Friday, November 12, 2004
Monday, November 08, 2004
Dorothy - 21?
Memories of a Summer Job
Last summer I worked for a community legal clinic which is predominantly staffed by university students from our city’s law school. It is a four month full-time job where you are supposed to learn the basics of working with clients in a legal setting. During our training, they covered subjects such as opening files, understanding conflict of interest and how to set up a tickler system. For those who are not familiar with legalese, a “tickler system” is the system of recording deadlines for any events such as filing deadlines. So I went to law school in order to learn how to use a planner.
They divided us into five divisions, such as landlord/tenant, which deals with landlord tenant disputes.
When students work at the legal clinic, they are expected to cover one of three walk-in shifts each week. One of these is on Thursday afternoons, the other two are on Monday and Wednesday evenings. The students who have childcare obligations try to get the Thursday afternoon shift where possible. I was a bit more flexible about my availability because my ex has the kids on Wednesday evenings, so I could do Wednesdays or Thursday shifts.
Even though there are about twenty law students working for the clinic, each shift had to have at least 4 students working, so that meant one usually had to do one shift each week.
During a shift, students might be expected to cover one of three roles, that of "desk" (receptionist), "screen" (triage) or "duty" (for one of the sub-teams there). These roles were rotated around to make it fair to everyone, but many of the students hated doing the desk duty, as it meant greeting all of the new clients who came in, getting them to fill in several forms, and being nice to them as they grew more and more impatient over a three hour period.
I really enjoyed doing desk duty, as I am a pretty outgoing person, and I could show my concern and frustration to the clients when they weren't being seen very quickly. Many of the clients brought their children with them, so I would show them where our box of toys was. Sometimes they needed the phone or the bathroom, so I would direct them there. As well, many of the clients could not speak English or French very well, so I tried to help them fill out the forms, which were bilingual and not that easy to understand. I always played the radio when I was on desk as I felt it gave the people waiting something to think about other than their legal problems. One night, we all listened to the hockey game, people started chatting together and it was a positively party-like atmosphere for once.
The first five people in line would be seen within twenty minutes, but anyone else in line might have to wait one - three hours. It would depend on how quickly the earlier clients were dealt with. Waiting could make clients very angry and despondent.
Once their forms were filled out, the time was written on the corner of the paper so we would know what order they had come in. The person on "screen" would then take the forms and check to see in our database of past clients whether or not that specific person or the person they had a case against had ever been a client of our clinic in the past. If they were, we had to make sure that there were no conflict of interest problems with seeing them as clients.
Sometimes this meant we would have to ask the client if they were the client we had listed in our database. We also had rules to deal with frequent users of the clinic. If someone had been in six times in the past year for different legal problems, we would examine whether there were problems with the client such as mental illness or other issues.
In most cases, there was no history, so they would be called in to meet with the screen staff who would quickly go through another form with them to identify exactly the type of legal problem they had. This was techinically supposed to take ten minutes, but often would take longer because people were emotional, wanted to tell their whole story, or couldn't speak English or French very well.
The purpose of the screen staff was to screen out any persons who either didn’t qualify for our services (ie. They weren’t poor enough) or that our services didn’t cover their problems.
On desk duty this time, I realize that tonight is going to be a long night. There are already 12 people waiting to be seen and it is past 8 pm. The basic rule is that if people arrive before 9 pm we will see them. Eventually.
At about 8:35, a man enters and approaches the desk. Everyone in the room notices him, because of the fact that he is carrying 6 full sized garbage bags. The bags appear to be full of newspaper. The next thing we all notice is that he smells very strongly of garbage or vomit or some other disgusting odour.
At first I think maybe he is the guy who does the garbage and he is just early. But when he comes to the desk, he asks to see a lawyer. So, I give him the clipboard with the intake form on it.
He fills it out impatiently, asking how long this is going to take. I inform him that this will take a while, as there are many other people in line ahead of him, and that he should take a seat.
He eyes the other people in the room warily, and starts pacing back and forth across the fifteen foot span of the waiting room. Every few minutes, he blurts out some startling word like “shitheads”. I wonder if perhaps he has Tourette’s Syndrome. His presence is obviously starting to disturb some of the other people waiting in the room.
They divided us into five divisions, such as landlord/tenant, which deals with landlord tenant disputes.
When students work at the legal clinic, they are expected to cover one of three walk-in shifts each week. One of these is on Thursday afternoons, the other two are on Monday and Wednesday evenings. The students who have childcare obligations try to get the Thursday afternoon shift where possible. I was a bit more flexible about my availability because my ex has the kids on Wednesday evenings, so I could do Wednesdays or Thursday shifts.
Even though there are about twenty law students working for the clinic, each shift had to have at least 4 students working, so that meant one usually had to do one shift each week.
During a shift, students might be expected to cover one of three roles, that of "desk" (receptionist), "screen" (triage) or "duty" (for one of the sub-teams there). These roles were rotated around to make it fair to everyone, but many of the students hated doing the desk duty, as it meant greeting all of the new clients who came in, getting them to fill in several forms, and being nice to them as they grew more and more impatient over a three hour period.
I really enjoyed doing desk duty, as I am a pretty outgoing person, and I could show my concern and frustration to the clients when they weren't being seen very quickly. Many of the clients brought their children with them, so I would show them where our box of toys was. Sometimes they needed the phone or the bathroom, so I would direct them there. As well, many of the clients could not speak English or French very well, so I tried to help them fill out the forms, which were bilingual and not that easy to understand. I always played the radio when I was on desk as I felt it gave the people waiting something to think about other than their legal problems. One night, we all listened to the hockey game, people started chatting together and it was a positively party-like atmosphere for once.
The first five people in line would be seen within twenty minutes, but anyone else in line might have to wait one - three hours. It would depend on how quickly the earlier clients were dealt with. Waiting could make clients very angry and despondent.
Once their forms were filled out, the time was written on the corner of the paper so we would know what order they had come in. The person on "screen" would then take the forms and check to see in our database of past clients whether or not that specific person or the person they had a case against had ever been a client of our clinic in the past. If they were, we had to make sure that there were no conflict of interest problems with seeing them as clients.
Sometimes this meant we would have to ask the client if they were the client we had listed in our database. We also had rules to deal with frequent users of the clinic. If someone had been in six times in the past year for different legal problems, we would examine whether there were problems with the client such as mental illness or other issues.
In most cases, there was no history, so they would be called in to meet with the screen staff who would quickly go through another form with them to identify exactly the type of legal problem they had. This was techinically supposed to take ten minutes, but often would take longer because people were emotional, wanted to tell their whole story, or couldn't speak English or French very well.
The purpose of the screen staff was to screen out any persons who either didn’t qualify for our services (ie. They weren’t poor enough) or that our services didn’t cover their problems.
On desk duty this time, I realize that tonight is going to be a long night. There are already 12 people waiting to be seen and it is past 8 pm. The basic rule is that if people arrive before 9 pm we will see them. Eventually.
At about 8:35, a man enters and approaches the desk. Everyone in the room notices him, because of the fact that he is carrying 6 full sized garbage bags. The bags appear to be full of newspaper. The next thing we all notice is that he smells very strongly of garbage or vomit or some other disgusting odour.
At first I think maybe he is the guy who does the garbage and he is just early. But when he comes to the desk, he asks to see a lawyer. So, I give him the clipboard with the intake form on it.
He fills it out impatiently, asking how long this is going to take. I inform him that this will take a while, as there are many other people in line ahead of him, and that he should take a seat.
He eyes the other people in the room warily, and starts pacing back and forth across the fifteen foot span of the waiting room. Every few minutes, he blurts out some startling word like “shitheads”. I wonder if perhaps he has Tourette’s Syndrome. His presence is obviously starting to disturb some of the other people waiting in the room.
Saturday, November 06, 2004
Meeting Mary Jane
November 21st, 2003
Did you know that April 20th has a special significance for some people? It is the national celebration of marijuana use. Although I had never heard of it until this year, apparently there is a longish recent history for this phenomena. What happens is that many people get together to smoke pot on this day, the 20th day of the fourth month, as close to 4:20 pm as possible. My stepdaughter Kira educated us on this event this year. I didn’t believe her so I looked it up online and found this reference:
“The number 420 is a euphemism describing one's support for cannabis and drug culture. The exact origin of the term is unknown, although there is much speculation, and a large number of urban legends surrounding its origin. Although dedicated marijuana smokers partake at almost any time of day, smoking at 4:20 or on April 20 has special meaning to some. Punctual and exacting smokers smoke-out at 4:20 AM, insisting that 4:20 PM is actually 16:20 (24 hour time). Many of the clocks in the movie Pulp Fiction are set to 4:20. In an episode of the show Futurama, an alternate universe where everyone is a hippie is numbered as Universe 420.”
More here…
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/420_%28drug_culture%29
I never realized how ambivalent my messages concerning smoking dope had been to my kids. As a youth, I had tried marijuana a few times, but never had used regularly. As an adult, I had a friend who used marijuana regularly, so every once in a while I got to have a puff. No big deal. This all changed rather suddenly.
One evening I arrived home after a late meeting, and went to the kitchen to get a drink out of the refrigerator. I noticed a large bag in the crisper, and bent down to pull out the drawer. It appeared to be a large freezer bag full of a weed-like substance.
It was a large bag of marijuana. I could not believe my eyes, so I actually opened the bag and smelled it. Yes. I was ever so slightly familiar with this smell. There was a large bag of marijuana in my fridge. I don’t mean an ounce, or a gram, I mean about the equivalent of 6 full cups of weed.
My first reaction was shock. I took the bag out and went to find Ed. His first reaction was to say, “throw it out. just flush it down the toilet”. I was not sure this was such a good idea. What if someone in our house had decided to put a friend’s stash in storage here? I had no idea of the street value of this amount of marijuana.
My second reaction was anger. I couldn’t believe it. Who on earth would be so stupid to bring such a large amount of marijuana into our home, into my refrigerator? Who would jeopardize our family’s safety? We had four girls who might be guilty between ages 13 – 20. My detective hat was on, and I was determined to discover who the culprit was.
Although I knew that Kate had tried smoking pot and drinking alcohol in the past year, especially with her hippie boyfriend Aidan, generally she was the most level-headed of the kids and certainly wasn’t an idiot. Emma, not yet 14, was in a very judgmental, “anyone who smokes anything is stupid” phase. Not Emma… couldn’t be Emma.
Then there was Kira. Kira could be counted on to be high on any given day of the week. In fact, we had recently attempted to negotiate a weekend only use agreement so that she would attend more afternoon classes. During the winter, Kira had been caught by security guards with drug paraphernalia in her pocket when she was entering a school dance. She was hanging out with a crowd of friends who seemed to include a mix of hippy types and “ravers”. In fact, Kate had told us recently that her boyfriend had seen Kira in Montreal one night at a rave. So there was definite reason to have her high on my list of suspects.
On the other hand, this felt much more like Jo. From the time Jo was a young child, she never thought about the consequences of her actions. She made silly, impetuous decisions all the time, and she was a procrastinating lazy slob. The problem was that she actually enjoy “partying”, she didn’t smoke weed or drink alcohol. Or so she claimed.
It was then the fear clutched at me. OH MY GOD. What if, God forbid, one of them had made a deal with someone to sell all of this? I walked around the house to see who was home. Jo was asleep, Kira wasn’t home. Kate was awake, but said she didn’t know who it belonged to, but it wasn’t hers.
By morning I had discovered who the guilty party was. Jo admitted that her friend had “given” her the bag to attempt to sell it so she could make some money. She had been trying to get a job for some time and had felt pressure by me to pay rent because she was not attending school. This “friend” had tried to offer her a quick easy way to make some money. I was so upset by this choice, and voiced my disappointment to her.
We ended up talking for over two hours about the situation. I talked about the great risk she was putting herself in, not just by selling weed, but just by carrying it around. This was very different than being caught with a joint or two. The large amount alone would bring a much harsher penalty than simple possession.
“Do you realize that if you were caught carrying it, you could end up with a serious criminal record?”
“Well, I was thinking I would just sell it to friends. Or even just give it to some people”.
Jo had no idea that she could be charged with possession with intent for distribution, and that “trafficking” includes giving away marijuana. The law in Canada states that even if you simply have marijuana in your possession with the intention of selling it, you can be charged with trafficking, which carries up to 5 years imprisonment for the amount she had.
On top of this, we had a discussion about her younger siblings, Emma and Owen. For one thing, if the local children’s aid society found out that there was marijuana in our home, I could lose custody of her siblings. For another, Emma, in grade 8, could go and tell her friends at school, who might tell parents or teachers about it.
After this discussion, Jo agreed that her choice had not been wise, and she arranged to give back the bag to her friend.
It took me a long time to get over this incident. Months later, I could laugh about it and talk about it as another "silly" thing one of my kids had done.
When I did share this story with people, it was very interesting to see the range of reactions of people. At that time I was working at a community legal clinic, and when I mentioned this anecdote to some of the other legal students there, they said that they would have called the police. Obviously they didn’t have any children of their own.
Another time, when an my pot-smoking friend was visiting, I told her about what had happened, and interestingly, she decided she needed to go inside to use the bathroom... as she went into the house, I heard her calling "Jo, can I talk to you for a minute?"
Did you know that April 20th has a special significance for some people? It is the national celebration of marijuana use. Although I had never heard of it until this year, apparently there is a longish recent history for this phenomena. What happens is that many people get together to smoke pot on this day, the 20th day of the fourth month, as close to 4:20 pm as possible. My stepdaughter Kira educated us on this event this year. I didn’t believe her so I looked it up online and found this reference:
“The number 420 is a euphemism describing one's support for cannabis and drug culture. The exact origin of the term is unknown, although there is much speculation, and a large number of urban legends surrounding its origin. Although dedicated marijuana smokers partake at almost any time of day, smoking at 4:20 or on April 20 has special meaning to some. Punctual and exacting smokers smoke-out at 4:20 AM, insisting that 4:20 PM is actually 16:20 (24 hour time). Many of the clocks in the movie Pulp Fiction are set to 4:20. In an episode of the show Futurama, an alternate universe where everyone is a hippie is numbered as Universe 420.”
More here…
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/420_%28drug_culture%29
I never realized how ambivalent my messages concerning smoking dope had been to my kids. As a youth, I had tried marijuana a few times, but never had used regularly. As an adult, I had a friend who used marijuana regularly, so every once in a while I got to have a puff. No big deal. This all changed rather suddenly.
One evening I arrived home after a late meeting, and went to the kitchen to get a drink out of the refrigerator. I noticed a large bag in the crisper, and bent down to pull out the drawer. It appeared to be a large freezer bag full of a weed-like substance.
It was a large bag of marijuana. I could not believe my eyes, so I actually opened the bag and smelled it. Yes. I was ever so slightly familiar with this smell. There was a large bag of marijuana in my fridge. I don’t mean an ounce, or a gram, I mean about the equivalent of 6 full cups of weed.
My first reaction was shock. I took the bag out and went to find Ed. His first reaction was to say, “throw it out. just flush it down the toilet”. I was not sure this was such a good idea. What if someone in our house had decided to put a friend’s stash in storage here? I had no idea of the street value of this amount of marijuana.
My second reaction was anger. I couldn’t believe it. Who on earth would be so stupid to bring such a large amount of marijuana into our home, into my refrigerator? Who would jeopardize our family’s safety? We had four girls who might be guilty between ages 13 – 20. My detective hat was on, and I was determined to discover who the culprit was.
Although I knew that Kate had tried smoking pot and drinking alcohol in the past year, especially with her hippie boyfriend Aidan, generally she was the most level-headed of the kids and certainly wasn’t an idiot. Emma, not yet 14, was in a very judgmental, “anyone who smokes anything is stupid” phase. Not Emma… couldn’t be Emma.
Then there was Kira. Kira could be counted on to be high on any given day of the week. In fact, we had recently attempted to negotiate a weekend only use agreement so that she would attend more afternoon classes. During the winter, Kira had been caught by security guards with drug paraphernalia in her pocket when she was entering a school dance. She was hanging out with a crowd of friends who seemed to include a mix of hippy types and “ravers”. In fact, Kate had told us recently that her boyfriend had seen Kira in Montreal one night at a rave. So there was definite reason to have her high on my list of suspects.
On the other hand, this felt much more like Jo. From the time Jo was a young child, she never thought about the consequences of her actions. She made silly, impetuous decisions all the time, and she was a procrastinating lazy slob. The problem was that she actually enjoy “partying”, she didn’t smoke weed or drink alcohol. Or so she claimed.
It was then the fear clutched at me. OH MY GOD. What if, God forbid, one of them had made a deal with someone to sell all of this? I walked around the house to see who was home. Jo was asleep, Kira wasn’t home. Kate was awake, but said she didn’t know who it belonged to, but it wasn’t hers.
By morning I had discovered who the guilty party was. Jo admitted that her friend had “given” her the bag to attempt to sell it so she could make some money. She had been trying to get a job for some time and had felt pressure by me to pay rent because she was not attending school. This “friend” had tried to offer her a quick easy way to make some money. I was so upset by this choice, and voiced my disappointment to her.
We ended up talking for over two hours about the situation. I talked about the great risk she was putting herself in, not just by selling weed, but just by carrying it around. This was very different than being caught with a joint or two. The large amount alone would bring a much harsher penalty than simple possession.
“Do you realize that if you were caught carrying it, you could end up with a serious criminal record?”
“Well, I was thinking I would just sell it to friends. Or even just give it to some people”.
Jo had no idea that she could be charged with possession with intent for distribution, and that “trafficking” includes giving away marijuana. The law in Canada states that even if you simply have marijuana in your possession with the intention of selling it, you can be charged with trafficking, which carries up to 5 years imprisonment for the amount she had.
On top of this, we had a discussion about her younger siblings, Emma and Owen. For one thing, if the local children’s aid society found out that there was marijuana in our home, I could lose custody of her siblings. For another, Emma, in grade 8, could go and tell her friends at school, who might tell parents or teachers about it.
After this discussion, Jo agreed that her choice had not been wise, and she arranged to give back the bag to her friend.
It took me a long time to get over this incident. Months later, I could laugh about it and talk about it as another "silly" thing one of my kids had done.
When I did share this story with people, it was very interesting to see the range of reactions of people. At that time I was working at a community legal clinic, and when I mentioned this anecdote to some of the other legal students there, they said that they would have called the police. Obviously they didn’t have any children of their own.
Another time, when an my pot-smoking friend was visiting, I told her about what had happened, and interestingly, she decided she needed to go inside to use the bathroom... as she went into the house, I heard her calling "Jo, can I talk to you for a minute?"
Sometimes Parents are Jerks
We went to parent / teacher interviews last week and got to talk to Kira’s teachers. We had concerns as last year she had attendance problems which of course affected her marks. She was dealing with all of the issues of her mom moving away to B.C. and suffered from depression for most of the school year. Her teachers said that she has been attending well and her marks are great. We were so relieved.
Last night, I let Kira use my laptop because Emma monopolized the kids computer all night doing homework. When I got my laptop back, I noticed that Kira had added a link to her livejournal on my favorites list. Of course, I should have just deleted the link… but who can resist snooping? After all it is my laptop. And my favorites list. Ummm….? This is what I found. She is a very unhappy girl.
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Kaper Live Journal ~ November 5, 2004
My dad is such a dickhead. First he decides to cut off my allowance just because I turned 17. “Get a job” he orders…. As if its really easy to get a job. Now he has decided not to give me my bus pass money ‘cause I spent it on other stuff this month and had no money for my bus pass.
He probably found this brilliant idea in some parenting book, entitled “How to Raise Independent Teens” Sometimes I just want to get out – find my own place to live, screw off school – and do what I want to do. No stupid parents… no cruddy teachers. WHAT MAKES THEM THINK THEY KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ME?
GRRR. I am just fed up with it all. My teachers are idiots. I mean, look at my art teacher… she knows that I am the best artist in the class… but it’s not my fault that my art project fell out of my backpack when I was down at Major’s Hill Park on Tuesday after school. I went back to look for it, but it was gone. It is so hard starting it over – when I had all the perspective right. I give up. My mark will not be as great but who cares.
And then there is Mr. Dufus in Travel and Tourism – he told me that the stuff I missed from being away last week would not be on the test, but he lied. It was on the test, and I had no clue how to answer the question worth the most marks. What an asshole.
My mother keeps calling me and leaving me stupid messages. I did try to call her back but couldn’t leave a message because she doesn’t have a machine. Besides I don’t want to talk to her. She is so annoying most of the time with her bullshit about coming to live with her out in B.C. As if I would want to live with her anyway, let alone across the country from my friends.
I’d rather hang around with my friends these days. Just relax… zone out… No pressures.
Last night, I let Kira use my laptop because Emma monopolized the kids computer all night doing homework. When I got my laptop back, I noticed that Kira had added a link to her livejournal on my favorites list. Of course, I should have just deleted the link… but who can resist snooping? After all it is my laptop. And my favorites list. Ummm….? This is what I found. She is a very unhappy girl.
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Kaper Live Journal ~ November 5, 2004
My dad is such a dickhead. First he decides to cut off my allowance just because I turned 17. “Get a job” he orders…. As if its really easy to get a job. Now he has decided not to give me my bus pass money ‘cause I spent it on other stuff this month and had no money for my bus pass.
He probably found this brilliant idea in some parenting book, entitled “How to Raise Independent Teens” Sometimes I just want to get out – find my own place to live, screw off school – and do what I want to do. No stupid parents… no cruddy teachers. WHAT MAKES THEM THINK THEY KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ME?
GRRR. I am just fed up with it all. My teachers are idiots. I mean, look at my art teacher… she knows that I am the best artist in the class… but it’s not my fault that my art project fell out of my backpack when I was down at Major’s Hill Park on Tuesday after school. I went back to look for it, but it was gone. It is so hard starting it over – when I had all the perspective right. I give up. My mark will not be as great but who cares.
And then there is Mr. Dufus in Travel and Tourism – he told me that the stuff I missed from being away last week would not be on the test, but he lied. It was on the test, and I had no clue how to answer the question worth the most marks. What an asshole.
My mother keeps calling me and leaving me stupid messages. I did try to call her back but couldn’t leave a message because she doesn’t have a machine. Besides I don’t want to talk to her. She is so annoying most of the time with her bullshit about coming to live with her out in B.C. As if I would want to live with her anyway, let alone across the country from my friends.
I’d rather hang around with my friends these days. Just relax… zone out… No pressures.
Sex, Lies and MSN
February 14, 2004
“Happy Valentines Day!” I post on my website, with appropriate hearts, flowers and cupids.
Ahhh…love is in the air. My son Ben arrives home from the daycare with a sack full of valentines and we go through each one together, admiring the pictures and sweet declarations of love he has received from several seven year old girls in his class. He asks me if I got any valentines yet, and when I admit that I am not as popular as he is, he rushes off to his room, and returns a little while later, having changed the names on three of his valentines, and gives them to me. He has scrawled “love Ben” across them, adding some x’s and o’s.
As I start the water to boil for pasta, I wonder who will home for dinner on this most auspicious of days. Our basic rule is that if you are home by 6 pm, you have a chance at getting a meal. I take a mental count of who has a boyfriend right now, which would mean that there is a chance that they have gone out to celebrate their relationship.
Kate is definitely in love, and so is probably not here. I check her room, her work clothes are lying over her chair, so she has been here, even if only briefly. This had been an exciting six months for Kate, as she met her soulmate at a party at the end of last summer. It must be over six months now that she has been seeing Aidan.
Always a shy child, Kate had not dated at all during her high school years. She did not enjoy attending parties, preferring the company of one or two girl friends or a good book. You can imagine my surprise during the Christmas holidays, when Kate approached me about having Aidan sleep over.
Overall, I have been very lucky that our kids didn’t rush off to have sex at a young age. What with statistics showing that half of grade ten students have had sex, I would say we are very lucky. I am pretty open minded, and we have always had an open relationship where we can talk about pretty much anything. I was able to express my feelings to Kate quite comfortably, and started off by stating that I respect the fact that she is 19, and so is an adult able to make her own decisions about having sex.
I also mentioned that I was concerned about Aidan’s parent’s views on this, as he is over a year younger than Kate. In addition, I was concerned about the message that we are giving to her younger sisters. As well, I brought up the subject of birth control and STDs. Kate informed me that she had already gone to the clinic at the university to get the information she needed in this area. Finally, I half-joked that if he was going to stay over often, then he would have to pay rent. I left it with her that if his parents gave permission, I was ok with it.
The first few times that Aidan slept over, we worked out the bugs. Like, I wanted to be informed when he was sleeping over so that I wouldn’t walk around half-naked in the early morning hours while putting the dog out and bump into him. I was thinking of his sensibilities more than mine with this request. On another occasion, my partner and I were awakened to the whooping and screaming of Kate and Aidan having a shower together at 3 am. This incident did not impress me, and it was followed up by a going over of what behaviour is just inconsiderate. It did feel weird though, talking to my child about her sexual habits.
Next on my checklist is Jo, who quite unlike her sister, has dated dozens of boys over the past few years, but none seriously. Most of these boys seemed to be named Mike or Mark. In fact last summer, we had Mark 1 and Mark 2 overlapping. It seemed like anytime they started wanting to make out, she dropped them. Which is fine with me. As far as I knew, she did not have a boyfriend at this time, but she had many friends who were “boys”. It was 50/50 whether she would be home for dinner.
Kira definitely did not have a boyfriend, and if you even suggested that she might, she would bite your head off. She generally likes hanging out downtown with her select group of friends, which includes some guys and girls she knows from school. Interestingly enough, last weekend, Kira approached me about a friend who might be pregnant. She asked for information about the abortion clinic which is in a secret location downtown.
I was a bit confused by her request. On the one hand, Kira knows that I used to be a youth worker, and so I had this type of information. I was actually pretty amused that she would come to me for this information, when she generally likes to act like I am the idiot that her father has chosen to live with. Either way, I decided that if she had the guts to ask, I should give her the information that she, or her“ friend, needed.
In the end, I decide I might as well cook for a crowd, as you never know who will show up for dinner here. Emma shows up, grumbling about homework that her grade 8 teacher gave them at the last minute. She did not get any valentines and looks like she may burst into tears when I say “Happy Valentines Day!” to her.
After dinner has long been cleaned up, Jo shows up around 9 pm. I have put Ben to bed and settled in at my laptop to answer the days e-mails. After a few minutes, Emma’s MSN name pops up on my screen.
“Hi mommy” she writes.
“How was your day?” I ask her.
In case you haven’t ever done this, it is really quite fun to talk to your child who is sitting down the hall via the internet. Not only do they feel comfortable talking with the technology, and are more prone to actually have a real conversation with you, it is functional, you can even talk to more than one of them at a time.
“Pretty good. I made some new posters for the store today” she states.
Jo has been working since last August at the Comic Book Shop, and so is the envy of all other teens we know. At age 18, she is well liked by her co-workers and the many boys who come into that particular store. Lately, she has been using her artistic skills to draw posters to advertise the shop to high school students.
“Cool” I reply.
“Did you meet anyone new today?” I ask.
“Well… actually yes” she replies.
“Actually I met this guy who is so sweet!”
There is a pause for a few minutes. I don’t notice as I am reading e-mails while Ed changes the sheets on our bed.
“He is a bit older than me though”
I stop what I am doing and wonder… hmmm…. How much older?
“How much older?” I asked.
“Well… I don’t know really, he didn’t say his age or anything…”
I was rapidly running possible age ranges through my head. Jo was 17… so I thought she might think someone was “older” if they were over 20.
“Like 20?” I probed.
“mmmm…. maybe more”
“Like 25?” I guessed.
“I don’t know for sure…”
I was starting to panic. One of Jo’s friends had had a bad experience a few months earlier when she dated a guy who was around 24. He came with a lot of baggage, including two children from a previous relationship.
“OK, so he might be between 25-30?”
I decided to run through the standard list of questions.
“Does he have a job?”
“Yes!”
“Where?”
“He works on computers for the government…”
“Where did you meet him?”
“At the recording studio last weekend where I was doing the backup singing”
Jo had been performing in a band for almost a year and had been invited to sing back up for another band.
“Why was he there?”
“He is a musician and friend of the guy I know…”
Whoever that is, I thought. (More here is needed)
“Does he have any kids?”
“No!”
“How do you know that he doesn’t have kids?”
“I don’t know….”
“He is almost 30! He could have a criminal record…”
“NO WAY”
“What do you really know about him? He could be an axe murderer”
“STOP IT!”
“He could have STDs”
“NO WAY”
“But how do you know? He is going to want to have sex – he wouldn’t be normal if he didn’t expect that from a girlfriend”
“MOM!!! I AM NOT HAVING SEX WITH HIM!”
“Well… what will you do when he pressures you?”
For a long time she doesn’t answer. I think maybe I have pushed it too far. Am I just too overprotective? Can I salvage this conversation?
“So… how would you feel about inviting him over to meet me sometime?”
“I’ll think about it….”
“I don’t have such a problem with the age thing… as long as he is a decent person… and you won’t know that until you get to know him over time.”
“I just don’t want to invite him over to get teased by everyone… its too crowded here”
“Well, maybe we could have him over one night when there isn’t such a crowd”
“that would be ok…”
Later that night, I wander around the house turning off lights, letting the puppy out one final time. I find Jo curled up asleep on the sofa, with the light of the tv playing over her face. As she hugs the pillow, I am taken back to the time when as a small girl, she would fall asleep pretty much everywhere she went. Sometimes I really miss that little girl.
“Happy Valentines Day!” I post on my website, with appropriate hearts, flowers and cupids.
Ahhh…love is in the air. My son Ben arrives home from the daycare with a sack full of valentines and we go through each one together, admiring the pictures and sweet declarations of love he has received from several seven year old girls in his class. He asks me if I got any valentines yet, and when I admit that I am not as popular as he is, he rushes off to his room, and returns a little while later, having changed the names on three of his valentines, and gives them to me. He has scrawled “love Ben” across them, adding some x’s and o’s.
As I start the water to boil for pasta, I wonder who will home for dinner on this most auspicious of days. Our basic rule is that if you are home by 6 pm, you have a chance at getting a meal. I take a mental count of who has a boyfriend right now, which would mean that there is a chance that they have gone out to celebrate their relationship.
Kate is definitely in love, and so is probably not here. I check her room, her work clothes are lying over her chair, so she has been here, even if only briefly. This had been an exciting six months for Kate, as she met her soulmate at a party at the end of last summer. It must be over six months now that she has been seeing Aidan.
Always a shy child, Kate had not dated at all during her high school years. She did not enjoy attending parties, preferring the company of one or two girl friends or a good book. You can imagine my surprise during the Christmas holidays, when Kate approached me about having Aidan sleep over.
Overall, I have been very lucky that our kids didn’t rush off to have sex at a young age. What with statistics showing that half of grade ten students have had sex, I would say we are very lucky. I am pretty open minded, and we have always had an open relationship where we can talk about pretty much anything. I was able to express my feelings to Kate quite comfortably, and started off by stating that I respect the fact that she is 19, and so is an adult able to make her own decisions about having sex.
I also mentioned that I was concerned about Aidan’s parent’s views on this, as he is over a year younger than Kate. In addition, I was concerned about the message that we are giving to her younger sisters. As well, I brought up the subject of birth control and STDs. Kate informed me that she had already gone to the clinic at the university to get the information she needed in this area. Finally, I half-joked that if he was going to stay over often, then he would have to pay rent. I left it with her that if his parents gave permission, I was ok with it.
The first few times that Aidan slept over, we worked out the bugs. Like, I wanted to be informed when he was sleeping over so that I wouldn’t walk around half-naked in the early morning hours while putting the dog out and bump into him. I was thinking of his sensibilities more than mine with this request. On another occasion, my partner and I were awakened to the whooping and screaming of Kate and Aidan having a shower together at 3 am. This incident did not impress me, and it was followed up by a going over of what behaviour is just inconsiderate. It did feel weird though, talking to my child about her sexual habits.
Next on my checklist is Jo, who quite unlike her sister, has dated dozens of boys over the past few years, but none seriously. Most of these boys seemed to be named Mike or Mark. In fact last summer, we had Mark 1 and Mark 2 overlapping. It seemed like anytime they started wanting to make out, she dropped them. Which is fine with me. As far as I knew, she did not have a boyfriend at this time, but she had many friends who were “boys”. It was 50/50 whether she would be home for dinner.
Kira definitely did not have a boyfriend, and if you even suggested that she might, she would bite your head off. She generally likes hanging out downtown with her select group of friends, which includes some guys and girls she knows from school. Interestingly enough, last weekend, Kira approached me about a friend who might be pregnant. She asked for information about the abortion clinic which is in a secret location downtown.
I was a bit confused by her request. On the one hand, Kira knows that I used to be a youth worker, and so I had this type of information. I was actually pretty amused that she would come to me for this information, when she generally likes to act like I am the idiot that her father has chosen to live with. Either way, I decided that if she had the guts to ask, I should give her the information that she, or her“ friend, needed.
In the end, I decide I might as well cook for a crowd, as you never know who will show up for dinner here. Emma shows up, grumbling about homework that her grade 8 teacher gave them at the last minute. She did not get any valentines and looks like she may burst into tears when I say “Happy Valentines Day!” to her.
After dinner has long been cleaned up, Jo shows up around 9 pm. I have put Ben to bed and settled in at my laptop to answer the days e-mails. After a few minutes, Emma’s MSN name pops up on my screen.
“Hi mommy” she writes.
“How was your day?” I ask her.
In case you haven’t ever done this, it is really quite fun to talk to your child who is sitting down the hall via the internet. Not only do they feel comfortable talking with the technology, and are more prone to actually have a real conversation with you, it is functional, you can even talk to more than one of them at a time.
“Pretty good. I made some new posters for the store today” she states.
Jo has been working since last August at the Comic Book Shop, and so is the envy of all other teens we know. At age 18, she is well liked by her co-workers and the many boys who come into that particular store. Lately, she has been using her artistic skills to draw posters to advertise the shop to high school students.
“Cool” I reply.
“Did you meet anyone new today?” I ask.
“Well… actually yes” she replies.
“Actually I met this guy who is so sweet!”
There is a pause for a few minutes. I don’t notice as I am reading e-mails while Ed changes the sheets on our bed.
“He is a bit older than me though”
I stop what I am doing and wonder… hmmm…. How much older?
“How much older?” I asked.
“Well… I don’t know really, he didn’t say his age or anything…”
I was rapidly running possible age ranges through my head. Jo was 17… so I thought she might think someone was “older” if they were over 20.
“Like 20?” I probed.
“mmmm…. maybe more”
“Like 25?” I guessed.
“I don’t know for sure…”
I was starting to panic. One of Jo’s friends had had a bad experience a few months earlier when she dated a guy who was around 24. He came with a lot of baggage, including two children from a previous relationship.
“OK, so he might be between 25-30?”
I decided to run through the standard list of questions.
“Does he have a job?”
“Yes!”
“Where?”
“He works on computers for the government…”
“Where did you meet him?”
“At the recording studio last weekend where I was doing the backup singing”
Jo had been performing in a band for almost a year and had been invited to sing back up for another band.
“Why was he there?”
“He is a musician and friend of the guy I know…”
Whoever that is, I thought. (More here is needed)
“Does he have any kids?”
“No!”
“How do you know that he doesn’t have kids?”
“I don’t know….”
“He is almost 30! He could have a criminal record…”
“NO WAY”
“What do you really know about him? He could be an axe murderer”
“STOP IT!”
“He could have STDs”
“NO WAY”
“But how do you know? He is going to want to have sex – he wouldn’t be normal if he didn’t expect that from a girlfriend”
“MOM!!! I AM NOT HAVING SEX WITH HIM!”
“Well… what will you do when he pressures you?”
For a long time she doesn’t answer. I think maybe I have pushed it too far. Am I just too overprotective? Can I salvage this conversation?
“So… how would you feel about inviting him over to meet me sometime?”
“I’ll think about it….”
“I don’t have such a problem with the age thing… as long as he is a decent person… and you won’t know that until you get to know him over time.”
“I just don’t want to invite him over to get teased by everyone… its too crowded here”
“Well, maybe we could have him over one night when there isn’t such a crowd”
“that would be ok…”
Later that night, I wander around the house turning off lights, letting the puppy out one final time. I find Jo curled up asleep on the sofa, with the light of the tv playing over her face. As she hugs the pillow, I am taken back to the time when as a small girl, she would fall asleep pretty much everywhere she went. Sometimes I really miss that little girl.
Friday, November 05, 2004
Bringing Work Home
Quite a few years ago, I worked at as Youth Worker with teen girls who ranged from ages 11 - 17. Many of these girls were from immigrant families and struggled to learn English and adapt to Canadian culture. Gernerally, the younger they were when they arrived in Canada, the more easy it was for them to adapt. One of the problems for girls in immigrant families is that their parents tended to be even more strict than usual, because they were so afraid something bad might happen to their daughters.
For example, many of these young women told me that in their own Muslim country, they and their mothers were not required to wear the hijab (headscarf), but in Canada, it became mandatory. I guess the fathers wanted to provide some type of protection for the women in their families. Everything here must seem so strange, so violent, so chaotic.
In many cases, these girls were not permitted to participate in alot of our activities, including sports, especially swimming. Sleep overs were out. As I got to know more of these girls, I found that it was effective to reach out to the parents of these girls so that they got to know me, and trust me. I would invite their mothers to mother/daughter dinners, and go to their homes to talk to their fathers. One of the most important thing that I did was to let them know that I too had daughters (three of them), and that I had the same hopes, fears and concerns for my daughters as they had for theirs.
After much outreach in this area, I was able to convince these parents to let the tight reins loosen a bit. For example, when I was able to arrange girls-only swim time at the local pool, suddenly the girls were allowed to swim. I had a successful girls softball team participate in our city's girls softball league. Our team was the only one who had: a) girls wearing headscarves b) girls who weren't all caucasian. We were also the only team that didn't have a uniform because we didn't have the money for that. We did have gloves though, I used up most of our budget to ensure each girl got a glove, and were told that if they stuck out the season to the end, they got to keep the glove.
For three summers, I arranged a 4 day camping trip for groups of about 25 girls. We always included a daylong canoe trip. Many of these girls had never slept outdoors, let alone been in a canoe. It would take us two hours to get to the other end of the lake where a beautiful mini waterfall provided a great place for swimming and diving, as well as rock-climbing. There we could have a bonfire and hotdogs. It always seemed like a much longer trip back at the end of the day.
I have many fond memories from this job. Our program expanded and eventually after four years, we operated from seven locations in our city. Although I was the supervisor for the entire program, I worked at one drop-in each week so that I could stay in touch with these girls.
There are also painful memories, as many of the girls in our program had serious personal problems. Some were dealing with physical or sexual abuse, others had problems at school. Some had mental health issues, others had disabilities which caused them ongoing discouragement. Other participants had gotten into trouble with the law, often for shoplifting or assault. As well, many of the girls from refugee families had witnessed civil wars in their home countries and so suffered from a form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, as did their parents.
It was our job to provide counselling, guidance and referrals to these girls. We also provided a huge amount of education in the areas of health, personal safety, legal rights and educational resources. Most of all, we tried to provide a safe place for them to come each week, and positive female role models so they could see there were options for the future.
For example, many of these young women told me that in their own Muslim country, they and their mothers were not required to wear the hijab (headscarf), but in Canada, it became mandatory. I guess the fathers wanted to provide some type of protection for the women in their families. Everything here must seem so strange, so violent, so chaotic.
In many cases, these girls were not permitted to participate in alot of our activities, including sports, especially swimming. Sleep overs were out. As I got to know more of these girls, I found that it was effective to reach out to the parents of these girls so that they got to know me, and trust me. I would invite their mothers to mother/daughter dinners, and go to their homes to talk to their fathers. One of the most important thing that I did was to let them know that I too had daughters (three of them), and that I had the same hopes, fears and concerns for my daughters as they had for theirs.
After much outreach in this area, I was able to convince these parents to let the tight reins loosen a bit. For example, when I was able to arrange girls-only swim time at the local pool, suddenly the girls were allowed to swim. I had a successful girls softball team participate in our city's girls softball league. Our team was the only one who had: a) girls wearing headscarves b) girls who weren't all caucasian. We were also the only team that didn't have a uniform because we didn't have the money for that. We did have gloves though, I used up most of our budget to ensure each girl got a glove, and were told that if they stuck out the season to the end, they got to keep the glove.
For three summers, I arranged a 4 day camping trip for groups of about 25 girls. We always included a daylong canoe trip. Many of these girls had never slept outdoors, let alone been in a canoe. It would take us two hours to get to the other end of the lake where a beautiful mini waterfall provided a great place for swimming and diving, as well as rock-climbing. There we could have a bonfire and hotdogs. It always seemed like a much longer trip back at the end of the day.
I have many fond memories from this job. Our program expanded and eventually after four years, we operated from seven locations in our city. Although I was the supervisor for the entire program, I worked at one drop-in each week so that I could stay in touch with these girls.
There are also painful memories, as many of the girls in our program had serious personal problems. Some were dealing with physical or sexual abuse, others had problems at school. Some had mental health issues, others had disabilities which caused them ongoing discouragement. Other participants had gotten into trouble with the law, often for shoplifting or assault. As well, many of the girls from refugee families had witnessed civil wars in their home countries and so suffered from a form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, as did their parents.
It was our job to provide counselling, guidance and referrals to these girls. We also provided a huge amount of education in the areas of health, personal safety, legal rights and educational resources. Most of all, we tried to provide a safe place for them to come each week, and positive female role models so they could see there were options for the future.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
Not Living Here
March 21, 2004
For the first time this year, water is dripping from the eaves troughs. It is cold enough for these drips to form icicles, and the children across the street have noticed. They have been attempting to knock down the biggest ones by throwing chunks of ice at them. I am so excited about the snow melting from the roof, I find that I don’t mind. Winter is beginning to take its leave and there are preparations to be made.
“Spring is coming” I excitedly post on my blog. I think that if it is warm enough for snow to be melting, then it is warm enough to change the background on my website to include some crocuses and maybe a robin.
Spring…time to start planting seeds indoors… time to plan which room to paint this summer… time to inspect the barbeque and pick up some meat for the upcoming barbeque season. It is also time to clean up the whole house. Once a year, whether it needed it or not. Note to self: make a schedule about yard clean up once the snow recedes.
I sigh, as getting the other inhabitants of this house to do any work is always a challenge. When my children were young, I gave some thought to breaking gender role stereotypes about who does various chores around the house. By insisting that my partner do at least some of the “non-traditional” men’s work, like cooking and cleaning, I was convinced that my daughter and my son would catch on that it’s ok for both genders to do this stuff. Even if they didn’t enjoy these tasks, they would be capable of running a household. Of course, I did my fair share of “gender bender” activities, like taking out the trash, mowing the lawn, and even re-shingling our roof one summer.
Now I just try to get them to do their basic, scheduled chores… actually any chore will do. I hate being the chore police, having to constantly nag them and threaten them. It was easier when they were younger.
When my first daughter, Kate, reached age ten, I taught her how to use the washing machine and dryer so that she could begin looking after her own laundry. This went well, so I decided to have the same expectation of her sisters Jo and Emma when they reached that age. Later, when Ed and I moved in together, I made sure that his daughter, Kira age 13 at the time, could do her own laundry as well.
Now, three years later, the girls, whose ages are now 14, 16, 18 and 20, usually manage to get their laundry done each week. Of course, they tend to leave their laundry until they have absolutely no clean socks, underwear, pants or shirts left. Then, they freak out – crying and screaming because there is a line up – because don’t you know, everyone else is doing laundry that night!
We have also set up a schedule for washing dishes so that everyone does one night per week. Of course even when our dishwasher worked, we had problems getting people to remember it was their day, let alone to start doing the dishes before midnight. My partner and I always do the weekend kitchen cleanup so that the kitchen starts off fresh for the week, but by Friday the kitchen deteriorates as one by one, the girls “forget” or make excuses about why they didn’t do their day. So on Saturday morning I start doing the rounds and get each girl to agree to a specific time they will do some dishes that day. This activity often involves weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth, mostly on their part. But somehow, by Saturday night, most of the dishes get done.
I want to raise my kids to be capable adults, so they need to be given the opportunity to learn skills to run their own homes one day. Our family is a team, our house is our home, and we all need to work together to keep it a decent place to live. It is also important to me that we treat each other with respect and gratitude for each other’s contributions to our home.
One way that kids (and spouses) will try to get out of doing chores is to say, “But I don’t know how to do that!”
My standard response is, “Then you obviously need to practice.”
Sometimes they will try, “But I HATE doing that”. Then I will say “So do I.”
I find myself remembering a day last week when, I had decided to broach the subject of bathroom cleaning with my now 16 year old step-daughter, Kira. My goal was to get her to agree to clean the main bathroom that she shared with the other girls once a month. Her response surprised even me, the person who has heard every excuse known to teen girls. She replied, “But it’s not like I really live here.”
I was shocked. I was outraged. If she didn’t live here, where was she living? This is not a kid who lives with her “real” mom part-time. Her mom lives across the country in another province. She wasn’t even speaking to her real mom. As far as I know, she hadn’t quit school, gotten a job or moved out during the night to go live with a boyfriend. She didn’t even have a boyfriend. That I knew of. Did she? Hmmm. Need more information.
Trying to stay calm, I asked a few questions to try to clarify her position.
“Do you sleep here?”, I asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you use the bathroom? You know, shower, use the toilet, wash your hands.”
“Yes.” I thought I must be missing something. I asked her if she had stopped eating our food.
“No.” She thought about that one for a moment, and added “but I usually don’t eat breakfast…or lunch.”
Then I asked her if she was still doing her laundry, watching tv, using our computer, and playing video games. She casually said, “Well yeah…of course!”
Her logic seemed to be based on the fact that since she was hanging out at her friends houses a lot, she shouldn’t be expected to clean the bathroom. Because, like, you know, she doesn’t have the time.
I walked away and thought about it for a while. I thought, well… I haven’t been home much lately, what with school, attending evening meetings and keeping in touch with family and friends. And I don’t usually eat breakfast. I seldom remember to pack a lunch from home either. Hell…maybe I don’t live here either.
Fallback position, speak to Ed about getting Kira to clean the bathroom.
For the first time this year, water is dripping from the eaves troughs. It is cold enough for these drips to form icicles, and the children across the street have noticed. They have been attempting to knock down the biggest ones by throwing chunks of ice at them. I am so excited about the snow melting from the roof, I find that I don’t mind. Winter is beginning to take its leave and there are preparations to be made.
“Spring is coming” I excitedly post on my blog. I think that if it is warm enough for snow to be melting, then it is warm enough to change the background on my website to include some crocuses and maybe a robin.
Spring…time to start planting seeds indoors… time to plan which room to paint this summer… time to inspect the barbeque and pick up some meat for the upcoming barbeque season. It is also time to clean up the whole house. Once a year, whether it needed it or not. Note to self: make a schedule about yard clean up once the snow recedes.
I sigh, as getting the other inhabitants of this house to do any work is always a challenge. When my children were young, I gave some thought to breaking gender role stereotypes about who does various chores around the house. By insisting that my partner do at least some of the “non-traditional” men’s work, like cooking and cleaning, I was convinced that my daughter and my son would catch on that it’s ok for both genders to do this stuff. Even if they didn’t enjoy these tasks, they would be capable of running a household. Of course, I did my fair share of “gender bender” activities, like taking out the trash, mowing the lawn, and even re-shingling our roof one summer.
Now I just try to get them to do their basic, scheduled chores… actually any chore will do. I hate being the chore police, having to constantly nag them and threaten them. It was easier when they were younger.
When my first daughter, Kate, reached age ten, I taught her how to use the washing machine and dryer so that she could begin looking after her own laundry. This went well, so I decided to have the same expectation of her sisters Jo and Emma when they reached that age. Later, when Ed and I moved in together, I made sure that his daughter, Kira age 13 at the time, could do her own laundry as well.
Now, three years later, the girls, whose ages are now 14, 16, 18 and 20, usually manage to get their laundry done each week. Of course, they tend to leave their laundry until they have absolutely no clean socks, underwear, pants or shirts left. Then, they freak out – crying and screaming because there is a line up – because don’t you know, everyone else is doing laundry that night!
We have also set up a schedule for washing dishes so that everyone does one night per week. Of course even when our dishwasher worked, we had problems getting people to remember it was their day, let alone to start doing the dishes before midnight. My partner and I always do the weekend kitchen cleanup so that the kitchen starts off fresh for the week, but by Friday the kitchen deteriorates as one by one, the girls “forget” or make excuses about why they didn’t do their day. So on Saturday morning I start doing the rounds and get each girl to agree to a specific time they will do some dishes that day. This activity often involves weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth, mostly on their part. But somehow, by Saturday night, most of the dishes get done.
I want to raise my kids to be capable adults, so they need to be given the opportunity to learn skills to run their own homes one day. Our family is a team, our house is our home, and we all need to work together to keep it a decent place to live. It is also important to me that we treat each other with respect and gratitude for each other’s contributions to our home.
One way that kids (and spouses) will try to get out of doing chores is to say, “But I don’t know how to do that!”
My standard response is, “Then you obviously need to practice.”
Sometimes they will try, “But I HATE doing that”. Then I will say “So do I.”
I find myself remembering a day last week when, I had decided to broach the subject of bathroom cleaning with my now 16 year old step-daughter, Kira. My goal was to get her to agree to clean the main bathroom that she shared with the other girls once a month. Her response surprised even me, the person who has heard every excuse known to teen girls. She replied, “But it’s not like I really live here.”
I was shocked. I was outraged. If she didn’t live here, where was she living? This is not a kid who lives with her “real” mom part-time. Her mom lives across the country in another province. She wasn’t even speaking to her real mom. As far as I know, she hadn’t quit school, gotten a job or moved out during the night to go live with a boyfriend. She didn’t even have a boyfriend. That I knew of. Did she? Hmmm. Need more information.
Trying to stay calm, I asked a few questions to try to clarify her position.
“Do you sleep here?”, I asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you use the bathroom? You know, shower, use the toilet, wash your hands.”
“Yes.” I thought I must be missing something. I asked her if she had stopped eating our food.
“No.” She thought about that one for a moment, and added “but I usually don’t eat breakfast…or lunch.”
Then I asked her if she was still doing her laundry, watching tv, using our computer, and playing video games. She casually said, “Well yeah…of course!”
Her logic seemed to be based on the fact that since she was hanging out at her friends houses a lot, she shouldn’t be expected to clean the bathroom. Because, like, you know, she doesn’t have the time.
I walked away and thought about it for a while. I thought, well… I haven’t been home much lately, what with school, attending evening meetings and keeping in touch with family and friends. And I don’t usually eat breakfast. I seldom remember to pack a lunch from home either. Hell…maybe I don’t live here either.
Fallback position, speak to Ed about getting Kira to clean the bathroom.
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
All In a Day - my nanowrimo project
hi... this will be my place to blog my novel, such as it is... at this point, it is a collection of stories some totally based on experiences with my kids, others based on stories I have heard from other people...
I dedicate my main character's bloginess to Darby... one of my best friends...
Anyway, hopefully I can sort out my issues here. Any comments are welcome.
I dedicate my main character's bloginess to Darby... one of my best friends...
Anyway, hopefully I can sort out my issues here. Any comments are welcome.
