I’m Not The Cool Mom. Sorry, Not Sorry.
Today my daughter turns 12 years old and she’s getting her first phone. Some parents have been really lovely and understanding and have had similar phone journeys as we have, but others have been straight-up judgemental. Uncool.
Would you like to hear my elevator speech? I nearly have it perfect I’ve given it so many times.
She’s 12. We’ve been leaving her home alone sometimes and occasionally with her 8-year-old sister. We don’t have a landline. When we built this house 7 years ago, we didn’t have ports installed. We haven’t had a landline in more than a decade. We weren’t even thinking about why would ever possibly need one, it seemed like antiquated technology. So, now when we leave our 12-year-old home, the only way she can call us is through Facebook messenger and that’s only if the WiFi isn’t out, which is keeps going out a lot recently – thank you Spectrum. So, while she can call her parents in an emergency, she can’t call 911. That doesn’t feel safe. It’s one of those things that’s not a problem until it becomes a problem. We live in a post-9/11 world and I need to be able to get ahold of my kid. I won’t apologize for making sure I know where she is and knowing she’s safe at all times. I’ve installed parental locks on the device (iPhone SE) and made sure she can’t uninstall them. I can also turn off her access to the internet. Yes, there are ways to do that. It’s been a hell of a lot of work, but in this house, personal safety is number one. No matter how much extra work it is for me. Also, I said I was giving her a phone. Not access to whatever she pleases. She can call and text. This alone is a huge lifestyle upgrade. She’s definitely not getting social media. I’ve seen the damage it’s done to too many girls.
Not The Cool Mom, But Ready To Fight For What’s Right
At the gym yesterday, during our after-workout stretch, the coach asked what everyone was doing besides kid’s sports. I shared my daughter was having a slumber party. They started teasing me about the girls on their phones. I told them, no that wouldn’t be a problem, they have to turn their phones in at 9 p.m. I won’t have them doom-scrolling or doing any number of things I can’t control while I’m asleep. The coach is young. He’s in his 20’s. His kids are 4 and 2 years old. But he – along with a lot of other members – started hassling me about not being the “cool mom”, “don’t have parties are her house because she’s not fun” … the list of things said continued. I was shocked. And pissed. Momma bear is always on the prowl. It’s my job to keep her safe in person, online, and everywhere else.
How dare any parent judge me for protecting my kids from the dangers of online predators! Some of those predators happen to also be classmates. So, yeah, I told them, “Nope. Not the cool mom! Never claimed to be! I don’t care either! But I did go out and make sure I had all the snacks they love, the drinks they prefer, the candy they like. I bought them make-up so they can do that later in the evening. Oh, and I did fly my daughter to Tampa last month to take her to her first concert. It was Taylor Swift. So, call me what you want. I’m okay with it.”
So to wrap up this rant, in the words of TS … “This is for the best, my reputation’s never been worse, so you must like me for me.” And if you don’t like me, I wish you well. #spicydisasterOUT
(So, my web designer says I needed to include a bio, though I find this task silly because, if you’re here, you know me.)
I’m a writer. It’s what I do. It’s a cathartic mechanism when I need release from my anxiety. I’ve had blogs in the past; I’ve taken them down, but I never stopped writing. I simply can’t. My notes app is forever long as it’s filled with pages and pages of different topics. Sometimes I just write a few sentences. Sometimes I write paragraphs.
Recently, I've been writing long essays. My friends and others I hold dear have coaxed me into sharing my work again.
So that's what I'm doing, you wicked, pushy people. LOL
I have no desire to see my writing be anything more than an opportunity to share what I love doing most. I have no interest in this blog reaching the masses.
I thought it would be fun to call it My Spicy Disaster because that's often how I feel. A complete mess of epic proportion. So join me, if you'd like, and let's pretend we're not sitting amongst the chaos crying, but laughing instead.
Or maybe we do cry sometimes, but then wipe our tears and remember one person’s disaster is another person’s … well, who the hell knows …
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