Monday, April 25, 2016

Scarlet Letters

In the pre-Facebook olden days, when someone went astray, they were condemned to wear a scarlet letter on their chest proclaiming their misdeeds for the world to see.  For you young whippersnappers, read "The Scarlet Letter" by Nathaniel Hawthorne.  It's a classic.

We don't need fancy embroidered letter "A"s anymore. We have Facebook.

Many of us may be familiar with another lesson from the really olden days: A woman is condemned to being stoned after being caught committing an offense considered highly inappropriate by her society, although it was one that was probably committed all the time. She just happened to get caught.  A wise man who happened to be passing through was asked for his judgment on her, and he replied that the one without sin should go ahead and cast the first stone.  Everyone skedaddled.  Every potential stone-thrower there was guilty of something- maybe not what that woman was guilty of, but something.

I absolutely do not understand the need that some people have to publicly shame others on social media.  An excellent example of this is the traffic violator.  Someone will be driving down the road or in a parking lot, and they will spy another vehicle being operated in what they view to be an inappropriate manner, so they take a picture of it (hopefully while they are not driving) and put it on Facebook.  Stand back and watch the fireworks! Like the rest of us have never in our lives committed a traffic violation.

Explain to me. Why do people do this? What are they expecting to happen?  Are we all supposed to go hunt that driver down and flog them in the town square with a driving manual? Pain a big red "P" on their car for "Parking Violator"?

What is with the public social media shaming?  None of us are perfect.  Why do we feel the need to point out others' wrongdoings in public? Is it to stir the pot?  Is it so that we can indulge in the Dana Carvey superior dance? Is it because we think that we're providing a benefit to society?

One of the things I've learned as a parent: there are always at least three sides of a story: Kid #1's version, Kid #2's version, and the truth, almost always somewhere in the middle.

Just maybe, there's more to the situation than what might be apparent at first. 

For example, your neighbor's yard hasn't been mowed in four weeks? Maybe there was a death in the family.  Maybe someone is struggling with chronic illness.  You could ask them, if you know them.  Or maybe you don't know them, but you're the angel they're waiting for. Hey, do you need help with your yard?  Maybe they're just irresponsible homeowners who don't care- and that's what code enforcement is for. 

But wow, wouldn't it suck to post that picture of the house on Facebook only to find out that homeowner just lost his wife to cancer? 

I'm certainly not saying that people should get away with wrongdoing.  Fortunately, we live in a place where systems exist to handle violators, lawbreakers and evildoers.  Those systems do not involve public shaming of individuals on Facebook so that they can be tried and found guilty by anyone with a Facebook account.

When we judge people like this by publicly pointing out their perceived wrongdoings on a whim, we could potentially be affecting their lives in many ways- their relationships with others, their livelihoods, their reputations, their personal safety.  That might be all fun and games.

Until it happens to you or to someone you hold dear.

Friday, April 22, 2016

The Mom No

You may be wondering why I call this blog "The Mom of No". It goes back to a conversation I had with my son several months ago.  He was asking me for something, and I said "No".  His response was "Mom, don't be the Mom of No.  Be the Mom of Yes!".  I posted the conversation on my Facebook page, and it became a thing.  (Hashtag)Momofno.

I love the word "No". The Mom No is something every mom needs in her Mom toolbox.  If I were to give any advice to an expectant mother, it would be to stand in front of a mirror for ten minutes a day and practice your Mom No. As in,

"No, you may not pull the dog's tail".
"No, I am not buying toys today".
"No, we are not stopping at McDonald's."
"No, you are not getting an iPhone."
"No, I am not buying you a pair of UGG boots."

When they're in utero, it's hard to believe that you'll ever need the Mom No, but the first time you find your 10 month old eating the dog's food out of the dog's dish, you'll be glad you started your training early.

You get extra credit if you can manage the Mom No glare that goes with the statement "No".   If you can't, no worries- it comes naturally with practice. Eventually the kids know that you are glaring at them even if all they can see is the back of your head from the back seat of the car.

Once your kids start sentences with the words "I know the answer is probably no, but...." then you are well on your way to Mom No success.  When your offspring realize that "maybe", "perhaps", "I'll think about it", and "we'll see" are really Mom code for "no", then you are a Mom No black belt. Once the kids understand that you say no to some requests so that you can say yes to other things, then you are in Mom No nirvana.

Often, especially as they get older, the kids demand explanations for the Mom No.  The Grandpa of No's answer was usually "because I said so".  When the offspring were young, I didn't give explanations.  I'm the mom, so I get to make the rules.  As they get older, I think it's valuable for them to understand the basis for my reasoning.  Sometimes they even try to get me to change my mind.  However, trying to get me to change my mind by showing me the same LEGO set on Amazon six times a day is not generally an effective technique. 

You do have to be careful about external forces having a negative effect on the power of the Mom No. When the teenager was a toddler, she loved M&Ms.  Every time we went into the store, I'd tell her that we were not buying M&Ms today, or, if I was feeling generous, that I would buy M&M's if she was a good helper while we got our shopping done (meaning: not sneaking Oreos into the shopping cart while I was preoccupied, or wandering off somewhere).  One day, she decided to test my resolve, and threw a temper tantrum hoping that I'd give in on the candy.  I just kept telling her that today was a no M&M day.

She sniffled a little bit, and tried the toddler "But I am so cute!" technique, and told me that she loved me a lot and I was the best mommy ever, and I told her that she was cute and I loved her, but she was still not getting any M&M's.  At that point, she announced to everyone in the store that I was the meanest mommy in the world.

The woman behind me in line spoke up at that point.  Why don't you just get her the M&M's?  she asked.

Because! I almost shouted.  That would dilute the power of my Mom No! Once the little turkeys find out that No really means Yes, then the power of the Mom No is gone!

I don't say no all the time.  I think I say yes to my kids a lot.  I say yes more than I should, probably.  But I still believe in the power of the Mom No.

Monday, April 18, 2016

Stuff

I am banning the use of the word "stuff" from my household.

Yesterday we were on our way home from church and I was doing my usual Post-Church Offspring Interrogation, asking annoying Mom questions about what they had been doing in Sunday School.  The conversation went like this:

Me: So what did you do in Sunday School?
Daughter: We did happys and crappys, and we talked about the Ten Commandments.

Sounds legit, right? Then I turned my attention towards my son.

Me: So what about you? What did you do?
Son: Uh, happys and crappys.  And stuff.
Me: You did stuff? What kind of stuff? Be specific.
Son: Uh, I don't know! Stuff!
Me: Did you even go to Sunday School or were you trying to mooch donuts again?
Son: I did go to Sunday School!
Me: So what is stuff? No more stuff! I want to know what you did!
Son: Dissolves into laughter.

I know exactly what "stuff" is.  "Stuff" is a time-honored but not always effective way of communicating to your mother that:

1.  You don't want to answer the question because the answer may incriminate you. It's like pleading the Fifth in a court of law, but you're in the court of Mom looking to deflect her attention from your guilt by being intentionally vague.
2.  You are too tired to answer the question.
3.  You don't remember the answer to the question.
4.  You don't care about answering the question.
5.  You think the question is stupid.
6.   You were poaching donuts from Bible study classes at church instead of going to Sunday School and you don't want your mother to know.
7.  You think the answer to the question is none of your mother's business.
8.  You'd rather be on your technology instead of talking to your mother.
9.  You don't want to answer the question while your sibling(s) are within hearing distance.
10.  The question will take more than three words to answer, and is therefore better summed up with "stuff".

Stuff isn't just for teenagers, although you probably already know that.  The first time the teenager went to Girl Scout camp, as a 2nd grader, I was all excited to hear about her week when I went to go pick her up.  Instead, this conversation took place:

Me: So, how was it? What did you do?
Daughter:  I dunno.  Stuff.
Me: What kind of stuff?  You were there for an entire week!
Daughter: We just did stuff.
Me: I paid $500 for you to go to camp! What stuff did you do? I want to know!
Daughter:  Did you bring my Nintendo DS?

I told the teenagers in the car yesterday that I don't want to hear "stuff" anymore.  I want specifics.  If I ask a question, I want to know the real answer, not "stuff". "Stuff" is lazy. Does "stuff" even mean anything?  If I could pick ten words of the English language to ban forever, "stuff" would be one of them.  I'm envisioning this happening in the grown up world:

Boss: How come you didn't finish that report I asked for?
Grown Offspring:  I was doing stuff.
Boss: You're fired!

Maybe I should turn the tables on them and use "stuff" all the time, too, like this:

Offspring: What are we doing this summer?
Me: Stuff.
Offspring: What's for dinner?
Me: Stuff.

I suspect that they were both rolling their eyes at me from the back seat when I told them no more "stuff".

I'll let you know how it goes.

Thursday, April 14, 2016

Acting Adultish

Last night, at dinner, the teenager posed this question:

Mom, do you think sometimes children act better than adults?

Absolutely, I told her.  Sometimes adults can act really childish.

Well, she said, then they shouldn't call it acting childish.  It's insulting to children to call it being childish. They should call it acting adultish, but that sounds more like a compliment than an insult.

I've been thinking lately about how teenagers often get a bad rep.  Someone will post something on social media, or an incident will come up in conversation, and someone else will invariably say, "oh, it must have been teenagers".   Or, you'll be in a conversation in a group with a pregnant or new mother present, and someone will say, "Enjoy that baby, before you know it, she'll be a teenager" and then there will be groans and eyerolls.  I used to do the same, before I actually had teenagers. 

I know there are teenagers who get up to no good.  I also know there are plenty of teenagers who are hard working students, involved in their families and communities, teenagers who take time out of their summers to go on mission trips and are willing to sacrifice an entire month for marching band, teenagers who work part-time jobs to help out their families.  I don't think it's fair to make blanket judgments about an entire developmental stage.  Teenagers don't always make the best decisions.  They can and do make decisions we don't agree with, as their parents, even though those decisions aren't always bad ones- just not the ones we'd make.  Sometimes they make awful, horrible ones that make parents scream  "What were you thinking?".  However, that's not all teenagers, all the time.

Adults, we're all guilty of making bad choices, too.

Plenty of adults get up to no good- grown-ups who supposedly have fully developed frontal lobes and plenty of life experience and therefore have no excuse for immature behavior.  However, no one ever says, in response to a comment about "oh, my car was almost broken into last night",  that it must have been a bunch of adults.

Sometimes, my fellow adults, we don't even act our ages.  I've frequently seen memes on Facebook  about being kind to others.  Some days, I think that might be setting the bar a bit too high for the adult population; we need to start with just being civil to each other.  If you can't be kind, be civil.  

If you want to watch a bunch of adults start acting childish- or maybe I should say adultish- just observe a discussion on anything controversial or sensitive and see how fast it degrades into name calling and personal attacks.  Read the news.  It's easy to find examples of adults making bad life choices.  Adults can be bullies just like kids can.  Kids and teenagers do not have exclusive rights to bad behavior.

Yes, I know that most adults are just like most teenagers: going about their day, doing what they need to do, working hard, volunteering, being responsible people.   We just need to remember that the kids are watching us, seeing how we behave and how we treat other people.  Acting adultish should be a good thing, not a bad thing.

Wednesday, April 13, 2016

Trail Adventures

I am a terrible mother. I almost let my son sink into quicksand yesterday. 

At least, that is the story that he might tell you.  However, it wasn't quicksand, it was mud, and I'm fairly certain that he was in no real danger of anything except possibly losing at least one shoe and getting extremely dirty. 

We were out hiking on our favorite trail, and it was a little muddy because it rained.  OK, scratch that.  It was a lot muddy because it had rained, but only in very specific areas.  Nothing to be overly concerned about, in my opinion; part of the Mom of No's parenting philosophy is that mud is good for you.  It bolsters the immune system, and getting muddy can be fun.  As long as no one gets any of that mud on the inside of the Mom of No's year-old automobile, it's all good.

We got to a section that was a little muddier than usual, and  I found a spot I thought was OK to cross.  I went first, and got across just fine, and wandered ahead a bit to inspect a pretty wildflower (an Eastern bluestar; gorgeous light blue flowers).  I was just about to start taking a picture when I heard:

MOM! MOM! MOM! MOOOOOMMMMMMM!

I thought he'd seen something really cool, like a bobcat, or a great blue heron, or even an alligator (we were near a pond).  It never occurred to me that he might be stuck in mud. 

Me: What? Did you see something good?
Son:  MOM! I'm sinking! In the mud! I'm losing my shoes! I hate this trail!

Then I felt horribly bad.  Here I am, safely on solid ground, investigating this plant, and he's over there, facing certain doom in a huge mud pit.  Also, I don't want him to actually lose his shoes.  Shoes for teenage boys are not cheap.  Don't panic, you're going to be ok, I told him.  By the way, make sure you keep those shoes on your feet.  We need to keep our priorities straight.

We managed to get him out of the mud and onto stable ground.  He was so muddy!  His shoes were caked with mud. His legs were covered in mud. His hands were covered in mud.  Fortunately, his shorts were not covered in mud; he could still sit in my car and not get the seat muddy.  I should have taken a picture of all the mud.  I was also muddy from helping him get out of the mud, although not as muddy as he was.

See? I said to him.  You're ok.  Just a little muddy. No serious harm done.   He glared at me for a minute, and then he said, when I get home I am going to take a shower.  That was music to my maternal ears.  A teenage boy voluntarily taking a shower.  Mom success!

I decided to wait a few minutes before telling him that we'd have to go back through the field of quicksand- I mean, the muddy zone- on the way home.  I might be a terrible mother, but I do know when to keep information to myself.  We did get even more muddy on the way back, but we both lived to tell the tale. 

Even better, I found a towel in the back of my car, so the seats stayed clean.

Sunday, April 10, 2016

Birthday Parties

A few days ago, I came across a news article about a boy who had a birthday party and no one came.  Apparently, the 9 year old boy, who has some disabilities, wanted a birthday party, so his mom invited his class. Out of 30 invitations, 12 people said that they would show up.  The day of the party, no one did.  The mom called the people who said they were coming, and they all said, oh so sorry, he's just too different for our kids to play with.   So your kids couldn't suck it up for two hours and go to a classmate's house, get some birthday cake, play some birthday party games, and possibly have a good time?  Oh, the misery. 

This is all I know about the situation, so there could be more to it.  However, I see articles similar to this all the time.  I've seen two in the last seven days.  Usually other people step forward and show the birthday child a great time, but that it happens at all is deplorable.  It makes me wonder, what is wrong with people? 

I don't know about the 18 other people who were invited, and I'm not going to speculate. However,  I was taught by the Grandma of No, who I secretly suspect might have been an advisor to Miss Manners, that if you RSVP "yes" to something, you're going unless you're sick or going to a family member's funeral.  "We got a better offer" or "your kid is just too different" were not legitimate excuses to renege on an RSVP.

One of the wonderful things about having older kids is that you don't have to have birthday parties for your offspring anymore.  I know some moms get all into that planning and spend hours on Pinterest planning cakes- but the Mom of No is not a birthday party planner, and my idea of decorating a cake is to frost it and put sprinkles on it. Once my kids got to 6th grade, I cut them off from having birthday parties.  I had mom angst about the entire birthday party process, plus a substantial amount of  tree hugger guilt over giving children goody bags full of plastic crap that was going to end up in a landfill.   Even with "typical" kids, people aren't always good about RSVPs.  I had nightmares about getting a cake and paying the roller skating rink $250 for fifteen kids to skate for two hours and eat pizza, and then having no one show up. 

However, kids love birthday parties.  Sharing your birthday milestone with your classmates is a childhood ritual.  Having a party and not having anyone show up is a horrible thing to happen to a kid.  It's also a horrible thing to happen to the kid's mother.   It's a sign that you've been judged by other mothers and found wanting. 

If you read this, and you have young kids, and they get an invitation to a birthday party, say yes. Take them.  Even if the kid is "different".  Especially if the kid is "different".   It will be two hours out of their lives, but it might mean the world to another child. It might let another mother know that she's not alone, and that might be a message she desperately needs to hear.   Besides, who knows? Your kids might even have a good time.

Thursday, April 7, 2016

Timing

My kids have the best timing.  By that, I mean they both know exactly the right minute to ask the most awkward/oddest questions.

The other day, the Son of Never Stops Eating and I were on a walk with the family mutt, enjoying the beautiful outdoors.  Anyone who knows me knows that I am always on the prowl for pictures of cool things like butterflies and fungi and when I see something really good, I get hyper-focused on that and it's not really a good time to ask me questions about anything. 

My son was talking about some TV show he had started watching that was about a boy with ten sisters, and I was only half listening because I'd heard it before.

Son: Mom, the Loud family has eleven kids.
Me: Um-hum. That's interesting. Wow, eleven kids.
Son: The boy has ten sisters!
Me: Oh, look! Is that a cloudless sulfur butterfly? (pulling out iPhone to take picture while attempting to avoid poison ivy)
Son: Hey Mom, how come you don't have eleven kids?
Me: (dropping phone in poison ivy)

Several years ago, I was at the gym with my daughter.  She had just gotten approval to walk on the treadmill.  We were both watching TV, and as I was in my zen zone, she taps me on the shoulder.
 
Daughter: Hey, MOM! MOM!
Me: What?
Daughter: MOM! What's a S-E-X scandal?
Me: (nearly falling off treadmill)

That was the same gym where, a few years later, my son- who lacks a filter- pointed to the TV, where some candidates for political office were speaking, and said, loudly, Hey, MOM!  There's that orange man again!

My kids have always had that impeccable timing, but as they get older, the questions get harder to answer.  When they were little, I was presented with such challenges as "Do hamsters go to heaven when they die?".  I was trying to avoid getting smashed by speeding cars on the freeway at the time; I also think my check engine light was on. The Mom of No does not do theology, so I referred that one to an appropriate subject matter expert: a member of the clergy.  I think he enjoyed the conversation.

Now that I have teenagers, I get the big questions of life, including but not limited to sensitive social and political issues. The problem I sometimes run into with these questions is not that I mind answering them, because I don't. It's that sometimes I don't quite get what's being asked. For example, my daughter was asking me my thoughts on certain LGBTQ issues, and I was surreptitiously Googling the term "cis-gender" while attempting a coherent discussion.  Fortunately, I wasn't driving at the time.

As a mom, I want my kids to feel like they can ask me hard questions.  I don't mind having intense discussions about controversial or sensitive subjects. 

I just don't want to do it when on hold with the IRS, trying to find my work ID, wondering if that thumping noise is a flat tire, attempting to determine why the GPS has me driving through a lake, actively performing any kind of home maintenance or repair activity, trying to discern why I hear water running in the house when I know that no faucets are on, or at the same moment I realize that I have put a tablespoon instead of a teaspoon of salt in a recipe. 

Side note: These are also not good times to ask Mom for money.  Never ask a woman plunging an overflowing toilet if you can have $20.

Have mercy on me, kids.  I'm not a good multi-tasker. Wait until I'm lounging on the sofa.  Just make sure I'm not watching the Walking Dead.




Sunday, April 3, 2016

Pucks to Give

A friend and I were talking recently about having "no more pucks to give".  The word "pucks" is actually a different word that starts with the letter F, but my kids don't like it when I cuss and I am a hockey fan, so I'll use the word "puck".  When I think of pucks, I think of hockey games, and when I think of hockey games, I think of hockey fights, and there is just not much of anything that is better than a good hockey fight.  So I'll use the word "pucks".  When you're reading, replace the P with an F in your mind. 

This is the Mom of No's theory on running out of pucks to give:  When we say we have no more pucks to give, what we are actually saying is that we have come to recognize that we need to reallocate our pucks.  Pucks are like almost any other resource- they are finite.  We have a set number of pucks to give, and when we start feeling burned out, or tired, or irritable, then we've exceeded our number of allotted pucks for the month.  

For example, say that each person is allowed 500 pucks per 30 day period. You use 100 pucks on arguing with your teenager about the toxicity level of his room, 200 pucks on a work assignment that is giving you heartburn, and 150 pucks on a ridiculous fight on Facebook with someone you actually don't even know.  That leaves you with 50 pucks to give. If it's only the middle of the month, you are about to run a puck deficit.  Think of it like a data plan, but for your mental health instead of for your smartphone.  I bet you're really wishing you had those 150 Facebook fight pucks back, right?

Now that I am a middle aged, peri-menopausal woman with teenagers, I have decided that I definitely need to reallocate my pucks.  I used to give a lot of pucks about what other people thought of me.  Now I have far fewer pucks to give on that, because I have other things I need to give a puck about- aging parents, the teenagers, work,  my own health.  I definitely do not have enough pucks per month to spend on drama of the Facebook kind, or even the real life kind. 

As an "autism mom", I used to spend a lot of my pucks on what other people thought of my son having meltdowns or carrying toy cars around all the time.  Now, I spend no pucks on that. I think it was a wise reallocation, because now I have more pucks to give about teaching him how to do things for himself. 

Thinking of pucks as a finite number can really be helpful in setting priorities. When you feel like you are about to get sucked into puck-depleting events, decide- is this worth spending my pucks on? Or would I rather save my pucks for something that really matters to me?  Prioritizing your pucks can be quite helpful in determining how to respond to other people or events. 

If it's not worth your pucks, then walk away.  Save those pucks for another day, for something worthwhile, for someone or something that you really care about- a good cause, your family, whatever really matters to you.  For the rest of it, just say, "I have no pucks to give on that"- and walk away.

Friday, April 1, 2016

Autism Awareness

April is Autism Awareness Month and April 2, specifically, is Autism Awareness Day.  As the parent of an autistic adolescent, I'm already aware.  However, if you are wondering what's with all the blue profile FB pictures and the puzzle pieces, that's what it is for.  Now you know, too.

I find it challenging to write about autism because the experience is different for every family impacted by it.  The autism community is full of differences of opinion on everything from vaccines to the effectiveness of different therapies.  Debate even rages on regarding whether it should be "autistic person" or "person with autism".  I am one parent of one child with autism, and at this point I feel like we've found what works for our family and our son, and my personal philosophy is that I need to teach my son how to advocate for himself, how to live in the community, and how to be as independent as possible.  I have no idea what causes autism, and I don't really care at this point.  So now you know my philosophy, too. 

When your children are little, it's hard to believe that they will ever grow up.  That's probably true for all parents.  Then those babies become adolescents, and it's like whoa! Where did the time go? One day they're adorable tots and the next day they're 6 ft. tall and drinking a gallon of milk a day.  When you have a teenager on the spectrum, it's even more like, holy cow! We better start getting with the transition planning!

All that is why I am issuing this warning/challenge to you, the greater community:  He's a teenager, he's growing, and he's coming your way in about 6 or 7 years, ready to work, live away from his mom and dad (eventually), be part of the community, and have a fulfilling adult life.  Are you ready for him?

No, you're not. 

People like to send me articles on autistic adults (or adults with autism) who find amazing and fulfilling work in all kinds of fields like LEGO constructors, video game gurus, or nuclear physicists, and those articles are inspiring and I enjoy reading them.  However, I'm fairly certain those people represent a very small number of adults on the autism spectrum looking for employment (when asked, the Son of Never Stops Eating has expressed a wish to own a hamster store, or be a professional kayaker. Or both).  Once children with autism become adults with autism, the opportunities diminish significantly, especially if you are not a wealthy person (the Mom of No is not wealthy, just to clarify).

Among my friends who also have adolescents on the spectrum, or adolescents with disabilities- because a lot of these concerns are disability issues, not just autism issues- a major topic of conversation is "What happens when they are finished with school?".  The answers are not readily forthcoming.  I could bore you with the details of all the planning that is involved, but I'll just say it's frustrating, time consuming, complicated and involves several bureaucracies.  The need is growing but the resources aren't expanding. 

A sampling of the problems that the Dad of No and I will be attempting to solve in the next few years:  Where will our son live as an adult?  How will he get job training, and where will he find a job?  How will he work and still maintain eligibility for the social services he needs?  If it turns out he can't drive, how will he get to and from work?  When his father and I are no longer able to help him, who will make sure he goes to the dentist or that he files his income tax? Will he be welcome as part of a faith community? What will he do for fun? Who will his friends be? Who  will help make sure that he isn't taken advantage of? What can we do, as his parents, to prepare him for this transition? To teach him how to advocate for himself?

These questions are not easy ones to answer.  At some point, however, they will need to be.  My son is growing up and he's coming your way, community- and he's not the only one.