So I want to be the mom that plays it cool enough for her kids to come talk to her about… well, anything. 

I know my perfect angels are going to screw up; I do. 

I know they will grow into adults who need room to stretch their wings and make their own choices. 

And I know that if I flip my lid every time they tell me about some stupid decision they made, tell me about something someone told them, or ask a question, they will seek answers and advice from other sources. 

So I’m trying to play it cool. 

I am the world’s worst at playing it cool. 

You know the kid that screams out, “here I am!” during hide and seek so they are found before the counting even ends?

Yeah, that’s me. 

So playing it cool when my kid drops a bombshell, or what passes as a bombshell now, is a wee bit of a challenge. 

My middle son came home the other day and told me he got in a fight on the bus. 

I wanted to tell him how unacceptable that was, but I sensed he might be lying… because he freely admits he thinks lying is fun, so I took a deep breath and muttered to myself, “be cool”

I was about as cool as a 7th grader at their first formal dance… so not. 

Turns out he didn’t get in a fight; he just really wanted to punch someone. 

Great. 

If I had flipped out, he may never have confessed to lying, and we wouldn’t have gotten to chat about what was bothering him. 

Now when he actually hits this other kid, which I’ve resigned myself to being an eventual reality, he is more likely to come tell me about the situation so we can work it.  

For the record, we did talk about how hitting isnt the answer, but since my other suggestions haven’t worked, I think he’s about the take matters into his own hands… again not a good plan. 

I’ve been working on this open communication thing since day one. 

You know, the parents that talk to their kids all day in baby language. They whisper things like arent, you a widdle widdle baby?

I’m not that mom. 

I’m not the best at the baby talk, so I try and talk to the kids like they know what I am saying. Turns out they eventually figured it out. Doesn’t mean they comply, but they understand. 

So this open and honest communication thing has been going for a bit, and I’m wondering if my investment is going to pay off. 

This is the problem with parenting; you don’t know if you’ve failed for far too long. How do you even course correct?

My oldest is in middle school, and we’re navigating through the preteen years. Trying to wrap my head around middle school communication has been tough. I want him to have friends and privacy, but at the same time, I’m a Luddite, and the idea of him texting anyone he isn’t related to makes me super nervous. 

I’m also trying to be a realist; I was a preteen too, granted it was back in the days of dial-up internet, but I know what it is like to want to be part of the social scene and know there is no way your parents are going to go for that. 

Do you remember the olden days of scheduling phone calls with friends when you knew your parents would be gone and not listening on the phone? Oh I totally did that. And the insane thing is that these phone calls were a whole lot of nothing. Sure they were with boys, but really, how interesting is replaying history class… not, even we were bored with the conversation. 

But I’m playing it cool, playing it cool like it’s 1998, and I have frizzy crimped hair at a hot and boring middle school dance. 

I’m basically falling at this. 

My son told me a story about some middle school drama, and my first thought was that the other kid should be kicked out, and that mine better not behave that way. But then I remembered to take a breath and chill (it’s basically impossible for me). 

I have to repeat over and over in my head, “If I flip out, they’ll still do the same things, and I won’t know.” 

So I’m trying to play it cool, keep a neutral expression, and let them come to me.

Basically, it’s the worst. 

I know they’re going to cover stuff up, but I’m hoping that if we continue to have open conversations, even about the stuff that makes me want to crawl out of my skin, that they’ll keep coming to me with the big stuff. 

There’s no way to know if my plan worked until they’re adults, but one can hope, right?