Don’t yell at your kids, don’t show them you’re angry or have lost control, don’t degrade them, be derogatory towards them or belittle them …
Show them they are loved and cared for, encourage and support them, give them responsibilities and show them you can trust them …
All sound advise that we have had shoved down our throats, repeatedly, weekly, if not daily to ensure we don’t do the “wrong” thing by our children.
When children – not just boys – are entering adolescence, it can be a volatile time; a minefield of emotions and all manner of opportunity to screw up, even if you hold the best of all intentions.
Sometimes, you do the wrong thing. Sometimes, you aren’t even aware that it is even a “thing” you can do wrong.
Other times, you’ve heard tell of it, you have a vague idea about it … and you do it anyway.
I did something like that this morning; one of the worst things I could do as the mother of a pre-teen boy. Something that, on the one hand, I subconsciously knew, but on the other, no one had actually warned me not to do it.
“Is that shirt clean or dirty?” I ask him.
“I dunno,” he replies, buttoning it up, anyway.
(For the record, I translated the “I dunno” from what was, essentially, an elongated grunt, replete with tonal nuances that made it sound as close to “I dunno” as one can get.)
“Did you get it from the laundry, or … where did you get it from?”
“There,” he grunts, pointing at the end of his bed.
Then, I’m not really sure why, only that