Snarky Joy: Parenting in the Time of Teenagers
“I started writing Burger King instead of Burkina Faso.” -Tiny, mapping Africa while actively being a teenager
I’ve had an unspoken rule of thumb that I take with a grain of salt any parenting advice that is given to me by a parent who hasn’t actively survived the season of parenting for which they are doling out wisdom.
This means that I’m not going to take too seriously the advice of a first time mom who is having near miraculous results with Babywise while I am (also) in the weeds of first time parenthood, but dealing with a deployment and some major infant health issues.
It means that when a mom of two gives me advice for my herd of five, I think carefully about whether or not it applies, and don’t just assume that, because she’s an excellent mom of two, I can apply her tactics in my own home.
And it means that when I’m writing about parenting teenagers, but my teenagers have not yet survived to adulthood, you should consider carefully before you decide if I have anything worth saying yet.
But with that said, this is not a parenting blog. I’m not here to tell you how to do it. I’m here so I can tell you what I’m doing, and you can laugh hysterically at my foibles.
I’m also here so that you can enjoy saying the word “foibles” out loud a few times, thereby increasing your quality of life.
So, parenting teens. Here’s what I’ve decided: it’s a lot of research. I am looking up ALL THE THINGS. My google search history right now:
How to build a transcript
When do college scouts start looking at athletes
Best facewashes for teenage boys
Football programs in M***, AL
Basketball programs in M***, AL
Soccer programs in M***, AL
Orthodontists in M***, AL
Homeschool co-ops in M***, AL
Is bribing a police officer a federal crime?
What other show was that one actor in?
Where to buy cheap soccer cleats
Where to buy jeans that are long in the leg and slim in the waist
Naturally, that’s only the teenager related options. My own version includes whether or not its a good idea to put bear fat on an open wound, so…there’s that.
Anyway, in addition to the research, there’s a lot of chauffeuring. And before you tell me that soon Littles will be driving (insert panic breathing), let me tell you about car insurance rates for teenage boys. Actually, I don’t want to traumatize you. But the point is that I spend a lot of my time in the car these days. So if you get a text message from me and your name is misspelled and the punctuation doesn’t look like me, well, talk-to-text keeps my world running right now.
After the chauffeuring, I fill out forms like it’s my day job. Some of this is the nature of the beast with five kids and a military lifestyle. But just within the last twenty-four hours, I filled out three forms for braces, two forms for the twins (who are not teenagers but are a little too close for comfort these days) to go check out our church’s youth group, two forms for a co-op related bonfire, two different medical forms (for different kids), and probably a few others that I’ve forgotten about because I blacked out from the trauma. And, again, before you say anything: yes, I know it’s mostly my fault because the Man and I were bad at birth control. BUT THE FORMS.
I fill them out at night on the back of my eyelids.
{For the record: all the emails and text messages I send on my teenagers’ behalf count as forms. They are the spiritual equivalent, and you know it.}
Another unfortunately true cliche of having teenagers is that there’s never any food in the house. Unless it’s the food they don’t want. And then you’re eating that meal for leftovers for a solid week because they’ve found the stash of snacks you thought you’d hidden behind the turkey roasting pans leftover from Thanksgiving and they’re now subsisting on a diet of Ritz crackers and potato chips while you down yet another serving of tortellini soup. Also, where are all my chocolate chips? Oh yeah, the fifteen year old grabs a handful of them every time he walks through the kitchen, and the only sign that he’s been and gone (other than the empty canister) is the occasional chocolate chip left behind on the pantry floor, mournfully sandwiched in between the dog food bin and the trash can.
Essentially, there’s been a learning curve. One of the things I’m learning is that early morning running is a mom-of-young-kids’ game. Last week, I met up with a friend for an early morning run. In my mind, it was a brilliant choice to love my neighbor well by meeting her at 430am for the miles she needed to get in before her littles left for school. What I did not bank on: teenagers who really needed to have in depth, heart-to-heart conversations at 9pm.
New parents of teenagers, here is your PSA: they only want to talk seriously when you’re already halfway to bed. Gird up your loins and get that time in. Your only alternative is car talks, which (see five paragraphs above) can be marginally effective but will not rule out their deep need to unburden themselves the second you’ve put on pajamas and crawled between the sheets.
I will be upfront here: I like parenting teens. Really and truly. Even with all the hormones and my inadequacies as an introverted morning person. I like the snark. I like that two of my kids are now taller than me (whaaaaaat???). I like that they ask me funny questions like, “Mom, do you know who won the North Carolina game?”
No, kid, I do not. Do I look like the kind of person who knows who won the North Carolina game?
Anyway, I had a lot of parents try to put the fear of the teenage years in me over the last many years of parenting. I wish we didn’t do that to each other. I fully recognize that we’ve still got a few years left before I can say we’ve survived parenting teenagers, and I will be transparent about the fact that there have been some bumps in the road (unsurprisingly), but for those of you who are with me in the teen parenting stage (or those of you looking toward it from afar): solidarity. And also snarky joy.
Here’s to getting up early to collect your sanity before the kids are up and then staying up late to help them solve the mystery of the universe (the answer is always 42). Here’s to car chargers for your phone so that your teen can introduce you to fun new music while you drive them around to all their social, school, and sporting events (and medical, but that killed the alliteration). Here’s to cheap snacks. I’m sorry there will be none left for you once your horde of teenage locusts have been through. Here’s to getting to watch them do all the things you filled out forms for (and thinking to yourself, look at that one there—that one is our kid!). Here’s to finding the right answer when you google. Here’s to talking your kid out of bribing a police officer (unless the police officer is your husband).
Just kidding about that one. It was for an Econ paper. Promise, promise.
But most of all: here’s to enjoying our teens. I’m not going to give you the guilt trip inducing line about how we only have such a short amount of time with them before they leave our homes. And I’m not going to pretend that I don’t have conversations with my teenagers where I briefly consider the wisdom of military boarding school. And I’m not going to sugar coat the fact that when they give me hugs (and man, do teenage boys love to hug their mom), it can be more than a little ripe.
But.
But.
There is still so much to love. So much to say thank you for. So much to get a kick out of. So much to enjoy…. If we’re willing to look for it among the repetitive forms and empty snack wrappers and GPS instructions and google searches.
Just don’t accidentally trip on the size 11.5 basketball shoes that a nameless teen left in the middle of the living room rug while you’re trying to find the joy.
