Squishy Ball Parenting

This parenting thing is hard.

And time-consuming.

I could slack off and get selfish. On occasion, I admit, I've taken a parenting vacation. I think, They're old enough now to study for tests on their own. Or, They know that every single weekend they have to wash their laundry - they don't need me to remind them this time. I think, I'm just going to sit here and read this book. Or start a business. Well, those little parenting vacations come back and bite me in the butt. The kids' grades slip and they wonder why they don't have any clean clothes to wear to school. So I get back on the job, nagging guiding the kids so they can get through their childhood with grades somewhat intact and wearing clothes that don't smell.

And now I have three teenagers. They're so awesome at this age - no diapers, no naptimes. Great travelers. Talented in ways I'm not. Really hilarious at times, too. And they have interesting takes on life. That is, when they're around and when they feel  like talking.

Have I mentioned that they're three teenagers? Yeah. So I can't predict when they feel like talking. When that kite sails past me, I just grab on to the tails and see where the wind takes us.

So a couple of months ago, I experienced a rare moment when my teenage son spontaneously spewed forth a soliloquy, and I was his captive audience. Outside, I tried to act all cool about it. Inside, I was jumping up and down, giddy and shouting, He's talking to me! He's talking to me! He'd been away for a week. (Well, technically he had been home all along, but he'd had such a busy social life that he might as well have been in another country.) And when he returned, he had much to say. For an hour, I sat and listened to his stream-of-consciousness philosophies.

Among his spewings were his thoughts on children who make the wrong choices or disobey their parents. I was shocked to hear him say that kids should be punished when they act up or do something stupid. "Like, throw a squishy ball at them," he said.

M'kay. 
 

 











Since then, if he acts like an obnoxious teenager, my husband and I joke that we're going to go find a squishy ball.

We've had lots of squishy ball moments around here lately. (The squishy ball philosophy has caught on around our household, but too bad we don't actually own any. We just invoke the squishy ball name, and the kids get the point...)

There was the time my son refused to take the food I offered him to his cross-country meet across town, and instead left that morning with very little money and no food. Then he called home, whiny and hungry, several hours later, asking me to come get him. What did he spend his money on? Coke and Skittles. Uh-huh. Of course I wanted to hop in the car and save him from his hunger pains. But what lesson did he need to learn: That Mommy will come to his rescue after he stubbornly refuses what I've offered? Or that he should be prepared next time? I told him I was throwing a squishy ball through the phone. (He survived. And yes, he took lunch to the next meet.)

There were the multiple days last week when I wanted to throw a squishy ball at my daughter's teacher, for penalizing my daughter for an issue that's documented on her IEP! (Young teacher. Very sweet and nice, loved by all the students. But she doesn't quite "get" my daughter's learning disabilities and memory/organization deficits.) Yes, I know she requires a little more from her teachers than typical students require. I do as much as I can from home. But c'mon. She didn't choose to have these problems, and she's not trying to make your life difficult. Let's help her, not penalize her. Squishy ball!

 



















There were the multiple tantrums that aforementioned daughter threw when I was being the best advocate she's got, spending hours and hours helping her to actually understand the novel she's reading for school. Yes dear, I know you have eyes. Yes dear, I know you can read beautifully. I just want to help you remember and understand what you're reading, that's all. Sometimes I feel like Rodney Dangerfield: I don't get no respect! Where's that squishy ball?!

Amid all these challenging moments, I often take solace that one of my kids can reliably run on auto-pilot, at least academically. She loves school. She's organized. If she needs help, she asks. She hates being unprepared for class, so she simply is always prepared. But sometimes even the most reliable ones can slip through the cracks. She slipped this weekend, and needed me to catch her, but I didn't notice until it was too late. So what did I do? I gave her a lecture, when what she needed was help and a hug.

Someone throw a squishy ball at ME.