If you listen very carefully to people, you can learn a lot. Mostly I've learned that I wish I hadn't listened to them in the first place, but then that's just me.
My teenager came into my room the other afternoon after school and plopped her hip-hugging-jeans-wearing body down on my bed.
"Mom, I need new shoes - my old ones are ugly."
Oooooh Kay. I kept typing on my computer, knowing what was coming next.
"Moooooooooooooom! Are you listening to meeeeeeeeee?"
Of course I wasn't listening to her. I heard her, naturally. But listening was another matter entirely.
"I NEED NEW SHOES!"
Without looking up from my monitor, I reminded her that "want" and "need" are two entirely different things and that, as an honors student, she ought to know that. If she didn't know that, then her SAT scores were going to be a heck of a lot lower than we had anticipated.
her: "Mooooooooooooooooooom! Stop that!"
me: "Stop what?"
her: "Stop trying to be funny. I hate it when you do that. "
Ah ha. I wasn't, at that point, attempting to be funny. I was simply pointing out the difference between wanting something and needing something.
me: "You need food and water. You need oxygen. You need to get excellent grades in order to get a scholarship, but you do not need new shoes if your present ones have suddenly fallen from fashion grace. You only need new shoes if the current ones have holes in them or do not fit you any longer."
A heavy sigh erupted from my daughter, and then a noise somewhere between a snort and a grunt. I took this to mean that I was obviously out of the loop as far as needs in the teen age bracket were concerned. It was painful, but I was certain I'd get over it in time.
her: "Mom?
me: "Yes?"
her: "Can I get some new shoes?"
Maybe if I pretended to be deaf, she'd leave me alone.
her: "MOOOOOM!"
Nope. Not going to work.
me: "What?"
her: "I really really really need new shoes!"
Wow, three reallys in a row. This must be serious.
me: "Honey, I'm pretty sure I just explained that if the soles of your feet are not touching the pavement when you are walking in those shoes, then they are still functional and you don't need new ones."
Then I had a rare attack of brilliance.
me: "Unless of course you want to use your own money to purchase new shoes. Then that would be fine."
Telling a teenager to use her own money to purchase something as mundane as shoes was akin to informing her that from now on she'd be required to wear her hair in only '80s hairstyles and listen to country music in front of her friends.
She protested vehemently, as though I'd just suggested that she wear some of my suburban-housewife clothing to high school and walk down jock hall in front of all the cool kids. A fate worse than death.
No, that suggestion wasn't going to fly. Mentally congratulating myself on my intelligence, I searched for an escape from this endless loop.
me: "Sweetie, if you want them that badly, then by all means buy them yourself. But if they still fit and they aren't broken, I cannot in good conscience purchase you a new pair of shoes. I'm sorry."
I wasn't actually sorry, but I thought that added a nice touch of faux sincerity. A Mom trademark. It didn't work, of course.
Bell-bottomed-jeans-wearing teen pushed herself up off my bed in a huff, stomped from the room, went across the loft to her room and then slammed her door.
Hmm. Should I go after her in Mom-mode, admonishing her about the no-door-slamming rule we've had in effect since she was old enough to reach door handles?
Nah. It was suddenly quiet in my general vicinity, and I decided to enjoy that for a few minutes while she recharged her Protesting Batteries and came back to assault my position once again. Maybe this time I'd let her know she was welcome to borrow any of my shoes. That would be a stroke of genius and again guarantee another door-slamming fest. I can hardly wait.[[In-content Ad]]
