Doing Something Well

Teaching your kids to do something well is hard.  We can all teach any kid an intro to _____ball, the basics to good manners, and the cliff notes to the birds and the bees.  But really diving in and fully explaining, demonstrating, practicing, checking, correcting, and practicing some more is a beat down…for the parent and the child alike.  It’s worth the investment, though, as learning to do something really well, outside of sports, academics, and the arts, seems to be a dying art for kids these days.  Investing time to instruct my children how to do things really well not only helps teach my kids to take ownership of their work, but it also helps them separate themselves from the herd by mastering what used to be called basic human necessity:  taking care of yourself, earning a living, keeping house, and managing money.

All or nothing is my motto, so teaching moments with my kids are pretty intense.  It’s hard for them and hard for me.  Today was housecleaning.  They’ve been involved for years with picking up after themselves, clearing dishes, and doing housework chores here and there.  But today, we stepped it up a notch.  With a new Family Economy in place where the girls are responsible for earning their own money for their wants and needs, such as clothes, entertainment, toys, events, etc. by completing their daily personal and household tasks, my kids have an opportunity to earn bonus money for the chores typically deemed a pain in the you-know-what, which are typically performed by you-know-who.

My eldest was looking to make up for some missed earning opportunities during her week, so she offered to help me with the housecleaning.  Sound like a win-win, right?  I get help with the dreaded cleaning and she earns some extra cash.  Not so fast.  Sure, she’d dusted some furniture before, moved  a mop over the kitchen floors, and even introduced herself to a toilet brush a few weeks back .  But to complete a cleaning task to the level that doesn’t require a re-touch or re-do from another person, a.k.a. me, requires a strategy.  Strategies take thought and experience and planning, all which require time, and in some cases, input from others.

The sweeping of the basement went off without a hitch.  Location of vacuum?  Check.  Rooms to sweep?  Check.  Attachments to use?  Check.  She vacuumed the whole basement in under 20 minutes before carefully drawing up the cord of the machine and putting it away.  She forgot the downstairs bathroom, so she used her noggin and grabbed the portable, battery-opertated vacuum from upstairs to do that small area instead of hauling out the heavy, old-school vacuum that needed to be unspooled and plugged in.

Next came the feat of cleaning the basement half bathroom.  Rarely used, it is an easy room to keep tidy.  But to a 9-year-old, it still seemed daunting.  Together we went through the steps of cleaning….mirror first, then sink, then tank of commode, with toilet bowl last.  I explained the reason for the order (so you could use the same cleaning rag for all surfaces) and which product to use that would accommodate all surfaces.  She did a great job….both efficient and clean.

The final chore was the upstairs full bathroom.  She knew it was a big job, but wanted the big payoff ($3).  Using the same concept as the basement bathroom, we incorporated the tub, the tile floors, and the free-standing cabinet into the cleaning equation.  She asked me for help with how to get the dirt off, where to stand to reach the mirror, and what to take off of the sink, cabinet, and tub, before cleaning it.  All in all, it took her almost an hour and a half to clean that room alone.  It was sparkling.  She was proud of herself and happy to earn her bonus chore money. 

Six hours into a four-hour housecleaning job, I was exhausted and my temper was short, as not only was I trying to clean one floor of the house in its entirety, but also trying to instruct my 4-year-old how to clean windows and mirrors to the point of no smudges, while simultaneously helping my older daughter  navigate the bathrooms.  It was an important day for all of us.  Each of my kids learned how to do a common task well.  I didn’t pay for a piano instructor to teach them to play notes or rely on a professional teacher to help them learn to read.  I taught them myself how to do something elementary -  clean well -  and they learned.  They taught me to do something elementary - be patient and give them the time they needed from me - blow the schedule and the tasks and just live in the moment for once.  We took a break to practice shoe-tying when my 4-year-old needed a break.  We worked together as a team.  We all got frustrated at times, but we forged ahead and finished our work so we could relax and play later.  

If you’d ask my kids tomorrow if they’d rather take a turn on the tire swing or clean the house again and earn extra money, the tire swing will win out every time.  But in talking about the experience afterwards, they both reminded me that we had fun too.  We listened to loud music and danced while we cleaned and felt proud when we accomplished our goals.  We really felt like we deserved our bike ride in the late afternoon.

I could go on and on about parenting today and the lack of expectation we hold for our children when it comes to contributing to the household or even contributing to their own well-being, but to be honest, I’m more concerned with my own kids learning how to learn, and even more importantly, instilling in themselves the desire to do for themselves, than I am for society at large.  My daughter knows how to keep her own house clean, and if need or want be, how to make a living by keeping other people’s houses clean.  I’m a proud mama.

R E S P E C T

Sitting near the playground with a group of parents after school one day, a child came up to ask for a snack from his mother.  One of the other parents asked him if he was enjoying his debate team practices.

“Of course I like it, I’m a good debater,” he snapped to the parent.

Trying another angle, the parent commented, “Your mom is a great speaker.  I bet you inherited her love of words.”

“Uh, are you trying to be funny?” the 12-year-old sarcastically replied.  “She doesn’t know anything!  She wouldn’t know a good debate topic of it hit her in the ass.”

I inhaled sharply and held my breath, waiting to see how the boy would respond to the beat-down that was about to be bestowed upon him from his mother.

Honey Badger Don't Care!

To my astonishment, the mother didn’t bat an eye.  She calmly handed the boy his snack, didn’t respond at all, and acted as if nothing had happened.  She didn’t act upset by the put-down, nor concerned with the profanity used by her pre-teen in the company of a group of adults. 

It's as if she was silently chanting, "Honey Badger don't care!

I was so agitated by the lack of respect the child had shown his mother that I had to physically remove myself from the situation, before I opened my mouth.  On the one hand, it was none of my business, as every parent has their own style of child-rearing and should be free to use it.  On the other hand, I was so sickened by the lack of correction on the mother’s part that I wanted to scream to her that she was contributing to the arrogance of an ever-changing society by expecting no esteem whatsoever from her child!

Do you remember when you were a child and you were expected to tow the line in regards to your words, your tone, and your attitude?  I would get sent to my room, grounded, spanked, or given “the eye” from my parents if I spoke with disrespect to either one of them.  My parents’ response was lax in comparison to the punishment some of my friends would receive if they back-talked or spoke disrespectfully to their elders.  That expectation of courtesy and regard was extended to virtually anyone I came in contact with:  my sister, my cousins, my grandparents, my teachers, my parent’s friends, a stranger I’d meet on the street, the list goes on.  I really can’t think of a single person that was excluded from this deference.  Every kid I knew, even the kids that were bigger trouble-makers than me, as to be fair, I was a handful as a child, had been raised the same way.  We were all taught to respect our elders, show consideration for our peers, and reverence to our juniors.

So why today, less than half of a decade later, do I hear so many snotty children, teens, and yes adults, speak so contentiously to other people?  A customer cussing and screaming at a store associate, a child rolling her eyes at her teacher, a wife belittling her husband in front of a group of people,  a bus driver refusing to acknowledge the greeting of a passenger, and yes, a child calling his mother stupid….what is going on with our world? 

Throughout history, we’ve always seen examples of a few bad apples that infect the bushel, but I’ve just come to realize that as a society, there are more people shit-talking today than I can ever remember in my life!   Sure, maybe I didn’t pay as much attention when I was younger as I do now, and yes, one can point out that my perspective as a matriarch of a growing family is definitely changed since I was a young mover and shaker, not as concerned with my image.  Still, I find myself cringing on a regular basis about how I hear people talking to one another.  We speak without regard, without courtesy, and worst of all, without implication.  It’s as if it has become a given that we no longer respect one another, as is represented by the blatant disregard that has become acceptable in our society for others.

I wish I could say it’s just a fad parenting style being bestowed upon our children, and therefore has a somewhat easy fix, as it would eventually die out.  I think it’s much more serious, though, as the same generation of people that raised me to not only speak respectfully to and about others, but also to give people my respect by acknowledging that I’m not always right, are now contributing to the problem as well.

Take, as illustration, the unconcealed name-calling and the steadfast refusal to follow the leadership of our President of the United States by common citizens and lawmakers alike.  Again, through the years, there’s always folks that don’t agree with all of the policies and practices that are initiated by the President in office.  But that’s to be expected, right, as we’re all different people with unique views of the world?  When did it become acceptable, though, to proudly denounce a man we voted into office as our leader less than four years ago as a tar baby, a dick, a baby killer, or the antichrist?  Sure, not all of us voted for him, but that’s the way the ball has bounced for years.  You can never make everyone happy all of the time.  But to reduce the current-day remedy for our discontent to simply a tongue lashing toward our neighbor is so sad.

My point is not political in context.  I’m sure you could find similar public examples of deliberate disregard for our last president.  My point is that the boldness of our disrespect is intensifying every single year.  If left unchecked, how does it affect our world?  Do we become a lawless society, where our hateful words are matched with physical force?  Do we operate on the principal of every man for himself, as we’re incapable of existing in a community environment that relies on teamwork because we’re so nasty to one another?  Where does it stop?  It doesn’t stop until we take the effort to stop it.

I think we can still initiate a change in attitude toward one another, but it takes diligence.  It’s a three-part plan that requires discipline with our children, acknowledgement of our own use of disrespect, and modifying our family’s behavior. 

Instilling discipline in your children in regards to demanding respect will get the ball rolling.  Don’t pretend you don’t hear what they’re saying or acknowledge how they’re acting.  Be a parent and address the behavior in whatever style works for you.  Correct them on the spot, or wait for the privacy of your home, but just make sure you do it.  Let them know your expectation in regards to their words, tone, and attitude, as well as behavior.  They will respect you more if you hold them to your expectation.  If you bypass a disrespectful comment your child makes because you don’t have the time or energy to deal with the response, you open the door for your child to repeat the language or action because experience has shown him that it is okay.  

Next, check yourself before you wreck yourself.  Have a one-on-one with your bad self and really self-assess your own behavior in regards to respecting others.  Do you occasionally or often make nasty comments about other people under your breath?  Do you name call or yell at others when you get charged up about something?  Do you frequently use a condescending tone with your children, boss, or peers?  Make a list, whether mental or physical, of what you need to work on curbing, and then make a plan to modify your behavior.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the moment and use attitude to deal with a problem that could have been rectified with calm words and behavior.  Catch yourself.  Model the situation before it happens.  If your child hears you call the police officer that ticketed you a rat bastard, it can eat away at your kid’s supposed respect for authority.  Play out the scenarios in your head….what makes you angry?  What is your current response to that stimulus?  Is it a respectful response?  If it’s not, drop the behavior and replace it with something more positive.  Instead of letting your child hear you proudly call your city’s mayor a scum-bucket because you don’t agree with his policies on city-generated revenue, show your child that you can effectively and respectively get your point across with a well-written letter stating the facts.  Don’t let him learn by your bad example that it’s okay to be disrespectful if it happens to be a really important issue.  Your child will learn to make every issue very important. 

While the barometer of what is respectful can be somewhat fluid depending on the situation, overall, if you’d consider a comment, action, or behavior aimed toward your child, your mother, or your grandfather to be disrespectful, you shouldn’t say or do it toward another person.  I strongly believe that if we actively try to be decent human beings, all of the time, we will train ourselves to speak and act respectfully, without even trying, by sheer practice.  It’s about considering how you speak to others and how you feel about yourself.  It’s about caring how you come across and how you are viewed as a person.  It’s about respecting your children enough to give them the tools to be peaceful.  It’s about respecting yourself enough to address your internal issues and keep yourself in check.  And finally, it’s about surrendering to the idea that all people, not just people you like or love or admire, or people just like you, deserve our respect.  Own it.  Practice it.  Live it.     

Let Them Suffer the Consequences

One of the hardest things about being a parent is watching our kids make mistakes.  Even more difficult is allowing them to suffer the consequences of their actions.  Some parents choose to bypass the consequence part altogether, thinking they are helping their kids by taking away the sting of the ramification. They’re not.  In fact, we can do irreparable damage to our children by not allowing them to face the music.  It’s tempting to negate the punishment after the crime has been long forgotten.  Don’t let your child off the hook, though, or you’ll be sorry in the long run.  

I was in trouble a lot as a child.  I was a good kid with a big heart, and meant well.  I did, however, have the propensity for pranks.  From whoopee cushions on teachers’ chairs to Saran Wrap wrapped taut across the hole under the seat of the toilet in my parents’ bathroom, to stealing a kid’s snack, whose mother sent him something other than plain saltines, I was somewhat of a troublemaker and liked to pull practical jokes on my friends, family, and teachers.  Sometimes they were harmless and other times they went a bit too far.  My exasperated mother, who was both on the receiving end of my jokes, as well as listed first on the school principal’s speed dial list, dealt with one caper after another with me.  In grade-school, she’d hear about me having to sit out for recess, or “hit the fence” by running out of the classroom, out of the school and to the fence we viewed from our elementary school window and back as fast as I could.  Other times she’d get called in to pick me up late from school, as my deviance would dictate me staying after school to write the Gettysburg Address.  I’d even get in trouble while serving my time, as I found a way to work the system and write up numerous copies of the Gettysburg Address in advance of my being assigned punishment, so that I wouldn’t ever have to stay after school as long when I did get in trouble…I’d just pull out a pre-printed copy!  My mom dealt with it all.  Sometimes she’d let the punishment the school doled out serve as punishment enough.  Other times an additional ramification would be waiting for me at home, like being denied a privilege such as watching TV or playing video games, or having to do extra chores, or in extreme cases, getting grounded for days on end.  At a minimum, though, I got a severe talking to for my pranks and regular kid infractions, such as being nasty to my sister, not sharing my toys, getting into the adults’ business, and bossing everyone around.  The conversation would start with her conveying disappointment in my behavior and end with a threat of what would happen to me next time if I repeated my offense.

I had enough moxie to never repeat the same prank, but not enough smarts to stop the prankster routine, so I kept getting in trouble as I got older.  Junior high school moved into new territory where I was punished at school with humiliation (putting your face to the wall or wearing a dunce cap or getting detention) for such infractions as commenting on a male teacher’s underwear choice or skipping lunch in lieu of writing fake love notes from one teacher to another and leaving them on their car windshields.  I always got double punishment for these crimes, as I was old enough to know better.  I spent a lot of junior high weekends holed up in my bedroom instead of attending the school basketball games and high school football games. 

By the time I entered high school, I knew I had to tow the line and keep my nose clean, so I refrained from the big obstacles, like drugs and heavy drinking, and instead opted for skipping classes to go to Planned Parenthood and smoking on the school volleyball bus and incorrectly conjugating a cuss words in Spanish aimed at the teacher.  The consequences for my actions were stepped up substantially.  I was given in-school suspension, kicked off of sports teams and threatened with being stripped of my valedictorian status.  My home life was social event after social event being pulled from my calendar.  I pulled a stunt my senior year where a guy friend and I prank called the parents of a girlfriend of ours, from Florida during Spring Break, where their daughter was also vacationing with another family.  I pretended to be their daughter and told them I was being held hostage and he posed as the abductor.  We called them COLLECT from the Pink Porpoise motel in Ft. Myers Beach, where 20 of my closest senior friends and I vacationed in two adjoining rooms.  The second I hung up the phone that evening, I knew I had crossed a line.  I’ll never forget the day my mom received the letter from the girl’s parents in the mail.  The paragraphs detailed the conversation of the prank call, listed the names of all 21 kids that had vacationed in Florida in those two rooms that week, and described the fear the call had invoked in my friend’s parents until they were able to confirm the whereabouts of their daughter.  My name wasn’t singled out as one of the callers, but my mom knew I had done it before I even copped to the crime.  She was disappointed and mad, yes, but this time she was embarrassed of me and truly worried about my path in life.  I’m sure there was some major grounding and privilege taking associated with that hoax, but I don’t even remember them, as they paled in comparison to my parents’ requirement of me calling the friend and her parents that I had spoofed and admitting my identity and fault.  I also had to reimburse them for the collect call.  Additionally, my parents had me contact all 20 of the kids’ parents that had traveled with me on Spring Break and apologize for my actions and for bringing their kids into my mess.  The parents I hoodwinked were cordial to me when I called but have never spoken to me since that day.  Most of the other parents were receptive to my call, but some were very angry and I got a tongue lashing from a few.  I’m truly lucky I didn’t get more than that!  I had crossed the teenage bad behavior threshold and had truly hurt people.  I hurt my friend, her parents, my parents, and all the friends who had vacationed with me on Spring Break.  Sadly, I had also hurt myself, as I had done something I could never take back. 

I’m still friends with the girl, whose parents I deceived twenty-some-years ago.  She forgave me long ago.  I am blessed to still have many friends, teachers, and family members that believed in me then and cared enough to always make me face the music, even now.  That prank was the last one ever pulled.  Because of my parents and teachers both setting clear expectations and ramifications of my behavior, I was prepared for functioning as an adult in college and beyond.  I knew to expect an unexcused absence mark if I decided to blow off a class.  Three of those absences equaled a whole letter grade drop….not a surprise.  I understood that I ran the risk of not getting a job I wanted if I was late to the interview or lied on my resume.  Being kicked to the curb with or without my belonging was a clear result of not paying rent.  Life was not full of too many surprises because I was forced to take responsibility for my own actions as a child by my parents, and today because of them.  

Imagine, though, where I could have ended up had I never been assigned consequences for my actions.  I could be broken, cast away from society in prison, or living a life filled with drugs and crime, homeless living on the streets, or destitute and in trouble.  It’s not that far-fetched.  It took about ten years for my harmless kid pranks to escalate to truly destructive teenage behavior, all while being dealt punishments and consequences from my parents, teachers, and loved ones.  Imagine the scenario if left unchecked.  What if, when I called a kid a bad name at school in 4^th grade (even though the action warranted the name-calling, in my opinion) my parents hadn’t grounded me for my bad language and mean spirit and forced me to apologize after talking to me about compassion ?  I’ll tell you what:  I would have learned that “an eye for an eye” is fair game.  It would have condoned me being nasty and I would have continued to do it as a teen and young adult, and I would be, at the minimum, a complete bitch today.  Imagine the outcome if, when I lost my scholarship in college due to bad grades, attributable to pot smoking and dereliction, my parents told me it was okay, no worries, they’d foot the bill for my next semester, instead of telling me, “Tough break, you’ll have to live with your mom for the summer, get a job, pay her rent, get some counseling, and get drug tested every week until you prove you’re ready to go back to school.”?  I’ll tell you what:  I would have never finished college!  I would have screwed around indefinitely at my parents’ expense.  What if my mom hadn’t have staged an intervention when I was a stoner and heading nowhere fast as recent college drop-out?  I’d probably think it was okay to get high with my own kids today, like I’ve seen other parents do with theirs. 

Growing up, I often wished that my parents were more like some of my friends’ parents, who didn’t punish them, never required them to do chores or save their own money, treated them like their friends, and bailed them out when they got into tight spots.  Today I thank God that I was stuck with the parents I had.  Those friends truly didn’t stand a chance at life.  There’s not a one of them fully functioning as an adult today.  Now as a parent myself, I try to instill in my children a sense of responsibility for their actions.  Because of the things I did as a child, I probably over-enunciate the lesson to my kids, sometimes to a detriment.  My eight-year-old cries before I even correct her if she’s mean to her sister, and I sometimes wonder if my three-year-old is almost too young to understand the connection between tomorrow’s loss of treat privilege to today’s sassy response to her parents.  I have to say, though, I’d rather err on the side of caution that on the side of free-for-all.  I know how that turns out.  Today’s 10-year-old boy that backhands his sister without ramification is the same adult male up on charges for battery and assault.  Today’s 12-year-old girl left without consequence after telling her mother that she refuses to be nice to an unpopular girl at school because she doesn’t matter, turns into tomorrow’s college cyber-bully, responsible for the humiliating mass-text attributable to the death of a college freshman .  Today’s 1^st-grader telling his teacher he doesn’t have to do the homework because the teacher can’t make him, and left unaccountable, morphs into tomorrow’s recent college grad who loses his first job due to insubordination.

It’s hard to hold our kids accountable, especially when so many of us don’t hold ourselves accountable on a daily basis.  It can even be painful at times.  Sometimes punishments for our children have more detriment to us that to our kids.  He can’t watch TV for the day?  What will I do with him while I try to work out?  I guess no workout today with Elmo out of the picture.  Other times the consequence is simply a conversation about the child’s actions, or a review of your family’s Rubicon for consequences, which can be just as difficult for you to convey as it for your child to understand.  I truly feel like the Wicked Witch of the West when my toddler is crying huge crocodile tears and looking at me with eyes that say, “Why me, mom?” when I don’t let her have ice cream because of her bad behavior, even though her sister still gets the icy treat.  It’s the best feeling in the world, though, six months later, when at the same ice cream shop my slightly better behaved toddler asks me if today she can have an ice cream cone because she’s not misbehaving like last time when she didn’t get her treat.  The growth we help foster in our children by allowing them to suffer their consequences is well worth the sometimes uncomfortable interactions with our kids.  After all, our job is to be their parent, not their friend.  Our job is to do what’s best for them, even if it seems like it’s not best for us.  If you’ve never let them suffer before, let them suffer today by doling out a consequence for an action and give them a chance at being prepared for life outside your home, where the world is not so forgiving.