Best Laid Plans

Life with teenagers.

Laughter, sadness, joking (sometimes turning ugly), questions, answers (sometimes turning ugly), debates, arguments, accomplishments, privileges, technology, discipline... and that was just this morning - or at least it feels like it most mornings.

We are less than a month away from having our last "permanent" kiddo round the corner to thirteen, which will bring the grand total of teenagers in the house to six. Lots of new emotions, strange smells, and uncharted territory. It keeps a mom on her toes and awake most of some nights, thinking through ways to help navigate these incredible young people through this crazy world.

Navigate. That's the word I've landed on. For some time the word had been "battle," because honestly, that's how it plays out in many situations. A battle against my kids, yes, occasionally; but more often a battle FOR my  kids against everything and everyone who does not love and want the best for them as deeply and passionately as I do.  And sometimes it's a battle against myself to want to exert my rightfully earned mom-power and ultimate control - ha! - clearly faulty thinking...

This morning one of the kids came to me with a request which due strictly to time constraints, I denied. It was a reasonable request, but just couldn't be honored in the 23 minutes before the bus came. This child - who lately has done a fabulous job of taking "no" as an answer - compliantly returned (I thought) to the task of getting ready for school. Some minutes later this child appeared to me in the hallway dressed in pajamas and announced, "I am not going to school today." 
When I inquired as to why, the answer was, "I just don't want to go. Call me out sick."
"Are you sick?" I asked.
"No. But I am not going."

Navigation mode. It looks like this: I walked away.

Within minutes my child - still in pajamas - found me in the kitchen.
"Can you drive me to school?"
" Why do I need to drive you? You have time to catch the bus."
"I don't want to ride the bus because I don't want to go to school. I don't want to see anyone."
I dropped my guard and answered, "Well, you don't have to want to go, or have to want to see anyone. But you do need to get an education." Left myself wide open there -
"I don't NEED an education! If you don't drive me to school, I'm not going." Stomp, stomp, stomp, SLAM!

Twelve minutes until the bus came. I began to tackle the mountain of crusty pots, pans, and baking sheets in the sink to keep my hands as busy as my brain. This child is blessed with overwhelming tenacity and determination. I had to stick to my navigation plan of "no questions; no answers." But what if that wasn't enough? What if this child really did miss the bus? There were plans for my day, appointments to keep and errands to run. Leaving this child at home alone was not an option. Getting this child to agree to get into the car was something I couldn't envision. Did I have time to call a babysitter? Who would I feel comfortable enough to put in that position? Should I just compromise and drive to school and come up with a creative consequence later? What is REALLY going on?

As I scrubbed and thought and watched the clock, other kids called, "Bye, Mom!" as they headed to the bus stop. I'd better have a plan in place.

Three minutes later this child came downstairs, dressed coat to sneakers, and said,
"The bus has passed. You need to drive me to school." No answer.
"If I leave now, the bus will be gone already." No answer.
"If I miss the bus then I'll just walk to my friend's house." No answer.
"And I know that will be skipping school." No answer.
"I don't want to go to school." No answer.

A slow, sneaker-dragging thirty seconds later, I heard the back door open and then slam shut. I hoped that meant what I thought it meant, but waited for an explosion back into the kitchen. It didn't come. And fifteen minutes later, all was still quiet. And forty minutes later there was no call from the school reporting my child absent.

Plan unnecessary. Navigation successful.