19 posts tagged “personalities”

It has taken me far, far too long, but I've finally learned that sometimes the best response to my teenagers is no response at all. If ignoring the question/comment would be outright rude, I go with a noncommittal "hmmmm" or "I see", or a quick hug in lieu of saying anything.

An example:

"Whyyyyyyy does school have to start sooooooo early?"
(delivered in a petulant, long-suffering tone on more occasions than I can possibly count)

I'm a fairly level-headed person. Someone asks a question, I'm going to try to answer it. So I've responded to this oft-repeated query in various and sundry ways:

"There are a lot of good reasons for school starting when it does, if you think about it."
"Look at the bright side. Because you start first thing in the morning, you have your afternoons free."
"It's not really that early, kiddo."
"If you find you're consistently tired in the mornings, you may want to get more sleep."
"I agree that a lot of kids, including you, would benefit from a later start to the school day. But it's unlikely to change any time soon, so you've got to make the best of it."

On my less empathetic days:
"Life's tough. Get used to it."

My responses generally elicited more whining, or an argument, or simply a heightened level of frustration on all sides (especially mine). Turns out my boys aren't actually interested in an answer, or in having a rational discussion. They just want to be heard and maybe score some pity points. Mornings have been less contentious since I adopted my new non-response policy. It seems so obvious now. I don't know why I didn't get it sooner.

An aside: does this mean kids are from Venus, too?

Today's Vox Hunt suggests: "Show us what sets you apart from the next person."  While this post doesn't directly answer the challenge, there is a correlation of sorts.

Just a few days ago, I read this passage in a book:
"Bahar has never been to the salon, but she has been introduced to the flamboyant owner, Fareed, more than once, and he always acts as if he's meeting her for the first time."  source

I relate to this completely. When I am introduced to a person in a casual setting and we exchange nothing more than the standard pleasantries, I seem to make no impression whatsoever. I am instantly forgotten.

Scenario:
I'm with a friend or business associate and they see someone they know.
"Hello there John. How have you been?" Air kisses are exchanged.* "Oh, have you met Red Pen? Red Pen, this is John."
He looks at me with a blank expression, extends his hand and says, "Hello. I'm John Q. Public. It's a pleasure to meet you." He does this at the exact same moment that I say, "Yes, we've met. At such-and-such event. So nice to see you again, John."

Awkward. And it happens all the time.

Now, I'm not claiming to remember the name and biographical details of everyone I speak with, but if I've met you before, you will at least look familiar to me. Chances are, I'll be able to place you and remember something about you. Apparently, I'm incredibly nondescript and utterly unmemorable, until you get to know me. I'm not sure whether this is a quality that sets me apart, or whether it suggests that there is no quality that sets me apart. At any rate, it's mildly amusing, or frustrating, depending on the day.

*Just kidding. I don't actually know anyone who does this.

Before I became a parent, I had wonderful expectations and visions of family life that were soft around the edges, emotive, and highly idealized. My head was full of idyllic scenarios: quiet moments spent in the rocking chair with baby, days at the park soaking up sunshine with happy toddlers, countless explorations and adventures in the world of learning, fun-filled family vacations, evenings at the dining room table talking and laughing, and so on. I believed a parent's job was akin to that of a sculptor. I would 'raise' my children, shaping their futures with caring hands and guiding them to achieve their potential. I predicted that I would love my children dearly.

Once my boys arrived, I discovered that the reality of parenting was something else entirely. Much of what I'd imagined came to pass, but usually in different ways and with rougher edges. The peaceable, fuzzy world I'd envisioned was replaced by something bigger, more chaotic, and harder to steer. Unsurprisingly, I do love my sons dearly. In fact, if anything, I had underestimated how fiercely I would love them and how willingly I would fashion my life around them. I didn't foresee how deep my protective instincts would run, how intensely I would feel their pain and disappointments, and how strong the desire would be to clear their path of obstacles and struggle. I certainly didn't know how unrealistic my ideas about raising kids would turn out to be.

Now, as a mother of teenagers, it is clear to me that parental influence is a much less effective force than I'd expected. Throughout my sons' lives, I've tried to model the principles, behavior, and life choices I think are best, and I truly hope that a good deal of it will appeal and take root. But ultimately, each child is, and always has been, his own person. They were never putty in my hands. Each boy's unique personality has been in evidence since day one. They've had the same parents, home, rules and standards, schooling...same everything, yet they've always been as distinct and different as any two people could be. The choices they make reflect their individuality and their essential natures. With each passing year they've become more confident and independent and my advice and opinions have carried less weight. I've never stopped offering guidance and affection, but I no longer delude myself that I'm actually shaping who they are or where they'll end up. For the next few years, I'm just along for the ride, white-knuckled and wondering if we'll all get where we're going in one piece.

Yes, I knew I'd love them. It's the easiest thing in the world to do. It also makes everything harder.

...nothing like you!

"When I have kids, I won't be like you. I'm going to be a cool dad. A fun dad. No stupid rules. My kids are going to love me. I'll put Poison Control in the speed dial and just let 'em go. We'll have parties. I'll be their friend. I'll take 'em to strip clubs."

"Hmmmm. I wonder how your wife will feel about that."

"She won't care. She'll work there. Yeah. C'mon kids! Let's go see your mom at work."

Charming.

On my weaker days, it's tempting to throw in the towel and embrace the 'do whatever you want' brand of un-parenting (sans the strip club and pole-dancing spouse, perhaps). It would certainly be easier. It's exhausting trying keep my balance on that fine line between too much parenting and too little. Sure, I want my kids to develop independence and self-reliance, and of course I want them to make choices and learn from their mistakes. But at the same time, I want to keep them safe and help them steer clear of mistakes that fall into the brutal, life-altering category. I want them to be happy, enjoy life, and consider me a friend. But my first priority is to be a good parent, not a pal. It's kind of a drag to be uncool all the time, but too many of the 'cool' things seem like a truly bad idea to me now that I'm 'old' and 'square'. I don't want to have too many rules, but I think having too few is even worse. I want to trust them, but rebellion and stealth seem to be teenage raisons d'être. Yeah. Who knew raising kids would be so tough? (Other than my parents.) I'd like an instruction manual, please.

A comment on my Live Happy post prompted this thinking-aloud foray into family relationships.

We don't choose our parents or siblings, our grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and so on. (Likewise, with the obvious exceptions, they don't choose us.) The family group we grow up in is largely an accident of birth. Once we reach adulthood, I think it's absolutely reasonable to hold family members to the same standards that apply to the other important people in our lives. Yes, blood is thicker than water: it seems only fair to extend the benefit of the doubt more generously and forgive more easily than we might with a friend; however, I don't feel a free pass is in order solely due to familial ties. If a relationship with a relative, even a parent, is truly toxic and cannot be mended, cut the cord, harsh as that may sound.

I say 'once we reach adulthood' particularly because I am a mother of teens. Adolescence is a turbulent time, with more than its share of clashes and volatile parent/child relationships. Anger or frustration with a parent is to be expected, but is generally specific to the process of growing up and not indicative of irreconcilable issues. I genuinely hope that I will have a positive life-long relationship with my sons, but once they've left the nest, they don't owe me a close relationship just because I'm their mother. I'll always need to do my best to be deserving of their respect and affection.

A person who decides to end a relationship with a family member has it tough. They have to deal not only with the self-doubt born of any difficult decision, but also with societal disapproval. A friend or colleague who learns of the family rift is likely to probe and offer unsolicited advice, believing that 'forgive and forget' is always best for families. In my view, the closest ties are sometimes the very ones that cut most deeply.

I recently read Unclutter Your Life. It goes well beyond tips for cleaning out your closet (although that's in there). The book is divided into three sections that discuss the physical, mental, and emotional clutter in our lives. The following passage about toxic relationships struck me as pertinent to postings from some of my Vox neighbors on relationship challenges, forgiveness, and putting an end to unhealthy or unsatisfying interactions.

"Sometimes a situation can be so destructive that we may need to limit contact or even drop a relationship. This can be tough, especially if it involves someone with whom we share a long history. But it's quality and not the length of the relationship that matters. When things cease to be healthy, we have to preserve our mental and spiritual well-being."

I'm a firm believer that we bear personal responsibility for the quality of our lives. Relationships are a huge part of the life experience. I think it's vital to seek out positive relationships and avoid or end those that are overwhelmingly negative. Life's too short to spend it with people who consistently show disrespect, contravene our values, bring us down, stress us out, or sap our strength.

While there are instances when it's best to sever ties, there are definitely times when it's appropriate to forgive and let go of resentment or hurt. I've had occasion to take both paths, and I made the decision based on the overall quality of the relationship rather than the impact of a particular incident or transgression.

I don't think we should take the pursuit of our own happiness to the point where we become selfish and cruel. I do believe a moderate level of self-interest and desire for harmony and contentment is healthy.

Antic needs to read a couple of books before school starts, so I pulled up my city library's website and called him over. I searched for the first book, and pulled up the record.
"This is one of the books you need, right?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. I'm going to have it transferred over to our branch and we'll pick it up there."
I typed in my name and library card number, and submitted the request.
"Oh. My. God. Mom. You've memorized your library card number? You are such a square!"

I borrowed this from Webcruiser.  Click here to take the quiz.

Tall and I are in the midst of choosing a destination for our next family vacation. We have a handful of places in mind, and had this discussion as we waited in the car during Antic's music lesson:

"It seems to me," I said, "that X and Y are really the best options. You know what we could do?"

"What?"

"We could get online and compare the accommodations and amenities line by line, check out reviews on TripAdvisor, look at the activities available within a certain radius of the hotels, compare weather averages during the time of year we'd be visiting, and so on. We'll compare pros and cons, and pick the best one. Sound good?"

"Sounds like a lot of work," Tall replied as he reached into the ashtray and grabbed a quarter. "We could do that, or we could just flip a coin. Best three out of five?"

Ack. It's funny how different we are. There's no way I could make a major decision that way. I guess I'll stick with my original plan. Something tells me he'll be happy with whatever I choose.