Posts Tagged "teen"

How to Use the Silent Treatment Effectively | Part Uno

Dear Kid,

How to use The Silent Treatment effectively:

How to use the silent treatment effectively at all ages. DearKidLoveMom.comWhen you’re 3 years old: Take a big gulp of air and hold your breath. Burp. Explain your burp in great detail while you laugh hysterically. Eat a snack.

When you’re 6 years old: Be silent. Start playing. Forget about the silent treatment.

When you’re a 12 year old girl: Any way you want. Trying to tell a tween girl how to behave is crazy talk.

When you’re 16: Yell. A lot. Then head to your room. Slam the door (in lieu of talking) to communicate the extent of your irritation. Stay there for a long time. Emerge when you decide you have punished the world sufficiently (or when you’re hungry).

When you’re in college: Glare with superiority. Heave a Great Sigh of Suffering and then explain How Things Are or Should Be in absolute terms.

When you’re an adult: The only adult way to use “the silent treatment” is to say, “Wow. What you just said has surprised/offended/shocked/confused/angered me so much that I don’t quite know what to say. Please give me some time to think about this before I say anything we’ll both regret.” Then go think. And come back to the person and talk.

If you find yourself really giving someone the silent treatment, you are probably acting younger than your driver’s license thinks you should.

Love, Mom

Don’t forget to share No need to be silent!

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Do Not Try to Compete With This Teen

Dear Kid,

No one on the planet can convey emotion (especially disgust, derision, and general put-upon-ness) as wordlessly and effectively as your sister.

It was an innocent question. Actually, it wasn’t so much innocent as expected. Moms have to ask certain questions; it’s in the rule book.

Just don't roll your eyes so hard that you sprain an eyeball. It's so hard to explain to the ER staff... DearKidLoveMom.comApparently, teenagers have to react over act over over act in reaction to certain Mom questions.

Pi had borrowed my computer for a small moment. “Maybe,” she said in a reasonably loud, conversational tone, “I should just take the next one.”

To clarify, by “loud” I mean normal-ish tones for her which could be heard 3.4 miles away with the clarity of ringing crystal.

Normally, I can keep up with her when she jumps topics. This time I spoke before giving due time and consideration to what she’d just said.


She was unimpressed with my response. “Nothing. Never mind. I’m not talking to you. Don’t. Worry. About. It.”

This recital was accompanied by a sigh so heavy the house’s foundation sank 6 inches.

At that point I realized what she was talking about, but in the face of turning our first floor into a subterranean split level I chose “B. Never Mind.” and never minded.

A few minutes later she gave me back my computer. We still had 15 minutes before evening devotionals (America’s Got Talent) came on.

That’s when I made the Mom Mistake.

I can’t say it was a rookie mistake because I’m not a rookie. And I knew full well what I was doing. I completely understood the risk involved but figured with the approaching AGT I was well within my parental rights.

“Is all your homework done?” I asked gently.

Pi looked up from her phone. Clearly, these were fightin’ words not a question worthy of response. There was eye-rolling. There was a look of complete disbelief combined with a heavy dose of “Seriously?”.

I waited.

She continued to not answer.

The silence sat.

The air dripped with unspoken sarcasm.

Her eyebrows screamed, “You are completely ridiculous and I am showing great restraint by not explaining this to you in detail.”

All I wanted was an answer.

I didn’t get one.

But that homework better be done.

Love, Mom

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Being a Better Friend | The Original Interview Conversation

Never lend your car to anyone to whom you have given birth. Erma Bombeck DearKidLoveMom.comDear Kid,

Author’s note: I have deleted the word “like” from my otherwise verbatim transcription in order to keep the word count under 7 zillion words. You may feel free to, like, insert it, like, wherever you like, because in all likelihood it was there in the original.

My fab friend Debba asked me to write a blog for about how teenage girls can be better friends. While I may look insanely young, it has been a while since I was (in fact) a teen, so I turned to our very own teenage girl for advice and inspiration.

Pi,” I said, “I need ideas for how teenage girls can be better friends.”

“Huh?” To be fair, we were at the gym and she was 45 seconds into a handstand. I repeated.

“I dunno,” she said and turned right side up again.

“It’s for DEBBA,” I explained.

“Uh-huh,” she said, beginning a third set of sit ups.

I could see this wasn’t the right place to begin the conversation.

I waited until we were driving home and tried again. “Seriously, Pi,” I said, “What makes a teen a better friend?”

She sighed, realized I wasn’t about to give up, and decided to help. “Making food for a friend, hanging out, maybe going with them to a sporting event. Ya’ know, support the school and hang out.”

“What do you do when you and Sarah hang out?” I asked.

“We generally drive around and get lost…and then find our way back.” I have visions of them going out for a smoothie and ending up in a different country.

“And with Emma?”

“We bake stuff at her house that never turns out right. I think next time we’ll try baking at our house, ok?”

“Of course.” I make a mental note to be sure the fire extinguisher is handy. “What about with Melissa?”

“I dunno, mom.” Exasperation.

“Well, do you ever slip a note in someone’s locker to make them feel better if they’re having a bad day?”

I get a look. “No.”

I realize I am hopelessly out of date. “Well, a tweet, or a text?” The look. “No.”

“Do you sit around and talk?” “No.” “Not even about boys, and school, and stuff?”

“Well, of course. But that’s just regular. We don’t talk about serious stuff.”

We finish the drive home in silence.

I consider sending messages to Pi’s friends asking them for help. Then I remember it’s exam week and decide that might not be the best idea on the planet.

I consider going into a deep meditative state and trying to remember what it was like to be a teen. But I’m laughing too hard (I can barely remember what I had for breakfast and Booker will probably climb into my lap and lick my face—not good for regression meditation).

I decide that the answer is probably somewhere at the bottom of a carton of ice cream. When that proves to be incorrect, I sit down to write. You can read Five Tips for Being a Better Teenage Friend on Girlfriendology.

Hope whatever you’re researching today goes better.

Love, Mom

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