Outside:

Cicadas buzz Doppler-like from tree to tree.  The pool fountain burbles contentedly.  The A/C units hum.  Kids holler from down the street. The garbled drone of a children’s song croons from an ice cream truck. The lawn swing creaks.

Inside:

(Girls watching a cartoon)

Eva: “That guy has an England accent.” 

Annika:  ”It’s French. ”

Eva: “It’s England!”

Annika: “It’s FRENCH”

Eva: “England”

Annika: “FRENCH!!!”

Eva: “ENGLAND!!!”

Annika: (voce sotto) “……It’s French, stupid….”

Eva: “MOMMMMMMA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Thuds ensue from the girls whacking each other.  Screams erupt that can be heard in Kathmandu.

Outside:

The sound of a mom groaning.

I just returned from an eight-day road trip to Colorado with my daughters.  I barely made it back alive.

I remember the when I was a child and my parents would take me, a lonely-only child, cross-country in the bed of our pick-up truck.  They’d toss me a fast food joint’s kiddie meal, which was the only time all year I was able to eat junk food as my parents were in their granola phase, then they would quickly shut and lock the cab window, locking me away.  They were unable to hear me for the next 1200 miles. 

Kids these days (here comes the old-person rant) don’t know how good they got it.  They have DVD players, with literally hundreds of movies.  When I was little, if I missed it at the theatre or the reruns on TV, I missed it, period. 

Kids these days have hand-held video games.  I had a hand-held baseball game with flashing lights that represented  the hitter, runner, pitcher and the ball.  Those 9-volt-battery-operated lights and the droning ‘wah-wah’ sound was the entire game.

Kids these days have the attention span of a chipmunk.  During my childhood road trips I would read books until I became car-sick, or talk to my dog for much-needed company.  The girls have each other, but beyond the fighting they don’t realize that having someone to talk to as a positive thing.

Kids these days have no creativity.  I complained about boredom as a child, but from that boredom would come imaginitive scenes from talk-show host, to a Hitchcock movie to an amateur production of Romeo and Juliet, broadcast from the bed of that truck, with my dog playing various non-talking parts (don’t ask).

As we drove along through the vast oil fields and windmills of the panhandle of Texas, through the gorgeous colors and sporadic rain clouds in northeast New Mexico, and finally up the stunning mountain passes of Colorado, I’d point out the scenery, geology and biology as we’d pass. 

“Look, an antelope!”

“Where?? Mom, you made me miss my shot! Now I have to start over at level 14!”

“Wow, look at that!  Those must be the Sangre de Cristo mountains!! Do you know how they got their name?”

“Huh?  We’re watching a movie, Mom, jeez!”

Kids these days….

I don’t know where to begin, so I guess I’ll start with the bottom line; my son hates me.

I took Silas to the movies yesterday. Much of what went on during that hour and forty three minutes is already a blur, as I tend to block traumatic experiences. I know most people wouldn’t think of bringing a 2 year old to a movie theater. Let’s face it; toddlers have the attention span of a gnat, mood swings of a menopausal woman, and lungs like a fog horn. I saw the dirty looks we got as we walked down the aisle. I didn’t care. I know my kid. He is evil, but he’s mine, and I can keep him under wraps for a couple of hours.

I can honestly tell you that he didn’t disturb a single person in that theater. He kept his volume low. He didn’t whine, cry or fuss. He didn’t squirm around or run up and down the aisles. Since I’m being honest, I’ll also tell you what he did do. He took off his sandals and threw them in opposite directions, and while I was down on the floor trying to find them, I also found my phone, which I didn’t even know was missing. He opened my soda, and proceeded to wash his hands, face and neck with Diet Coke. He took a piece of candy he’d found on the floor, and put it into my mouth. It was chocolate. We had Skittles. I spent the last 25 minutes of the movie singing “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” until he went to sleep right as the credits began to roll. On the way out someone was kind enough to tell me I had Skittles stuck to my butt.

Like I said; my son hates me.

Over the last couple of years, from time to time, Dave and I have lamented the fact that we “can’t” give our kids the freedom we had as kids. We wax on romantically about how we left our homes in the morning only to return for lunch or dinner. My mom’s only expectation was that we’d play outside (not in someone’s home) where we could hear the coach’s whistle she’d blow when it was time to come home. Dave spent hours upon hours digging fox holes in the dirt behind his home (it’s now a park).

So, imagine my glee when a friend told me about a new book called, “Free-Range Kids” by Lenore Skenazy. I don’t want to go into her background because it is well-documented online, where you can probably find her by typing, “America’s Worst Mom.” Yes, I was excited to read a book by a woman who has been labeled America’s Worst Mom. Look her up to find out why.

Anyway, not only is “Free-Range Kids” liberating, it is hilarious!  I devoured the book like a kid who has been given free-range to eat all of her Halloween candy without mom inspecting it first – something else that Skenazy recommends.

Simply put, Skenazy proves that, not only is the world not a scarier place than it was when we were kids, it’s actually safer. And we should give our kids the freedom to discover it now before we turn them into paranoid little worry-warts.

So, I did it. I’m doing it. I’m giving Delaney and Allie more freedom. And here’s the best part: they are so proud of themselves!

Case in point: Their aunt, Dave’s sister, lives three blocks away. She asked the girls to water her plants and feed her cat while she was on a short vacation. Instead of walking down there with them, I let them go by themselves! They take the apartment key, let themselves into the building, let themselves into Andie’s apartment, water the plants, lock up when they’re done, and come home. And when they walk in the door from this trek into the wilderness, they are BEAMING!

All the things that used to frighten me (child abduction, crossing streets, random acts of evil) seem not only odd to me now, but silly. (I’m not going to go into the statistics as to why I feel this freedom because Skanazy does. Read her book!) I can only say that I am entirely confident in my kids.

I know that I have taught them all the fundamental skills to be safe; I’ve just never let them test out those skills to this degree before. Truly, they have earned the right to this freedom.

I could go on and on about the many positive repercussions of this seemingly small release of the reigns that I hold on my kids, but I’ll save that for another time. Today, I just had to share how proud I am of myself and of my kids. This feels so much more nurturing and loving than keeping constant control of them ever did.