Yesterday I told you about the trip to the Spy Museum. Now, let’s backtrack. When I originally bought tickets, I asked my daughter if she wanted to join in on the excursion. She said no, because she had a very long to do list and limited time. No worries.
When Husband and I got home from the museum, we went into her room where she was seated at her desk doing homework, and we told her all about the place, the questions, the simulations. We told her it was fun.
We are horrible parents. We told our kid we had fun. Without her. And she got all sad and mad and teenagery.
Because she wished she had gone. She felt she didn’t accomplish anything she set out to do, and it would have been a better use of her time, and more fun, to have gone off with us. (for the record- she got more done in the three hours we were gone than I get done in a week- but I do lean towards the slacker side)
I feel for daughter. She lives in a stress induced bubble, where every task before her appears to be life altering and tantamount to her having a future. She also is a teenage girl dealing with issues that social media present and dramatic school mates. She has moments of insecurity where she’s not smart enough, or pretty enough or talented enough. Teenagers try to appear to be super confident, but we all know that is a façade. They are unsure if the face they present to the world is the one that the world wants to see. Sometimes they overthink to a point where they are paralyzed and can’t do anything: sometimes they act without thinking. To put it simply, being a teenager sucks.
I talked to her and told her it was OK- it wasn’t a lifetime opportunity to have gone to the spy museum that day, but, you know how it goes when you talk logically to a teen…
So she moped.
Later that day she used the dreaded B word. She told me she was bored. (There are words that we never say in my house, I’ll probably blog about that now that it’s come to mind, and bored is one of those words)
I stormed into her room of a thousand and one objects and I looked for something to occupy her mind. I pulled out her Nintendo DS which had probably not seen the light of day in awhile, and handed it to her. She looked at me as I plugged it in to charge and handed it to her, along with her pink box of games. She was skeptical as she opened the case and browsed titles she hadn’t thought about in awhile. And out came Cooking Mama.
Now, parents don’t often say this, but thank goodness for video games. This was the exact break my kid needed. It reminded her of being a kid. It got her brain working in different ways. It made her laugh. It tool her out of her funk.
She came out later laughing, telling is that she didn’t know how the game developers expected an eight year old to figure out the “Kit: An American Girl Game”. She had to google stuff. I didn’t care. I was thankful to the developers. They made my teenager laugh and be happy.
So what’s the moral of the story. I don’t know. Just remind your teenagers that nothing is the end of the world, it’s OK to mope, and life has its ups and downs.