the befuddled look on our mom's face indicates she now gets it too. And the mom is faced with deciding whether being "cool" is worth the sacrifice of properly supervising her daughter.

We all want to be the cool parents and to have the cool home where the kids congregate. But does this desire to be cool really require giving up supervisory rights? I would suggest (as would tons of good research and the experience of countless parents who have gone before us) that the opposite is true: Truly "cool" parents have fun with their kids and retain their parental authority.

But creating a place where teens can congregate and have fun while being properly supervised is a LOT of work. So, Mark and I have spent years getting to know the boys' friends and their parents and have, as a result, a network of "cool" homes where we know the kids are getting all the right supervision while still having fun.

Being one of the cool families requires sacrifice. It costs time, effort, space, and food...lots of food. It means we cannot go out when the boys are at our house with friends; it means we have to carve money out of  our food budget for feeding teens; it means going to pick up other kids and bringing them back to our house.

But there is one sacrifice no one in our network makes. None of us have traded being responsible parents for being "cool" parents. Indeed, we have all found ways to weave responsible supervision into our "cool" parenting.

And believe it or not, the kids do not shun any of us. Of course they roll their eyes at us, but they are also happy to hang out in our homes eating our junk food. And they talk with us and laugh with (read: at) us.

And none of the parents have to deal with the conundrum our Parenthood mom had to deal with, because the kids know they are going to get the same supervision no matter where they go.

"Are You Sober?"

The scene: 

Boy 1, age 14, sits at the desk working studiously on his Latin II assignment. Father sits on a nearby  couch reading. Boy 2, age 10, enters the room from kitchen and approaches Boy 1.

Boy 2: (with completely deadpan demeanor) Are you sober?

Father: Why would you ask him that? Of course he is sober!

Boy 2: Seems appropriate for me to know if my teenage brother is sober. 

Father: Well that was completely random.

Boy 2: Yep. (exits room)

Boy 1 silently returns to his Latin textbook. 

Life with teenagers amuses me.

The Coach Who Yelled at My Baby

Boy 2's soccer season started this week with practice and the first game. The volunteer coach clearly has his work cut out for him. With his recreational team of 9-13 year olds, Coach B is tasked with challenging the older, experienced players while teaching the younger ones in a way that integrates the fledglings into a cohesive team.

Growing up I did not play sports.  My 2nd grade foray into track and cross-country ended with the coach suggesting to my parents that perhaps I was rather small for running fast. I have since learned that some of the fastest people are some of the smallest, but that is another blog post. 

So when I first watched Coach B holler at my baby, my mother bird feathers were rather ruffled. I wanted to chirp loudly: This is a recreational team, Coach! The kids are here to have fun, not get yelled at!

But as I watched and listened, I saw what Coach B was really doing. He was not yelling at the kids, he was yelling to them. He was not disheartening them, he was setting a high standard and expecting them to reach it. Refusing to allow the older kids to slack off in the presence of the younger, he came alongside the younger children with teaching and encouragement. 

You can guess the result: a very diverse group of kids became a soccer team. With grins on their faces as they closed out the practice with a sprinting race against Coach B (who happens to stand over 6 feet tall with the long litheness of a runner), they finished strong and happy. 

Of course, looking back this all makes complete sense. Children and adults alike rise to high and attainable standards. Expectations coupled with discipline and teaching bring the best out of us.

On the way home from practice Boy 2 could not stop talking about Coach B. Thrilled with the challenge he was facing on the field, he explained that when Coach B wins the sprint, Coach will add 30 seconds to the next week's sprint. Boy 2, his 4'4" frame holding the heart of a giant, proclaimed, "I will beat Coach B before the end of the season."

Today I bought myself a Tall Pumpkin Spice Latte

Today I spent 15 minutes looking for the keys I needed to drive Boy 2 to school. Keys I always put in the same place, because I know I won't remember where I put them if I don't.

Today I went to work, to physical therapy, then back to work.

Today I generated paychecks for employees and set them on my desk to hand to my receptionist. They were still on my desk when she left at noon.

Today I went to a doctor's appointment to get a prescription filled which I did not need because said doctor had already written the prescription at my last appointment. My pharmacy has it on file and is filling it now.

Today I left my doctor's office three times: Once to make sure I had locked my car. Once when my appointment was over. And once after going back to my exam room to get my purse.

Today is only half over.

So today I bought myself a Tall Pumpkin Spice Latte.

Matilda

Alas! Has it been a month since my last writing? Why yes, yes it has. Just one more thing to blame Matilda for.

Who, you ask, is Matilda? Is she a house guest, who despite the fact that both fish and guests smell bad after three days, stayed a whole month? Is she a new addition to your brood of Boy 1, Boy 2, and Wee 1? Is she an imaginary friend?

Well, no, she is none of those (though there are times when I must re-convince myself that she is indeed NOT imaginary).Matilda is the name our family has given to whatever this/these illness/illnesses is/are that plague me.

I decided to name the havoc being wreaked in my body until such time as a doctor can give it a proper name. To say, "I'm sure having a Matilda day today!" is much easier than, "Whatever this is I've got...or had...or might have...or, oh you know what I mean...is really bothering me today."

And on days when my brain battles fiercely to get my mouth to say the words it has found and to find the words it's lost, proclaiming, "Stupid Matilda!" is not only easier but also somewhat gratifying.