A Battle of Wills

Are you kidding me? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

I admit it. Over the years I have made many New Year's resolutions. And, yes, I have not always followed through with them. For example, a few years ago I resolved to achieve a somewhat ambitious goal--I resolved to invent the sarcastic font. My sarcastic font was basically applying bold, italic, underline and strike through on the the same sarcastic word or phrase. It never really took off as I had hoped...maybe because it was time consuming. Or because it was confusing. Or because I was too late. There seems to be an official sarcastic font movement already online.

Anyway, that's why for this year I vowed to choose something a little easier to achieve. Something closer to home. Something more appropriate for a mother of three testing-the-boundaries-while-Dad-is-on-a-business-trip teenage sons.

My goal for this year was to try to be a more patient parent and to do a better job picking my battles.

And, apparently, tonight is a Battle of Wills. Oh, yeah son, it's on.

I'm no Tiger Mom. But I'm no Mousy Mom either.

Breathe. Breathe. Count to 10 in English.

"Honey," I said to my middle son as I sat across the table from him. I decided it would be best to begin the discussion with a positive comment. "First, I would like to thank you for your punctuality. When I called everyone for dinner, you were already sitting at the table. I really appreciate that. Second, I would like to applaud you on a great year in your strength training class. Clearly you have been working hard. Well done..."

I took a deep breath.

"However, although never verbally expressed, I grant you, we do have some fundamental dinnertime rules in this family beyond punctuality. For example, during family dinner, we are all supposed to share about our day. We all need to be polite and help clean up. We all turn off our smart phones. And....and... I never really thought I would have to remind you of this...another rule is that we all come to dinner with a shirt on. There are no shirtless suppers in this house."

Breathe in. Breath out.

"There are many reasons. First, of all, it's disrespectful. Second, it's distracting and unsanitary. You are passing around platters of food for goodness sake. I don't want any of your...your beach body in my Caesar salad. Come on! Third, it's Sloppy Joe Sunday. Sloppy Joe Sunday. It's sloppy. You might burn something."

Patience. Patience. Count to 10 in Japanese.

"I am not asking for much. I am not asking that you wear formal attire, although a top hat, monocle and bow tie would be an improvement. I am just asking that you come to dinner with a shirt on. OK, son? A shirt. Just so we are clear:  there's a new dinner time ruling: everyone comes to dinner wearing a shirt. We all just have to face the facts that we are all too old for topless time."

Breathe.

"Any questions?'

"Um, Mom," my youngest son leaned over to me. "I have a question."

"Yes," I said as I inspected my forkful of salad. "What is it?"

"Just wondering," he said as he surreptitiously pointed to his older brother. "Do you have a dinner time ruling on pants?"

I looked back at my middle son and bellowed:
"Are you kidding me? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  YOU ARE NOT WEARING PANTS?"

So much for my patience resolution.
At least I made it to June.

Confessions of a bad texter

"You won't believe this!" I said to my husband. "Some friends told me that I was...are you ready for this? They told me I was a bad texter."

"Oh, I believe it," he said. "They're right. You are bad."
"Mom," my teenage son said. "They are most def. You are a terrible texter. Probably the worst."
 "OK. Settle down now. You're bad at putting clothes into the hamper."

Just to clarify, in my case, being a "bad texter" doesn't imply that I am a poor speller. Being a "bad texter" means I am not reliable at communicating through text. It is not my primary or preferred way to communicate. I don't send text messages. I don't answer text messages in a timely manner. I don't think about it. I am just not interested in it. I don't know. Whatever. Maybe I'm atextual. (I may be bad at texting, but I am pretty good at word play. Snap!).

In my defense, I have two main excuses:
1. I am just not in the habit of having my smart phone tethered to me.

By this I really mean, I always misplace my smartphone.   Is it in the kitchen? Nope. On my dresser? No. How about in my pocketbook? No. The bathroom? The backpack? The dog bag? At the gym? In my coat pocket? On top of the to-be-ironed-pile of clothes? I give up.

Maybe, I should just go back to the days of communicating via carrier pigeon or smoke signal.

"Oh! For goodness sake! What the heck are you burning on the BBQ?"
"Oh, great!" I said. "I am glad you saw the smoke. It's a message. Dinner's at 7."

This is just how I roll these days. 


2.  Simply put, I just don't have text etiquette (aka textiquette. Word play #2).
My text: Do you want to meet for lunch tomorrow?
My friend's text: Sorry! I can't tomorrow. I'm busty.
My text: Busty?
My friend's text: OMG! Busy! Busy! Autocorrect strikes again!
My text:  LOL.

But, honestly, here's the problem, I don't text "LOL". It doesn't even occur to me to text LOL.

But I am LOL-ing...really, truly, physically laughing out loud. And, while I am laughing out loud, I put my smartphone somewhere and promptly forget where I put it and never text my busty friend back. No etiquette.

But, LOL-ing did make me realize that in this textified world, true laughing out loud may be becoming a lost art.

Not on my watch. My analog watch, that is.

"OK, boys," I said to my teenagers one afternoon, "Your mom loves to laugh out loud. It is really important to me that you remember how to do it. I don't want to get too emotional here. But it is not just about typing three letters. So, just as a review, when you laugh out loud, the mouth opens, the face brightens, and then there is a vocal pitch that expresses mirth...you can call it a giggle, a chortle, chuckle, guffaw..."

"OMG. MOM!"

"OK, you know that part. Another critical component of true laughing out loud is the clapping accompaniment. This is also really important. Listen up. One clap is insincere. Two claps sounds like phonics program. The key is three or four slow, evenly-spaced claps. This is how you show enjoyment and appreciation. C'mon! Let me hear and see you clap. Go."

"Mom, I am not clapping."

"That's fine. Some people are knee slappers. It's easy. Right hand to the right knee. One slap to the knee can mean your leg is asleep. Two slaps are a way to call over a pet. Again, the key is three or four slaps to the knee..that's ideal. And, be sure to lean forward a bit too...this is it, boys, now this is how you LOL."

OK, friends, you're right.  I'm bad at texting. But, I am good at chatting. Not the instant kind, mind you. Not the 140 character kind. The old-school, in -person, coffee-mug-in hand kind of chatting.

So, if you want to reminisce, have a date for lunch, go on an adventure, or truly LOL, please send me a pigeon or a smoke signal. Or give me a call.

The land line number is probably the best.