Brilliant … But Bouncy

Dylan Had Accepted Full Responsibility.

On my way out the door with Shane one evening, I yelled up the stairs.

“Dylan, could you water the Christmas tree for me? And tell Dad to turn off the lights before you guys leave?”

“What?” he yelled back. “Do what with what lights?”

“Tell Dad to turn off the Christmas tree lights!” I yelled again. “And could you water the tree for me?”

“Yeah,” he yelled back.

“Could you do it, like, now?”

“Yeah!”

I expected him to actually do it. So Shane and I left.

An hour later, we came back.

The tree lights were on, and the tree had obviously not been watered. I was furious. I immediately texted Dylan, with all the sarcasm a text can muster: Hey, thanks so much for watering the tree and making sure Dad turned off the lights. I really appreciate your help.

Dylan texted back – uncharacteristically – with an explanation that made sense: I told dad to just like you said to but he told me he didn’t know what I meant. Sorry about that.

I shot back: And you watered the tree?

I thought dad did but I was wrong, Dylan said. We had some miscommunication. I should have been more clear.

I pondered this.

Dylan had just responded like a sensible adult.

What happened to my typical teenager? Where was the defensiveness? Where was the angry counterattack? Where was the lazy “oh-sorry-whatever” tone? Dylan responded to my (immature and irresponsible) sarcastic remarks with a (mature, responsible) sincere desire to convey what had happened and why.

How was I supposed to handle that?

Dylan still hadn’t watered the tree, and the lights were still left on. But it was certainly understandable and, more importantly, Dylan had accepted full responsibility for the whole thing.

I almost didn’t text back, because I was so dumbfounded by the reasonableness of our conversation.

Finally, I texted: That is the nicest way you have ever said “oh I forgot.”

Idk if that’s a good or bad thing but that’s what happened, he said.

It’s a good thing, I said. And I don’t feel like throttling you anymore.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the exchange, even hours later. What could have been a horrific argument – what usually is a horrific argument – was, instead, just a conversation.

Even more interesting than Dylan’s rational response was the realization that I had attacked him unnecessarily, and certainly too sarcastically. I had gotten angry over what amounted to absolutely nothing. And this is certainly not the first time I have overreacted.

I am not likely to suddenly become more rational, and I will probably continue to overreact.

But I can keep working on being more kind.

After all, Dylan is doing just that. Only days before his 17th birthday, I can finally see it.

He’s Still Not Turning In His Work!

As Dylan nears his 17th birthday, he is increasingly frustrated with my interference. And for the most part, I am okay with that. He doesn’t require my interference and, in spite of my absurd influence, he is growing into a fine, independent young man.

Some days, he rolls out of bed three minutes before the bus arrives – and makes it to school on time. Sometimes, he texts me from school because he’s going to the movies with his friends and has completely forgotten that his family might want to see him. Some days, he goes to bed three hours after I do, making his own life miserable the next day when he’s completely unable to focus. And some days, he eats the lunch I sent from home and two more lunches at school.

And I’m okay with all of that!

But he’s still not turning in his work.

He’s STILL not turning in his work.

He’s still NOT TURNING IN his work!

His grades are pretty good. Well – they were good at the end of last quarter. And Dylan insists that they will be good again. He’s currently got two failing grades, one C and A’s in everything else. For someone who is doing not even a smidgeon of school work at home, those grades are incredible.

But…. if he turned in his work on time, he would have straight A’s.

This is a fact that seems utterly lost on him. It’s like no one ever said, “Dylan, you know, if you turn in the work on the day that it’s due, your grades would improve.”

And of course, I have said that 9,443,876, 210 times.

Instead, it’s like someone actually said to him, “Dylan, please don’t turn in all your work on time. If you did that, you’d be able to go to any college you chose! You’d get academic scholarships! Your future would shine so bright, you might not even recognize it! So for sure, whatever you do, DON’T turn in your work! Or at least, wait at least a week or two before you turn in anything. That will keep expectations low!”

I wonder if Dylan realizes that, contrary to popular belief, turning in his work on time would cause me – his arch enemy – to run screaming for the hills. There would be absolutely nothing left for me to worry about!

And then, gosh, where would I be? I’d have to turn my attention elsewhere – say, to Shane’s filthy bedroom or Bill’s hoarding tendencies. But no – for now, we’re going to maintain the status quo.

For now. Still. Even though he’s almost 17.

Do You Want To Go Somewhere Else?

After a few weeks’ anticipation, we all piled into the car to get a Christmas tree. It was snowing steadily but the roads were clear, so we drove half an hour to the cut-your-own farm, playing games and singing carols.

But when we got to the farm, it was closed.

While we looked up nearby tree farms on our iPhones, Dylan took Xena for a quick run in the snow. A few other cars pulled up while we were there; we were all stupefied as to why the farm was closed.

Still, we needed a tree. “There’s a place 22 miles from here that has white pines!” I said. I’ve had a white pine for Christmas every year for 50 years. “Is that too far? It closes and it gets dark at 5:00!”

“No, that’s not too far,” Bill said. “We have two and a half hours!”

So off we went – except… “There’s a place right here!” Bill said.

“They don’t have white pines,” I told him, having already checked the internet for our go-to tree. “But if you feel strongly about it, you can drive that extra mile and ask!”

We pulled into the parking lot of Farm #2 and piled out. While Bill talked to staff, the kids, dog and I were tromping merrily around in the snow and taking pictures.

Bill appeared at my side. “They don’t even have fraser firs,” he said. “Do you care?”

“No,” I said. “I honestly don’t care at all.” The kids were already running through the tree aisles. Xena was gathering serious snow balls on her paws.

But Bill looked slightly crushed.

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” I asked him. For 17 years, he’s wanted to get a different kind of tree.

But… Bill nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “They just don’t have a lot here.”

We drove two miles, and another tree farm sign popped up. “Let’s try this one!” Bill said.

“They don’t have white pines,” I told him. But Bill does not do things the way I do them.

We pulled into Farm #3, and I jumped out to “ask” if they had white pines. Surprise! They did not.

They also did not have the concolor firs that Bill said he wanted.

We still had 22 miles to go.

We got to Farm #4 at nearly 4:00.

“White pines?” the tree guy said. “Oh those are waaaaaay over that hill there!” He pointed to the horizon. “WAY over the hill!”

We trudged more than a mile uphill. By then, Xena was frozen and shaking. There wasn’t a white pine in sight – unless you count the 40-foot ones. So we continued to trudge. Later we learned that the farm was 120 acres – and we traversed 110 of those acres. We never found a white pine.

Just before 5:00, we cut down a concolor fir.

We dragged it back to the car, thawed the dog’s very frozen paws and gave her my coat to keep her warm.

We piled into the car with nary a sip of the hot cocoa we get at our usual farm. Kids threw their wet coats and boots onto the floor, and we discovered that the roads were now snow-covered and slick, since the sun was going down.

We inched down the highway, and stopped at a gas station in the middle of nowhere. We bought fried chicken tenders (at a gas station). We still had an hour’s drive home.

We treated our dog to nearly a whole chicken tender of her own, as a reward for surviving. She was snoring at my feet an hour later.

It was a very, very big day.

And He Has Turned Them In.

Shane’s first quarter report card intrigues me.

He made the Honor Roll, which is great. He has more A’s than B’s, which is also great. What interests me, though, are the letters next to the grades.

There are two columns: Participation and Assignment Completion.

I never really notice the Participation column, except when someone says that Shane isn’t participating in class. Shane is quiet, and I was quiet as a child. We are similar in that way – but only barely. I never, ever, ever participated in class if I could help it. Speaking above a whisper was not in my nature.

Shane does participate in class. He talks. People talk to him. He answers questions in class without the mouse-like squeak that accompanied my responses as a youth. However, on his report card, once in awhile a teacher says he isn’t participating at the highest level.

In the case of his first quarter report card, his Spanish teacher said that he participated substantially less than she would like. When we had our meeting, I explained to her that he is quiet – and she agreed that, even when he didn’t appear to be engaged in the class activities, he could always answer a question about what was going on.

Shane hears everything. He is always engaged. Just sometimes, he doesn’t show it.

Still, she marked him as “sometimes” participating, rather than “consistently” participating. This bothers me, although it matters not a whit.

What does matter, actually, is the second column: Assignment Completion. In every, single class, Shane has “consistently” completed his assignments. And he has turned them in. Shane’s assignments are done, complete, on time, in good form, and submitted by the due date.

This makes me happy. It makes me so happy, in fact, that I am considering dancing a little jig around the room. Because I have suddenly realized that assignment completion is possibly the most important factor in getting good grades – and Shane is doing it!

If he keeps doing it, he can keep getting good grades. He can keep showing teachers that he cares. He can keep giving it his best effort. And someday, hopefully, all that effort will translate into allowing him to get into the college of his choice.

Maybe he doesn’t speak up in Spanish. But he finishes his work, turns it in, and gets good grades. What more could anyone possibly want?

NOT VALID!

This morning, to finish up my Christmas shopping, I ordered gift boxes and tissue paper at Target – then went to the store and picked up my order.

I’ve made it my mission to actually pay for (rather than charge) everything I buy this year for Christmas. As such, I’ve been keeping a close eye on my credit cards and paying my bills as soon as I make any charges. But for Target, I save 5% (woo hoo!) by using my Target credit card – so I have to pay that charge separately.

So I hopped online to login and make a payment. This is usually pretty easy. I typed in my username and password.

A bold, bright red error message appeared: NOT VALID!

I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Maybe I had changed my password. I tried a few different ones, and finally – humiliated – I clicked on “forgot password?”

“Please choose one of the following ways to login,” said the new page. My choices were to type in the year that I got my Target credit card (which could have been ANY year in the past 30) or the last four digits of my social security number. I typed in the last four digits of my social security number.

An error message appeared next to my the SSN box: NOT VALID!

  We’re sorry, but the Last Four Digits of the Primary Cardholder’s Social Security Number you entered is incorrect. Please try again.

I was beginning to get peeved. Rather than re-enter the correct digits a few dozen times, I decided to call. I found the number online, and dialed.

“So that we can help you, please enter the last four digits of your card number and press pound.”

I did that.

“Now please enter the last four digits of your social security number and press pound.”

Then I did that.

The system responded with: “Want to make managing your account even easier? Go to target.com/myredcard to enroll online….”

Gee. I had already enrolled online. I needed to speak with someone about accessing my account. I tried pressing zero.

“We’re sorry. We didn’t recognize that,” the system said. I pressed zero. I pressed 1, 2 and 3. I listened to all of the automated prompts. I couldn’t speak with a human being.

So I visited gethuman.com – the best resource for finding out how to talk to a real person when phone systems are useless.

After 20 minutes, I found something that told me to “repeatedly say ‘customer service’ until you get the option to dial 0.”

I called back. I said, “customerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservice….”

Finally, something shifted in the system. I pressed zero – and got a real human being. He helped me reset my password, but did nothing to help the system recognize my social security number. (The second person with whom I talked assured me that this “just happens sometimes, for security reasons.” In other words, no one will ever fix the system, and it will never recognize my social security number.)

Still, finally, after only an hour, I was able to log in to my account. With my pending purchase this morning, my total amount owed was $104.58. So I logged in, clicked “pay my bill,” and typed in “$104.58.”

I couldn’t believe my eyes. There it was – another “NOT VALID!”

“The amount entered exceeds the amount owed,” the website said. “Please enter a lower amount.”

Quietly, without throwing anything, I left the Target website. I went to my bank website, clicked on “Make Payment,” and paid Target $104.58.

And I sincerely believe I will never, ever use the Target credit card website again.

Are You Absolutely Sure?

The second quarter started while Dylan was out of town. We were on our final college road trip of the year (I hope) so I deemed it worthwhile that he miss yet another day of school to become inspired about his future.

The following Monday, on the second day of the second quarter, Dylan came home with no homework and nothing to do.

“I’m already all caught up,” he said. “There was surprisingly nothing to do.”

“Great,” I said – fully believing him.

On Tuesday, Dylan was having a friend over after school. “Did you get everything done for tomorrow?” I asked. “And did you talk to your teachers about any missing work?”

“YES, Mom,” he said. “I did everything I needed to do.”

“And you talked to all of your teachers about it? Are you absolutely sure?”

“YES!” Dylan growled, nearly biting off my head. “I talked to every single one of them! I don’t have anything to do!”

“Okay,” I said – mostly believing him.

The following day, I randomly checked online to see if any grades had been posted for the new quarter. Dylan was failing history, since he had turned in absolutely nothing, and he was missing two out of four precalculus assignments – one of which was already past due and could not be turned in.

The other classes haven’t posted any grades yet, or I am certain that Dylan would have more missing assignments.

I texted Dylan. I was vague, but I made my point. “The next time you want to have a friend over, I will think twice about it.”

He went off the deep end (via text). He assured me that, as usual, “I’m still making up some stuff…. but I know what all of it is.”

When I reminded him that he’d told me it was already done, he said – and I quote: “I did not say that. I said I had all the work DONE which is true. I did not say it was all in.”

Sigh.

From now on, I will not “fully” believe him – ever. Sadly, I will probably still “mostly” believe him more often than I should.

What Would Bill Do?

Today is Bill’s birthday.

Bill is a good husband. Not only does he work hard, pay the bills, and fix things around the house, but he constantly strives to make me happy. Both the fixing and the striving, however, make me absolutely crazy. On most days, I just want him to relax and worry about himself, instead of working 24/7 to make everyone else happy.

But he is a decent man and a good provider, and he’s both funny and incredibly smart. The fact that he drives me bonkers isn’t surprising – because I am generally unsatisfied with everything, all the time. Almost anyone can drive me bonkers.

Luckily, I am not my children’s only role model.

While Bill is a good husband, he is a great father. He has three wonderful boys, and they all know that they can turn to him if they need anything. Sometimes they need something simple, like a new battery for a toy. Other times they need something more substantial, like advice on navigating relationships. Somehow, Bill always responds in a level-headed manner. He answers questions in ways that make sense.

I think this stems from the fact that Bill is a truly moral human being. Most people recognize this as soon as they meet Bill. It’s easy for me to overlook when he leaves his cup on the counter or his shoes on the living room floor – but it is obvious to me when I reflect, and it is always apparent to his family and friends.

One of the reasons I love Bill – and certainly one of the biggest reasons I am glad that he fathered my children – is because of his moral decency. He works hard to make the world a better place, starting with the way he treats other people. Bill is the strongest proponent of the Golden Rule I have ever known. And as such, he is a spectacular role model for his children and everyone around him.

Sometimes I find myself saying, “What would Bill do?” Then, when I imitate my husband, I find that I get better results than if I had followed my own, more limited instincts.

Bill and I have our issues, as all couples do, and he definitely drives me crazy. He’s 100% ADHD, and I am fairly certain that Bill also has a vision processing disorder. Both of my kids’ issues can be attributed to my husband’s genes, although he’s never been diagnosed with anything. And it’s terribly challenging dealing with an adult with ADHD who medicates himself only with coffee, and who doesn’t process things in any organized fashion. We argue way too much over very small things.

But the big things are what matters. And Bill’s heart is in the right place. His goodness is real.

So when someone comes to him – a stranger or a coworker or a cashier or one of his beloved children – when someone comes to Bill for help, he listens to the best of his ability. Then he responds calmly and rationally. And whatever solution Bill suggests will cause the other person to believe that they’ve come up with the solution on their own – even though it’s actually from the wisdom of Bill’s years of experience.

And today, we celebrate another year of that wisdom. Happy birthday, Bill.

She Suggested That We Try a Planner!

Dylan really struggled with the forty assignments due in history during the first quarter. So I wrote an email to his history teacher:

“Even with all the allowances made for his being sick (THANK YOU!), Dylan has three D’s and six E’s due to missing assignments…. What can we do to improve his communication with you, so that he knows what’s due – and actually gets it turned in WHEN it’s due?”

I got a response a few days later, and I nearly guffawed at his teacher’s suggestion. I know she is young – it may even be her first year teaching – but to think that we hadn’t tried this already was laughable.

“A suggestion I have for Dylan to know exactly what is due and when it is due is a planner (or some other way for him to consistently write down assignments and due dates).  I have plenty of spare composition books and spiral notebooks, and his school has planners he could use.  Because Dylan prefers things to be on the computer, he could also have a chart (online) that he can share with his teachers and add to daily?  I think these are better than a weekly piece of paper, because it is less likely to get lost.”

She suggested that we try a planner! I nearly fell out of my chair. A brilliant idea, yes! But would it work?

No. Categorically, no, it would not work.

The following was only part of my gently constructed response:

“We have tried regular planners, special ADHD-organized planners, personal lists, special folders, small chalkboards, special notebooks, recording devices, phone apps and combinations of all of the above. We even tried having him write the assignment on the board AND then take a picture of it with his phone – but he often forgot to do that, too….”

I am not sure his teacher understands that she is suggesting something that didn’t work for Dylan after trying it for eight years.

So we are at Square One in history. Sometimes I think it’s just a matter of the teacher realizing that there are kids with ADHD – real ADHD – who can’t organize and remember everything the way we would like.

A planner. What a wonderful idea.