I've Had It Up to Here with Teenagers (5 page)

 

1.
“I was just about to come home when you called/texted me.”

2.
“I got lost because everything looks different at night.”

3.
“I didn't know you were that serious about it.”

4.
“I had to drive a friend home, and his mom had brownies.”

5.
“I was already going to be late, so I didn't think it mattered how late.”

6.
“I had to pick up my backpack/uniform/ wallet/homework in my friend's car. You always tell me to bring everything home.”

7.
“I had to stop for gas. Do you want me to run out of gas?”

8.
“I thought I'd get an extra hour because of the time change.”

9.
“I figured you'd be asleep. Other parents go to bed. Why do you wait up?”

10.
“I was the first one to leave the party, so I can't be late.”

11.
“I gave a girl a ride home so she'd be safe. I was being a gentleman.”

12.
“I was having too much fun to leave.”

13.
“I was with a friend who has a later curfew.”

14.
“I was hoping you wouldn't notice. It was worth a shot.”

15.
“I thought since I made all As on my report card, you'd be okay with it.”

16.
“Since you and Dad were going out for dinner, I didn't think you'd find out.”

17.
“I know I'm late, but it was totally worth it.”

 

A
pparently, this is the chapter all my friends look forward to reading most in this book, mainly because they're a bunch of ghouls who can't wait to see what goes down in our house when our teenagers get in trouble. That's what reality television has done to this country. We all want to see the down-and-dirty in other people's lives to make sure we're not the
worst
parents out there. We're all looking for reassurance. “At least my kid isn't in prison or rehab,” we say to one another. That bar is pretty darn low for parents in the age of television reality shows, isn't it?

Most of us parents want to compare our “family consequence plan” (a new-school phrase to describe what happens when our kids get in trouble) to other parents' plans. “I told my daughter she better never speak to me like that again or I'll pop her right in the
kisser,” I heard from a girlfriend of mine who is about four and a half feet tall, weighs about a hundred pounds after Thanksgiving dinner, and is about as intimidating as a chipmunk in pin curls. I think we're all just hoping to stumble upon a brilliantly clever punishment that will work miracles in our own households. My advice: don't hold your breath.

If that's why you're reading, well, I want you to know that I feel your pain, and best of luck to you. I'm not an expert on parenting, you know. You could probably get sued for adopting some of my suggestions. I'm doing the best I can. I call living with teenagers
triage parenting
. My worst days are the inspiration for (sub)urban legend. My best days make me feel like we might all live through this and come out on the other side still speaking to one another. Personally, I'm not that fascinated by other people's punishments, although I did once tour a wing in a museum devoted to the display of medieval torture devices, so maybe I'm more of a voyeur than I'd like to admit.

So, do you want to know just how ugly punishment can get around here? I guess it's time for full disclosure. The answer is: very, very ugly.

At some point along the way, with one child or another, my husband and I have tried it all. Some things have worked like a charm. Others haven't. Punishments that worked well for our friends' kids have had no impact on ours at all. What motivates one of our kids does not necessarily work well with the other two. We've screamed and yelled. We've cried and fussed. We've talked, discussed, argued, nagged, and whined. We've thrown things. We've occasionally slammed doors and stomped off in fits of temper. We've taken away treats and privileges like car keys, video games, and concert tickets. We've added chores, too—cleaning assignments,
yard work, and anything else that requires lots of time and old-fashioned elbow grease. Our kids are strong and healthy. They do good work when they are properly motivated. For example, I say, “I don't care how long this job takes you, but you can't leave the house until it's done to my satisfaction.” Free tip: you should always attach a mandatory parental inspection clause when you hand out a punishment. Upon completion of any job your teenagers do as reparation, the work has to pass muster. I learned this the hard way. Otherwise, they do the least they can get away with. Make your expectations crystal-clear at the outset. If your teenagers have just been saddled with punishments that wreck their plans for a fun weekend, their attitude is already in the toilet. Remember: generally speaking, teenagers take no pride in the work they do for you.

Like most of you, we've also dabbled in the reward system. We've offered prizes like it's Bingo night on the reservation. We've dangled extended curfews, free movie tickets, and special outings with friends.

We never get “crafty” with our punishments or rewards, although I know some parents who enjoy that. I have never created posters, awarded stickers, or heated up the glue gun to make a visual aid. That's a little too involved for our household. We're busy people and way too tired for all that business. In a fit of temper one day, I did start a tally system on a paper towel and taped it to the refrigerator with a piece of duct tape. (We love duct tape around here. Anything can be fixed with duct tape. Right now, duct tape is the only thing holding one of the shelves in my refrigerator in place. It's been there for years. Unless all my readers buy a lot of books, it's going to be there for a few more. We also have a bit of decorative duct tape trim on our icemaker. All of our appliances
are aging beauties, real
Architectural Digest
material.) On that paper towel, I wrote my kids' names in big, angry caps with a black Sharpie. For a few weeks, I put a hash mark by each kid's name every time I had to pick up a wet towel from their bedroom floors or fish out a dirty glass from underneath their beds. At the end of the month, my plan was to subtract a dollar from each kid's allowance for every dirty towel or glass I had to pick up. The way I looked at it, they could either clean up after themselves like civilized human beings or pay me to do it. That consequence program lasted a couple of weeks until it petered out, as do so many of my rage-inspired plans.

Like all parents, my husband and I want our children to learn that every single thing they do has a consequence—for good or for ill. We want our kids to consider the costs of their actions—to pause for a moment before doing something stupid and weigh the benefits of what they want to do in the short term against the potential consequences in the long run. I think that such a pause is sometimes long enough to bring them to their senses. One of my teenagers might think, for example,
If I jump off Chimney Rock and my mom sees a picture of it on Facebook, she might not let me go back to the lake with my friends again all summer
.

It's a lot like training a puppy. It takes positive and negative reinforcements to safely shepherd teenagers to adulthood. You have to find the perfect combination. I know an adult whose parents refused to allow him to watch the news on television as a punishment when he was in his teens. That was the perfect button to push to get what they wanted. My teenagers do not care if war has broken out on the East Coast, as long as it doesn't mess up their plans for the weekend. But taking away their cell phones causes them to scream like someone being chased in a slasher movie.

In case you are still wondering (or hoping), I am not one of those gentle, soft-spoken, sweet mamas who always sees the good in her children no matter what they do wrong or what they are accused of doing wrong. (If you've read my other three books, this will not surprise you. I write nonfiction. All my material comes from my life. It's free and plentiful, since God gives me lots of character-building lessons. But it can also be humbling and embarrassing—nationwide.) My children know that if they get in trouble, they better have the DNA evidence to back up any pleas of innocence. We do not begin with a presumption of innocence around here. They have to be able to prove they're
not
guilty. No jury of our teenagers' peers is waiting to hear testimony and weigh the evidence. I'm a firing squad kind of judge, and I am often quick to line people up against the wall. My husband is a real judge. He tends to think carefully before he speaks. My kids aren't nearly as afraid of him as they are of me. I'm much more likely to shoot first and ask questions later.

My kids will tell you I'm a mean mama. I'm not ashamed of that reputation anymore. But my kids also claim I enjoy being a mean mama. Now, that's just not true. It hurts my feelings that they think so. I'd much rather be one of those sweet mamas who speaks in a soft voice and gets her children to behave appropriately by inspiring them to do the right thing with little songs and heart-shaped cookies. That mama never screams until she is hoarse (did that today), grabs a handful of her foot-taller son's shirt to bring him down to eye level so she can fuss some more (a common occurrence), or runs behind a teenager's car with a broom (which happened only one time—let's just say he had it coming and leave it at that).

Who wouldn't rather be a sweet mama? There's no dignity in
being a mean mama. My style of parenting is no Norman Rockwell painting. I'm not checking my mailbox for my Mother of the Year award either. My point is that parenting isn't about me. It's about doing what I think is best for my children. Does that mean I'm right about everything? Of course not. (This is a real shame. My least favorite person's fault for things to be is mine.) Does it mean I never have to apologize to my offspring? No again. I apologize and start anew at least once a week.

The reality is that I haven't found sweet mamas to be nearly as effective as mean mamas. So, while I'm not particularly proud of being mean, I am proud of the results I get. My kids are turning out rather nicely, thank you very much. I could brag here, but I'll restrain myself. I do not want to be one of those mamas. Sure, some of my kids' successes are the product of good genetic material. Also, my kids were lucky enough to be born to parents who love one another and them. We work to support them every day of their expensive little lives. But the secret ingredient to their success is that they have a mean mama. I can't stress that enough. It pays to be clever, sneaky, quick thinking, and adaptable, but most of all, you have to have a dab of mean and nasty, like the Grinch. I can't say it any plainer than that.

My husband and I often refer to our oldest child as “the Experiment.” He's our first attempt at parenting. We're learning as we go along. We've made some mistakes. We admit that. We have some regrets. We've committed sins of omission and commission. We try to do a little bit better with each child who comes along. I think if we have about fifty more, we'll be prepared to parent the last five like true professionals.

One of my biggest disappointments in parenting is that each of our three kids is different. It makes me feel a little bit cheated.
I've talked to other parents, and this is true in their families, too. Just when I figure out the best way to teach a life lesson or to handle a problem, the next kid presents totally different challenges. The perfect punishment for one kid doesn't even faze another. It sure would be helpful if there were an instruction manual or a special-order form that came with each delivery. I can imagine it now: “Congratulations, new mama! It looks like you've got the new-baby math brain with just a smidgen of musical talent. You must be so proud! You and your husband enjoy that model, you hear? Please read the fine print before having sex. We do not accept returns or exchanges.”

In many ways, parenting any teenager is one big experiment. You go into it with certain theories. You have hopes and dreams. It's the biggest investment of your life, emotionally and financially. Each decision is potentially life altering. As a parent, you are responsible for growing a person. If you stop and think about that for a minute, it will bring you to your knees. I guarantee it.

You can't raise a teenager without spending way more time than you ever thought you would discussing consequences, punishments, reparations, and occasionally prison time. Whatever you call punishment at your house, it amounts to the same thing. If you make a rule, your kid is going to break it at some point along the way, if only to test the limits of your resolve. Then you have to decide what you want to do about that.

Wide-ranging options are available—a whole world of possible repercussions for every infraction, many more than I have talked about in this chapter. And somebody thinks of something new every day. Sadly, there is an ever-expanding world of trouble your kids can get into. Sometimes, it's just a matter of rule breaking. Other times, you're dealing with basic morality, right and
wrong, and the true nature of temptation. These days, you need a law degree and a medical license to raise children. Who knew? It is also helpful if you can channel Plato and some of his buddies. Parenting requires you to delve into meaty issues. In many ways, rearing teenagers is an ongoing case study in ethics and philosophy.

Over the years, I have received more free advice about discipline than any other aspect of parenting. This surprises me. Browse the parenting section in your local bookstore. You'll be amazed by what you find. Apparently, most parents have at least one moment when they wonder if their teenager is going to grow up to be a serial killer. The main thing to remember is that teenagers screw up and make bad choices, no matter what you say, how many warnings you give, and what kind of example you set.