Autonomy

Parenting is hard, y'all.

I think my Kid is defective because *somehow* we came home from the hospital without her instruction manual, and we've been flying by the seat of our pants ever since.

Recently, My Twelve Year Old Kid has decided she needs freedom, dangit.  She needs autonomy, MOM.  She needs to make her own decisions, for the love of Miracle Whip!

Of course, she told her father all this and not me.  He's the fun parent.  I'm the Drill Sargeant.  Clean  your room.  Take a bath.   Dump the litter box.  Brush your teeth.   He's the one who sneaks her candy and takes her on Daddy-daughter dates.   I'm the one who buys her the iPad..... He's the one who gets thanked.

Motherhood, it sucks sometimes.

After her conversation with Big Daddy, he let me know I needed to back off, let her be a "big girl.  She's not a baby after all."

So I did.

Just like that.   The very next day.   I was very proud of myself, for like two seconds.

Here's the way it played out.

Cheap shoes that are ridiculously expensive, but super
 popular with hipsters and middle school kids.

Before school started, because I am such a mean mother, I took my kid shopping for new school clothes  AND I even bought her TOMS (which her father hates) and a pair of Uggs (which I hate, but were on sale, and which The Kid loves).   These are two of the must have accessories for middle school girls, dontcha know.

Big Daddy had such a negative reaction to the TOMS, we didn't tell him about the Uggs, given their price tag and his bad mood.

Ugg for UGGliest shoe known to man.

Flash forward three weeks and my poor, maltreated child was given the opportunity to go to Branson with her grandmother for a week..... no parents at all!   Just late nights, glitzy shows, and all the souvenirs and candy she could con out of her grandmother.

 Heck of a deal.

Unfortunately since school started for teachers that week, I couldn't be there when she left for her roadtrip.

I had a lovely, heartfelt text conversation with her before she left, though.  It went like this:

The Kid:  Can I wear my Uggs?

(Now we live in the armpit of Hell, also known as Texas. It's August.   Really?  Sheep sheerling to keep your feet warm?  It's a 1000 stinking degrees.  Did I say all of  this?   No.    Instead, my mind hearkened back  to what Big Daddy said the night before......autonomy..... )

So * instead* I texted:  I would prefer not.  If you want to, it's fine.

The Kid:   I can?

Me (still trying to let her make her own decision):   They're going to be really hot.  Not really the season for them.  I would wear flip flops.

The Kid:   I'm gonna be in the car all day and I'm gonna take them off when I get in the car.

"Then WHY wear them?"  I thought.

What I texted was:    Think it through.  I'll let you make the decision.  I will say I haven't seen anyone wear them yet.  You'll have to wear them when you get out of the car.   What's the point in wearing them if you're just going to take them off?

The Kid:    I don't want Dad to see them.

There's the crux of the problem, but I wasn't making the decision.  She was.

Me:    Then I wouldn't wear them.  Up to you.

The Kid:  But he's goiing to go  into my room.   He might see them.  Forget it.  I'm just not gonna wear them.

"Hooray!"  I thought to myself.  "She's making good decisions on her own!"  

Me:    Up to you.   I'm letting you make the decision.   I won't say one way or the other.

The Kid:   If dad sees them it's all your fault.

WHAT???? How did I suddenly become evil and this become my fault?

ME:   Not my fault.  Your fault.   Your decision.

The Kid:   Nope.  You don't want me to wear them.   It's on your head.  

Now, people, I submit to you, that as you read our conversation, I have at NO point said she couldn't wear them.  In fact,  I've made it abundantly clear that SHE has to make the decision. I tried very hard to not influence her, just give her the facts, and make her think.  Yet,  I'm still the bad guy, because I'm the Mom.

I responded:  Not mine.   I'm letting you be a big girl and make the decision.  

And I didn't hear back from her for two days.  Apparently, she wanted me to tell her what to do after all.  If it hadn't been for her grandmother, I wouldn't have even known she was alive.

As I said earlier, motherhood sometimes sucks.



*** For those who are curious.... she didn't wear the boots.