by Cathy
Many parents dream of the day where they can have a little freedom and flexibility in the form of allowing their tweens to stay home alone so they can run out and get a few things done. Bonus if the said tween is able to take care of a younger, self-sufficient sibling if need be.
I am happy to announce that this time has finally come for me.
No more forced outings to Jewel with my kids to pick up emergency gallons of milk; no more working around the kids' schedules; no more whining and resistance. We are each free to do our own thing.
Naturally, the first few "separations" came with trepidation on both ends:
"Remember, no answering the phone unless it's me or papi. Absolutely no answering the door and do not, under any circumstance, turn on the stove."
"Are you sure you'll only be twenty minutes? What if it takes you longer?!"
I am pleased to say that we have all passed the initiation period of this rite of passage. We are more comfortable with these brief periods of separation, although, I still keep checking in on them every fifteen minutes or so with updates as to my whereabouts - (I can only hope they will do the same in the coming years).
I did learn the hard way, however, that the best way to get through to my iPad-Instagraming addict of a child was by "KIKing" her, an IM alert that pops up on the iPad screen. The house phone was apparently never heard by either kid, probably because the Disney channel was blaring at a volume that would drown out a bomb explosion, and Bella's cell phone was nowhere nearby. It never is. But the iPad? That thing is basically slung around her neck and plugged into her butt.
One of the many perks of being absent for these brief excursions of alone time is that I am not privy to every. single. little. fight, scream, tattle or battle fought between my two kids. Or so I thought. Thanks to technology, my kids' pseudo emergencies, battles and tattles follow me wherever I go. Behold the string of texts I have received on my phone:
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| Text tattling. Kevin McAllister didn't have this luxury in 1990. |
The Sharpie is still evident on my dining room table and the Styrofoam Force-Feed Fiasco turned out to be one, little S-shaped peanut filler administered by my six-year old prankster troublemaker, to my almost 12-year old.
While I would never mute or irresponsibly not check my phone while out, I do have the luxury of choosing to:
a) ignore the text if it's not an emergency
b) text back that I will handle it when I get home or
c) tell them to work it out on their own.
And by the time I do get home, the fauxmergencies have boiled over and have become forgotten.
Now, if I can only count on them to manage two would-be home burglars by strategically and creatively outsmarting and consequently, thwarting their efforts while the hubby and I are on a trip to Paris? That would be worth text tattling about.
