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It's Not Charlie; Charlie doesn't sing

 Somewhere around the ages of 15-18, you can no longer ask your child direct questions. Questions like Are you hungry? What are you doing? Where are you going? What did you do today? These questions are interpreted by the teenage mind as something of an inquisition. They quite literally conjure up thoughts of the Spanish Inquisition where bodies were torn across stretchers while they were being asked. If they have their earbuds in, forget about even attempting to ask. You will be completely ignored. And so while these questions may be nothing but kind, thoughtful, and caring,  they are heard as annoying, FRUSTRATING, and at worst, INFURIATING! So instead of asking questions, my husband and I are in this perpetual guessing game of Who's That? We are now keen experts at figuring out Who is home? Who is in the shower? Who just left? Who is coming in at this ungodly hour? Forget about Where are you going? Who are you going with? and How are their parents? While I absolutely adored, loved, and cherished every moment my kids were home for Christmas break, it became pretty exhausting to play this wondering game. You will be happy to know that for the most part, my husband and I won the game. We can figure out the heaviness of footsteps coming up the stairs, the weight of the door being closed, and whether there is a hum, a whistle, or a song being sung. When you hear singing, it's not Charlie. That leaves only two possibilities really and we are really good at figuring it out from there. 

I think this parental dismissiveness has something to do with the subcategory of young adult literature called loco parentis. Never, ever write a children's book where parents play any sort of role. And movies? Are there ever any parents? That is acceptable up until the age of approximately 8, where children may still need to be looked after. After that, all bets are off. Children, and especially teens, are completely independent and not in need of anything at all. They rely solely on the good nature of the universe for providing them food, clothing, and housing. And they rely solely on the wisdom of friends to provide any sort of guidance, which they probably don't need anyway. It's like a magical baby giraffe that miraculously learns to walk and feed itself at 4 hours old. 

So we have adjusted our expectations, as it is truly the only option for survival. Instead of asking any sort of questions, we simply imply that we have extras somewhere for the kids if they should happen to need to eat. Rather than saying, "Hey, good morning! Do you want some eggs?" we say, "There are some eggs leftover in the pan. Just made 'em." (And honestly, that is probably too many words...) To which they will grunt in response as if they are still debating whether breakfast is a worthwhile convention in which to participate. And then we just walk away. To show too much concern about the eggs or the kitchen or anything would be over the top. If we make dinner, we just say, "There's pizza!" so they can decide for themselves if there is an existential point to this routine others engage in called dinner. If we go to the store, we just text the family group chat, "Going to Acme if you want anything." One child is bound to reply with the name of a cereal or a protein bar that takes 3 hours to find. I am considered a dinosaur, I know, because I don't subscribe to the flat earth theory and I did have to ask lots of questions about that one. I think I used my lifetime limit of questions then and so that is no longer discussed at all. I accepted the kids answer, "Just don't worry about it mom, it's kind of a joke, and if you don't get it, you don't get it." So I nod my head and say, "Okay, cool," trying to pretend that I am cool. 

Sometimes we are graced with a passing-by announcement as they walk through the family room. Like, "Going to the gym," or even better for our guessing game, "See ya!" and then my husband and I do a deep-dive autopsy on every conversation or words we exchanged that week trying to figure out where they could possibly be going, and did they take a car, and are they coming home tonight? Because if we asked any of those questions, we would likely get an eye-roll and a waving of hands and maybe a "What-are-you-asking-me-for, I-already-told-you-a-thousand-times." And then we'd feel like really bad parents. Instead, we just holler back, "Okay, have fun!" And they are like, "Mom, the GYM is not meant to be FUN!" and I'm like, "Okay, suffer well!" Which gets another shake of the head. And maybe if I'm lucky a smirk. 

So just know, we are trying over here. And I would love to know how you are doing - you parents of my kids' friends. I was just afraid to ask. 

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