The Compliance Manager

Ya know when you’re alone in your car, driving at night, and you feel a tiny little dried-up booger sitting at the edge of your nostril. You look around for a tissue or some other scrap of paper to extract the little bugger but can’t find a thing. So you do what everyone else would do when they think no one is looking—you pick it.

What a jerk you feel like—looking all around you, hoping (praying!) no one saw what you just did as you toss the offending slime out the window. I’ve done it. I’ll admit it. And I have a whole laundry list of other indiscretions I’d admit to if cornered, but I prefer to keep them to myself.

Now, I’ve got a seven-year-old at my side who keeps track of and admonishes my gross/weird/sometimes slightly borderline illegal little habits, insecurities and tendencies.

I call her the “The Compliance Manager.” She’s the kid who follows me around and reminds me when I’m bending or breaking the rules, not following her pre-established guidelines for being a good person or to let me know when there’s a big, fat elephant in the room.

“Two hands on the wheel mom!”
“You went to the restroom awfully quick. Are you sure you washed your hands?”
“You stole those pictures from a website?”
“Shouldn’t you take your makeup off before you go to bed?”
“Why do you pretend you’re not home when you’re sitting right next to the phone?”
“Can you eat those crackers before you pay for them?
“That shirt doesn’t look good on you, mom. I can see your booby crack.”
“Why does everything have to be perfect? You're not perfect.”
“Are you allowed to use the store bathroom? That sign says 'for customers only' and you didn’t buy anything.”
“Did you really not see that person waving to you?”
“I bet you don’t want me to tell Daddy I saw you doing that!”
“Don’t lick my spoon. It has my germs. Don’t you care about germs?”
“You’re driving too fast mom!”
“Did you read the instructions?”
"Do you know what you're doing? Are you sure?"
“How can you leave the shopping cart here when the rack is right over there?”
“Will you get in trouble, mom?”
"You act all crazy when you drink wine!"
"How do you know that? Did Daddy tell you?"
"That sign said 'no u-turn!'"
"I don't think it's supposed to be/look/smell like that!"
“Why does it take you so long to look beautiful on Saturday nights?”
"Did you really just eat eight cookies? I thought our limit was three..."
“I don’t think that dress really fits… Are you sucking in your belly?”
"The sign says six items in the dressing room. Why did you sneak in twelve?"
“Are you allowed to do that?”
“Does Publix care if you wear makeup to go shopping?”
“Didn’t you wear those sweats yesterday?”
“Did Daddy/your boss/the police officer/clerk say that was okay?”
“Are you sure that will taste good if you don’t follow the recipe correctly?”
“Should you leave the dog’s diarrhea smooshed on the neighbor’s grass like that?”

And my personal favorite:
“Your butt is too big... your panties go up your crack!”

I know you can relate. I bet you have a compliance manager too. Now I have to watch everything I say and everything I do because my every move is being watched and cataloged. I must be on my best behavior. A true role-model, upstanding citizen, good deed-doer, honorable, dependable, ethical, politically correct, sterling, principled, righteous, contientious mother and set a good example for my two children at all times.

Yeah right. I’m in f@%!ing trouble.

Lost freedom

Driving with my kids, I had to laugh as they listened to their I-pods while playing their Nintendo DSs. They don’t even realize how lucky they are to have these fabulous, portable toys to play with in the car. When I was a kid, all my brother and I had to do in the car was fight, usually about who was going to sit in the middle of the backseat.

When I think about all the things our children have that didn’t exist when we were kids, I could be envious. Even with all their cool toys though, there’s one thing that we can never give our kids that we had and that’s worth all the gadgets in the world. It’s freedom.

As a kid, I remember running around my neighborhood for hours and my mother didn’t feel the need to be outside with me. We used to run in the woods, build forts, pick blackberries, play ring-a-levio or tag. We'd ride our bikes all over and then throw them down to play inside someone's house for a while. We never though to call home. We just knew to be home by dark or when the neighbor stood outside at dinnertime and whistled to his kids like a dog. Even as a tween, I was allowed to walk down a semi-major road to the 7-11 or take a bus to the mall or go to the movies with my friends and just be free.

No one worried that we were going to be snatched away by a stranger in our own driveway. No one worried that the boogeyman was hiding at the playground. Play dates and sleepovers with friends were no big deal, even if my parents didn’t really know their parents. It was a different world.

Now, I’m not even comfortable allowing my girls to play hopscotch in the front of the house without supervision. And sadly, it’s not because I don’t trust them not to run off into the street. You just never know anymore who’s lurking in their car or watching them exit the building at school.

Even without a cell phone, we were afforded so much more freedom and trust than we can give our kids today. And for that, I feel sad for them. That we have to be so guarded and protected and force them to understand potential dangers of this world much earlier than we would like.

Everything is always so structured now, including their free time. I think there’s some life lessons to be learned about interacting with others, especially when a parent is not around to mediate. Too often, we jump in too fast to “help” instead of letting the kids work it out for themselves because we don’t want to listen to the bickering. Maybe next time, I’ll give them the latitude to work it out on their own. It’s the smallest bit of freedom I can give.

Another baby, no way!

Today my little brother's daughter was born. As happy as I am for him to become a first-time father, I felt my own self shudder at the thought of what he has in store in the coming months and weeks. I don't miss having a newborn baby for one single second.

I am so thrilled to never have to change another diaper, wash another bottle, sing another Elmo song, watch another Baby Einstein video, attend another Mommy & Me class, change my shirt five times, clean up spit up or pump my breasts like a cow. I'm so happy I can run into a store without lugging a giant stroller, don't have to plan my day around naptime, and don't have my living room littered with musical toys.

Now that my kids are older, I can enjoy what I like more often. I like my sleep. I like having my nipples back for my own edification. I like putting on only one outfit per day. I like showering. I like the ability to hop in the car with my kids and take off for the day without a forty-minute planning session that includes schlepping sippy cups, jarred food, a change of clothes, diapers, diaper cream, a dozen toys and three different types of snacks. I like that my kids can give me some "me time", even when they are awake. I like using adult words like "go to the bathroom" rather than "go pee-pee". I like going out to eat and actually tasting my food.

Not that having older kids doesn't present its own challenges. Sex, for one, is not as fun when it has to be moved upstairs all the time. I can't have private conversations freely anymore. I always have to be on my best behavior or else I'm called on it now. I can't curse. I have to share my jewlery, favorite lipgloss and even sometimes my best purfume. Now I'm criticized, judged and blamed. Either way, it's still waaay better than cleaning up another poopy diaper.

6-year-old Smart Ass

I think I must have missed the chapter in the mothering handbook entitled, "Six years old equals smart ass." It was probably an oversight that happened somewhere between reading "What to expect when you're expecting" and "How to discipline a spirited child." I must have convinced myself I had this parenting thing under control.

Then my daughter turned 6 and all hell broke loose. She transformed from a sweet, inquisitive five year old into a Miss I Know It All, Prove It To Me Smart Ass. And yes, the capital letters are intended for emphasis.

I heard about this stage from my friends with kids older than mine, but I thought, no, that couldn't happen to my precious child. I'm a great mother. It must be some deficiency in my girlfriends' parenting style. I've got my kids whipped into perfect shape.

Ha ha! Laughs my six-year-old. She knows better. That prim behavior was so last year. Now, I've got my little shadow questioning me, quizzing me, challenging me. Nothing I say is ever taken for granted anymore. I now must prove myself.

Such as today, when I received an email from her camp counselor informing me that tomorrow would be "Super Hero Day" and Maya should wear her favorite superhero costume. Maya insisted I show her the email. She wouldn't take my word for it. I puffed out my chest in a childish response and told her she'd just have to trust me. Maya crinkled up her nose as she processed this idea. Then she promptly responded that she'd just have to pack the costume in her backpack "just in case".

I thought part of the fun with parenting would be to actually teach your child about life. Imagine that at six, she's fully in control of all her faculties that goes into living it. There's nothing I can say to Maya anymore that she doesn't already know. Her favorite sayings are "I know that already!" or "Daddy already told me!" or "That's not true!" She gets annoyed when I try to show her anything because she can figure it out on her own whether it be the TV remote, a new game, tying her shoes and such. Even when it's quite obvious she can't, her response is that she doesn't want to. (As in, I CAN do it if I WANT to but I don't WANT to.)

Add to the smart-ass frustration the fact that now I have yet another person living in my house who is quick to pick up and pick on all my flaws too. "Mommy, you ate six cookies already!" or "Mommy, that makes your butt look big." I especially enjoyed her observation of my Saturday night outfit that "It doesn't look very good on you." (Of course, I was just thinking the same thing but do you think I want a six year old criticizing me about it?)

Maya now has a running commentary of critiques and smart-ass questions such as: whether her homemade pancakes are fluffy enough; why didn't I finish folding the laundry?; what's the matter with the first six outfits I just tried on, why did you forget to wash my camp shirt; why are you yelling at Daddy?; why do you always need to suntan?, your panties up your butt is gross; how could you not have bread for my PB&Js?; why are so tired?

Pair that with the "It's Not Fair"...that I get to stay up late, I sleep in the bed with Daddy, I get to go out for dinner with my friends, I get a new lipgloss....you get the point. It's not so much what she says but the perfectly pitched whiny/annoying voice that goes along with it.

I try to chalk this all up to the fact that she's a smart cookie. And she is. Sometimes I just wish it wasn't so smart-assed.