No Parents On Saturdays

On Saturday night I was sitting in my sister’s apartment watching a movie when around midnight I got a call from one of my daughter’s friend’s mom. She said to me, “How are the girls?” I was confused, as not only was I at my sister’s, but my sister lives in New York. My daughter was home in California. It was her week with her dad, my ex-husband.

“What do you mean?” I asked

“How are the girls doing at your house?”

“The girls are at my house?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Well, that’s interesting. I’m in New York.”


To make a long story short, my daughter was busted. My daughter’s friends had told their mothers they were spending the night at my house, but I was out to dinner. And my daughter had told her father that she was spending the night at the one of the girl’s houses. I called the other mother and my ex-husband. Everyone descended upon my supposedly empty house and took their children.

Classic trick of the teenager, I know. Everyone has go to try it once, right? And as my ex-husband said, he was mostly glad they didn’t have boys there or that they were not doing drugs. I agree.

But on a deeper level there is something inside of me that broke. I now do not trust my daughter. It is not a very fun feeling. I decided not to punish her. Or at least, not in the way that she could call punishment. I told her that if she was at home, I knew what she was doing. I didn’t have to worry about her telling me the truth or not. She shouldn’t plan on doing too much outside of the house for the time being. She couldn’t argue it, because it wasn’t about her. It was about me - how I was going to manage my own peace of mind. I feel the need to treat her like she is eight again – make her play dates, talk to the parents, schedule drop off and pick up times. Maybe even call over there a few times and see how it is going. Maybe that’s not even eight. Maybe that is treating her like a five-year old.

She was very honest when I asked her why she did it. She said, “I wanted the freedom.” Ok, I understand that. I was 16 once. In a twisted way, I am even kind of proud of her that she tried to get away doing something worth-while (as opposed to lying about taking out the recycling or something). I had to tell her that her freedom was still two years off and for now, she had to obey the rules of my house and her father’s house. What I think she misses however, is that she *had* the freedom and this stunt took some of it away.

An even deeper question is this: how much does my distrust come across and how much will that ruin her self-esteem. My mom doesn’t trust me! I’m a failure!

That could really mess a kid up.

The lesson I want her to learn is that it not so much that she did a bad thing, but to understand that what she did changed the way I feel about her. The way that others might feel about her. I want her to care that she has the respect of her parents and others, and in the future, keeping that respect will stop her from making up stories or telling lies.

How does one teach their child this with out damaging the child’s self-image? Or teach their young adult this, as that is what she is – a young adult. It is a question I will continue to ponder while I keep my 16-year old on a shorter leash until I figure out what I can do.

And by the way, not too much of this is fiction. If any.