Daily blog: Change, Change, Change Part 2


I started this blog post yesterday by sharing a condensed version of our move to and from the country. A friend asked me to write about change and it may be trite to say that change is the only constant in life but when we see how much energy people expand to fight or avoid change, maybe we haven’t explored it as much as we should.

Let’s have a little brain lesson. I’m not a brain scientist, neither do I play one on the Internet. From my board-book level of understanding, our brains have three parts. The lizard brain is responsible for primary functions such as fight, flight, freeze, feed, fear, and fornication. The limbic brain is responsible for emotions, habits and motivations, the things you do automatically but not out of survival. And finally the frontal cortex, responsible for higher order thinking. So imagine that you’re driving your car. Your lizard brain makes sure you are breathing, your limbic brain is fastening your seatbelt and driving the car, and your neo-cortex is worrying about your grocery list.

The lizard brain hates change. The lizard brain doesn’t do the higher thinking. It’s not triangulating competing information. It identifies changes in patterns and reacts to them. Imagine you’re driving again. It’s dark and windy. Suddenly a leaf blows across your windshield and you slam the breaks. That fear response is your lizard brain reacting to a change in pattern, protecting you from the saber tooth tiger about to pounce. You didn’t take time wondering if this was a leaf or a deer, you just reacted. Your lizard brain hates change. Your lizard brain needs a steady state to be able to see the subtle move of the saber-tooth tiger among the branches.

Everyone who has ever accomplished anything has had to overcome their lizard brain. The lizard brain is the little demon on your shoulder telling you not to go for it. It’s the voice threatening you with loneliness and destitution if you speak-up, if you follow through with an idea, if you show your art, if you share your music. It’s the fear that keeps you in an abusive relationship or in a dead-end job. It prevents you from challenging the status quo, from pushing boundaries, from believing in yourself.

Every time I sing in public, my lizard brain is hard at work trying to get me off the stage. It’s stiffening my diaphragm, tightening my throat, reminding me that I am a fraud and wondering who the heck I think I am. Every time I get on stage, I remind myself that there is no threat. That my lizard brain evolved to protect me from saber tooth tigers and sharks, not from embarrassment. “There is no shark” is my stage fright mantra.

Some people are more beholden to their lizard brain than others. Some people are terrified of change while others seek it out. There’s something about challenges, like poison, that builds strength in increments. We train for the day we need to lift a car by adding 10 lbs to our back squats every week. We build a tolerance to Iocane powder by taking a little bit in our drink every day. Flexibility and resistance take practice.

When I started thinking about writing this post, I reflected on the changes our family had been through over the years. Our nine children are very resilient to change, each in their own way. They have wildly different temperaments, personalities, and challenges and they have been born over an 18-year span, meaning that we changed as parents between having Clara and Damien. Our circumstances have changed, our parenting style has changed, we got older, fought our own demons, thought better of things. Looking back on 11 moves in 22 years, switching from school to homeschool and back to school, changing priorities, correcting course and, of course, adding more children as we went along, I’m starting to see lessons emerge. Things we did — not always intentionally — to help our children manage big changes without losing themselves.

I’ll share them in Part 3 of this post. Tomorrow.

Daily Blog: Change, Change, Change, Part 1


I’m continuing down the list of suggested topics my friends sent me on Facebook. One friend asked me to write about change and another one didn’t know we had moved (thank you Facebook algorithm for being weird, I’ve been yapping about nothing else for 6 months it seems… or maybe she just muted me… who knows?). If you are into podcasts, I shared our move story here. My friend said she didn’t have 53 minutes to listen to a podcast with all the children screaming and what-not. It reminded me of this Tweet from Dan Wilson:

All I’m saying is that a podcast and a pair of earphones is a great antidote to screaming children and what-not. But I digress.

Let’s try to make this short… Ok. In 2012 we bought land, in 2013 we started building a house on it and in 2014 we moved. The house we built was in a little community called Middleville, in the township of Lanark, about an hour west of Ottawa. The house was supposed to be our forever home, it was perfect for us as if we had designed it ourselves. Oh wait, we had!

Our move to the country was supposed to allow us to grow closer as a family, through homeschooling and a calmer, more family-centric life. I had reservations. I wasn’t sure I would enjoy living in the country right away but I thought I would grow into it. My reasoning was that I have a lot of drive once I set my mind to something. I go through phases of loving stuff, and when I love something I love it a lot.  I thought it was a matter of will. I didn’t appreciate to what extent it was also a matter of personality and temperament. I also didn’t appreciate to what extent the success of this project was predicated on everything working well forever.

We didn’t have a plan B. Homeschooling had to work. Our health had to remain perfect. Paul’s employment situation had to stay on an upward swing. We could not need a second income. Our teenagers had to buy into the project. If even one of these things went south, the integrity of the whole thing was compromised. But we never thought of that.

First, my health went south. I suffered a traumatic miscarriage in 2015 which triggered an autoimmune condition and sent my ADHD into overdrive. It took two years to diagnose and manage properly, during which I gained 60 lbs, suffered from insomnia, had a paradoxical reaction to a treatment,  started suffering from intractable back pain, depression, anxiety, basically a tornado of causes and effects that became nearly impossible to untangle.

Homeschooling was eating me alive. I lived in a state of perpetual exasperation, frustration and crippling anxiety over my inability to teach anything without a fight. In the middle of everything I was struggling with, I didn’t have the mental strength to always be the bad guy. We were also facing a steep learning curve, trying to homeschool two high school students, two elementary school students, two preschoolers, and a toddler. When you “homeschool from birth”, you grow with the curriculum. The first three years are a period of learning but I didn’t have three years: I had kids in grades 9 and 10! By the end of the second year of homeschooling, I was suffering from a classic burn-out and my husband started taking time off work to catch the children up in their schooling. So much for his earning potential remaining on the up and up. He enjoyed homeschooling and the children responded well to him but we couldn’t simply send me off to work so he could stay at home: we had a giant mortgage and maintenance costs that could not possibly be met by a writer’s salary.

We started talking about putting the children back in school in the Fall of 2016. In December 2016 I dressed my toddler up to play outside and promptly forgot him. He was found on the road by a school bus driver who called 911. The police came, followed his little boot steps back to our house and brought him back to me. I had no recollection of anything. I was completely dysfunctional. In January 2017, our children were back in school in Carleton Place, a lovely little town about 30 minutes from where we lived and I was looking into therapy and medication.

For a few months, the children made the hour-long bus ride to and from school every day but by the time September rolled around, we decided to drive them instead. My life became completely scheduled around driving the children to and from school, going to medical appointments and doing groceries. It made it impossible for me to work, which made it impossible for my husband to work less and be home more. We were completely stuck in these silos: him making as much money as possible so I could spend my days driving in circles between Middleville, Carleton Place, and Ottawa. The weeks flew-by in a flurry of driving, we spent the week-ends catching-up with housework, grounds maintenance, and logistics. We no longer had time to host on weekends, we lived too far to see people on weekdays, it was a very regimented and isolated life. We had a beautiful property that we didn’t have any time to enjoy, a beautiful house that was starting to feel like a prison, our older children were almost never home, nothing felt like it was supposed to.

Sometimes in life, we are called to persevere and sometimes we are called to quit. One teaches us fortitude and the other teaches us humility. Depending on your journey, you may be called to grow in fortitude or grow in humility. Throughout our married life, Paul and I have been able to make bold decisions because we give ourselves permission to persevere or quit. We made a decision to homeschool and move to the country based on a set of circumstances. When those circumstances changed, we allowed ourselves to change course rather than persevere down a dead-end. Some people admire that but honestly, it’s a costly way to live your life. Given Paul’s professional success, we’d long have a house paid-off by now had we stayed in one place instead of trying different things: sending me back to school, starting a company, closing a company, buying a house, deciding to live debt-free, rent a house, buy land, etc. So while people admire our ability to change course — and we certainly flexed that muscle numerous times in the last 20 years — I often feel like we are constantly reacting to things rather than planning them.

When we decided to move, we set our sights on a suburban community in the West end of Ottawa called Stittsville. The three schools our children would be attending were on the same stretch of road, meaning that we could find a house within walking distance of all three schools. We couldn’t find anything suitable right away and had to wait almost a year before a rental house came on the market. The real estate market was red hot and we didn’t want to saddle ourselves with another McMortgage, especially as our older children were starting the leave the house. When a suitable rental came on the market, we had all but given up on the idea. Paul and I took a day off to visit the house, go for coffee and re-hash why we wanted to change course. By the end of the day, we had made a decision and grabbed the rental. Within four weeks, from late March to May 1st, we had moved out of Middleville, put our house up for sale and started settling in Stittsville. In late June we got an offer on our house and it closed in August, wrapping-up this episode of our life with a bow.

We are now suburbanites with no mortgage (my favorite way to live). We live on a busy street corner with a bus stop in our backyard. There’s red carpet everywhere and really ornate window covering. The kitchen is that dark oak that was popular in the 90’s… Everything looked wrong for a family who was hoping to homeshool and homestead in their perfectly designed house. But on the day we moved, our 9 children were sitting around the table for supper. Not because it was a special occasion but because they could. They didn’t have to stay in town to work or find accomodations for their Summer job. They could just live here. Everything looked wrong but everything was right again.

 

 

 

 

Daily blog: Knitting and baking.


I put a Facebook request for a blog topic and within the requested 5 minutes I received two suggestions: knitting and baking.

I not a good enough knitter to write something useful about knitting (like tips and tricks or maybe a made-from-scratch pattern?) but I can certainly share what I’ve been up to. As for baking, this is a little bit more up my alley although needing to eat low carb and gluten-free has put a damper on my baking ambitions. There isn’t much that ruins my will to live like baking something I can’t eat. I always end-up eating it anyway (gotta make sure no one dies) and since I’m a decent cook, I end-up eating most of it. Half a pan of banana oatmeal chocolate chip muffins is as potent as a whole bottle of antidepressants except that it won’t kill you. It will kill your keto streak, however.

In the knitting department, I finally finished the Martin-Storey Mystery Knitalong from 2016. I purchased all the wool in a kit and tried really hard not to see it as a $200 blanket. Because I would never spend $200 on a blanket unless I was making it myself, which makes no sense whatsoever. Why do we expect knitting and sewing to make sense? They’re hobbies. All hobbies are expensive and useless, that’s the point of having a hobby as opposed to a job. We don’t expect horseback riding to make financial sense from a transportation point-of-view, do we?

First, I was supposed to finish the blanket for Clara’s 20th birthday. Then as her Christmas gift, then as her 21st birthday gift, then 22nd and finally, I decided that it would be her graduation gift. I was still finishing it at 1 am the day before her graduation party and blocking it the morning of. It might have been wrapped-up slightly damp but it was given as a graduation gift and that’s that.

Then I made a bunch of striped Barley hats with the leftover yarn. No one will wear them because they are itchy but eh.

Here are the patterns:

Barley hat by tin can knit.

I added the stripes myself. To properly stripe the garter stitch section, you have to make sure to change colour on a knit row and from a knit row. So you’re knitting the new colour unto a row of knit stitches or else, ah, hum, I can’t describe it but if you purl the new colour or knit the new colour on a purl row it will look like you’re wearing your hat inside out. Don’t take my word for it, try it if you enjoy frogging your work.

Martin Storey 2016 Mystery KAL

My personal religion is that sampling is for the birds and that’s not always a good idea when you are knitting an afghan. I learned so much putting this thing together! It took me two-thirds of the sewing the squares together to finally understand how sewing worked (it’s a little more subtle than the Montessori lacing toy would have you believe).

Baking-wise, I suffer from cooking fatigue. I haven’t been baking much but I have been learning Indian cuisine. I started following recipes but I decided that I wanted to learn how to cook the way an Indian mom would in her own kitchen. And from what I could see, women learned cooking from other women and not from books. I found this guy on Youtube who cooks on an open fire in his garden. He doesn’t say a word but his videos are mesmerizing. I still use recipes but I’m also learning about the order of things in Indian cuisine — what goes in when, how big should the chunks be, how long should you pound the brains out of that ginger — from his videos. I love that he is using one knife (I get laughed at because I also use one knife for everything) and sitting on the floor. Living in a real Indian or Pakistani family just to learn how to cook is a bucket list item for me. Let me know if you know someone who will have me. Man, I love palak paneer…. Gotta go!!

Daily Blog: What’s not on your resume?


 

I have been looking for work lately. We moved back to the city last May, my children are all in school and my husband is working from home. Sounds like as good a time as any to finally launch into a career. I’m 45 but I don’t feel it. Maybe that’s why not finding work easily never crossed my mind until now?

I spent the last 20 years getting two law degrees, a patchwork of unrelated experience and, oh, raising productive members of society. One of my children asked me once if they would get a reward for graduating high school. I said, “With the amount of privilege you have, I expect you to graduate high school!” There is no virtue in finishing high school when you have been given every advantage society, geography and history can throw at someone. You have to put your back into squandering this much unearned advantage.

My three oldest children have gone beyond graduating high school. All three are serving in the Armed Forces, all of them have achieved a certain measure of academic and personal success. All of them are fluently bilingual, polite with waiters, kind to children and animals. Not to detract from their own merit, all this didn’t happen in a vacuum. They grew-up in a loving and nurturing environment that gave them the space they needed to blossom. They didn’t have to worry about their physical or emotional safety, they had good role models and a cohesive extended family. This nurturing environment came at a cost to many people over several generations and served to my children on a silver platter.

But of course, I can’t really write this on my resume. It’s real though. Providing a stable environment for children to grow-up in happens over years. It happens over the job opportunities we turn down because the commute would add 4h of daycare to our children’s days. It happens over the promotions we refuse because we can’t make the 7:00 am issues meeting. It happens over the internships we don’t apply for because we can’t move to a different city for 8 months. It happens over the travels we can’t make and the reputation for not being a player we earn for ourselves. It happens over taking the boring translation job we can do from home over the stimulating speechwriting job we cannot. All the forks in the road where we put our families ahead of our ambitions amount to children who grow-up with parents who are physically and emotionally available to them. It also amounts to a very. boring. resume.

Someday someone will see my resume and wonder what’s in the negative space around the bits and bobs of disjointed items. And that person will hire a motivated, engaging and emotionally intelligent person who will take their mission and make it hers because that’s what raising a family teaches you. Someday, someone will see the young girl while everyone else is still looking at the old lady.

My Netflix List: Beyond the Clouds


I just finished watching “Beyond the Clouds”, a 2017 Hindi movie marking Ishann Khatter’s debut role (also known as Shahid Kapoor’s half-baby-brother). I was intrigued by this movie after seeing Ishaan’s first major release, “Dhadak”.

“Beyond the Clouds” is the gritty story of a young drug dealer who matures suddenly when his sister is unjustly imprisoned. It’s a coming-of-age story about unlikely relationships forming in the shadow of tragedy. Having seen “Dhadak” before “Beyond the Clouds”, I couldn’t believe that I was watching the same Ishaan Khatter. With this talent, looks and family connections, a stellar career is his to lose.

“Beyond the Clouds” is a difficult but sweet movie, with plenty of tender moments to relieve us from the injustice of it all. The movie ends at an inflection point in the story, not at the end of the story, which felt a little abrupt. As if director Majid Majidi had suddenly run out of film.

Part of the narrative unfolds in a women’s prison in Mumbai and one thing that surprised me was the presence of children in the prison. Of course, the children of poor women have nowhere to go once their mothers are imprisoned. Some are born in captivity, some just follow their mothers behind bars. One character is a 5-year-old child who came to prison with his mother at the age of 3 months. She is serving a life sentence for killing her abusive husband, along with her son. At some point in the story, someone explains to him what the moon is. He has never seen the moon, or the stars, or felt rain. He is under lock and key at night, like the rest of the inmates.

It reminded me of the migrant situation in the United States. Family separations came about because family incarcerations were illegal. Both are inhumane approaches throwing the sins of the parents unto their children. No matter how you feel about migrants, no matter what you believe about the relationship between migrants and the children who accompany them, there is no argument that the children are innocent. And yet, they suffer the worst punishment because they are innocent.

Different factions make different arguments to justify family separations or incarcerations. The parents were endangering their children anyway, the children should be removed for their safety. The parents are acting against the law, people who disrespect the law are criminals, criminals are always separated from their children when they go to prison. How else are we supposed to discourage people from coming into the country illegally? These children are not really children. These parents are not really parents. Regardless of the point, there must be a mental classification of the families as somewhat different than we are. The children cannot suffer as ours would, the parents cannot feel like we would feel. These people must be different than we are. We are human, they are… something else. Relating is built deep into our DNA, attachment is our first survival mechanism. There is mental work involved in making the other into someone we can’t relate to.

In today’s The Daily podcast, a father and his daughter who disagree on the Trump administration’s immigration policies have a phone conversation. At some point, the father exclaims: “These people are not fleeing for their lives, they are just looking for a better life!” Aren’t we all? Shouldn’t this make us more empathetic? Unless “these people” are something different than we are. Something less deserving. Something less… human.

Catholic moral philosophy teaches that an act, to be morally good, must preserve the goodness of the object, the end, and the circumstances altogether. Inserting evil into any part of the equation corrupts the entire chain of means to end. Denying human beings the dignity they deserve because we have made them into something less than human corrupts the chain of morality entirely. In “Beyond the Clouds,” petty drug dealer Amir’s life is only worth what value he can bring to those hiring him. When he starts causing more trouble than he’s worth, he is summarily dispatched. A commodity himself, he values those around him based on the benefit they can bring him. When, en route to sell a young girl under his protection to a local brothel owner, he sees her humanity, he can no longer get through with the transaction. His punishment comes swiftly and ironically when his best friend sells him out to the thugs he betrayed,  30 pieces of silver-style.

Dehumanization. It’s a story as old as the world. And it never ends well.

Daily Blog: Making friends while adulting


I was listening to this episode of the Gretchen Ruben podcast and got a little hung-up on the “why you should have people over” part.

I’M TRYING GRETCHEN!!

I grew up in a family where my parents’ friends were like family. My mother’s family was in France and my father’s family was in Chicoutimi, a prohibitively long drive from Ottawa, especially in the winter. I grew-up celebrating Holidays, birthdays and major events with my parents’ friends and their children, who were like cousins to me. This image of friendship was formative and I remember in high school thinking that my high school friends would become like my parents’ friends. They didn’t. To this day, I have friends and my husband has friends but we have very few family friends.

This image of friendship etched in my heart is making it hard for me to appreciate the friendships I do have in my life. I often feel like I have no friends but it’s not true. I have many dear friends but they are not family friends. Our children and husbands don’t know each other. We don’t celebrate together, we are not invited to their children’s birthdays or to be their children’s godparents. We have coffee together, we hold each other up in bad times but our families are circles that do not meet.

Throughout the years, I have tried to make family friends by having people over. I have organized apple picking parties, snow fort building parties, brunch parties, family birthday parties, couples’ book clubs, beach picnics, parents meet-ups and recently Bollywood Movie Nights. I have given my phone number to so many people who have never called or texted me back, it’s embarrassing. So many people complain about how hard it is to make friends in your adult years but so few people are willing to do anything about it.

As I have gotten older, making friends has become harder and harder. I noticed that the people who have close friends made them when they were younger. Friendships nurtured for years before the weight of family obligations, work and general busyness challenged them. It’s hard enough to keep existing friendships through our thirties and forties, making new friends is nearly impossible. I can’t host as often as I used to. Our weekends are often packed. We need to manage our own schedules and that of our children. People are more discerning about their friendships, being roughly the same age and stage is no longer enough commonalities to be best friends. I have a professional relationship with most of the people I meet these days, like my massage therapist or my dentist.

The realities of life with a job and a growing family will probably prevent most of us from making meaningful new connections during our thirties and forties but I’m sure that planting these seeds will pay off in the future when we are no longer so busy. I will keep working on these budding friendships, like tiny plants that could be weeds or flowers, it’s too early to tell. Until the day when we can invest the time and energy to let them grow.

Daily Blog: Kids, phones and social media first principles


Finding balance when it comes to children and technology is a tricky thing. With our older children, we tended to be on the limiting side of things. Those were the years when children and teenagers were transitioning out of using regular phones and email to communicate and into using texting apps. In our old-goaty ways, we believed that their real friends would call them at home if they were real friends. But in the end, they were mostly living on the edges of the social life of the school and resented us for it. I’m not against children resenting parents in general. Most resentment morphs into approbation with a tad of maturity. But some resentments morph into bitterness and can lead to sneaky behaviour and general malfeasance. I saw that parents who were more flexible, keeping an eye on their children as they trained their judgment muscles, had children I admired. Very restrictive parents often had nice children, many never rebelled. But they were not necessarily growing into people I wanted my children to emulate. At some point, I went to a conference in Newfoundland for a few days and when I came back everyone had an iPod nano. The nano morphed into an iPod and it all went downhill from there.

 

We delt with bluntfacelying, dead-of-night bullying, all manners of drama. And that’s just the stuff we know about. Our children graduated from the iPod to the phone when we moved into a rental house and did not have a landline. We tried having a shared family phone but that only worked as long as the children didn’t need it at the same time. We had rules about no phones in bedrooms but that became hard to manage when some teenagers got jobs that called them in for shifts, others used their phones to listen to music and others used it as an alarm clock.

As a parent, it was hard to make a case for leaving the phones in the kitchen when I used my phone as a phone, a notepad, a music device, a recipe book, a camera, a watch, a map, and a magazine. We got a router with a timer that turned off at 10 pm and so far it’s the set-up that has worked the best. There is a router for grown-ups and a router for not-so-grown-ups. The children have a mix of phones and iDevices but the phones don’t have data. I don’t have to manage where each device is at any given time and if a big kid needs wifi after 10 pm (as is the case when they start studying later and preparing for exams), we can switch them over to the adult wifi. At 10 pm, the iPods and data-less phones turn into useless doorstops and the teenagers go to sleep. In a nutshell: what works one day may stop working the next. You need to be flexible and reasonable.

Our children have done everything you’re warned against. They created front public accounts on Instagram that we follow and fake Instagram accounts (Finsta) which are their real Instagram presence. They’ve gotten secret Facebook accounts that we discovered when they turned-up on my mom’s “suggested friends” list. They’ve blocked us on Snapchat and Twitter. People think that doing these things is the worst; but let me tell you: knowing about it is better than not knowing about it. Sure, I don’t know the content of the Finsta but I know that the Finsta exists. I don’t need to know everything that goes on in my teenagers’ lives, I just need to know enough to intervene if something bad happens.

My approach to parenting teenagers is the squeaky wheel approach: I let normal life happen as it must and react when something sticks out. To know that something sticks out, that a wheel is squeaky, you need to let normal happen. If you react to everything that offends your good taste or values, you will be on constant alert, I promise you. I call it the “third hole” principle of indignation, based on a story my daughter told me. She had gone to a Catholic girls’ Summer camp and the campers were piercing each others’ ears (….I know.…). One teenage girl had been prohibited by her parents to get her ears pierced and was concerned about being kicked out of the house. She had reason to believe it based on her older brother’s experience when his girlfriend had gotten pregnant. Son, mother, and child had been erased from the family until they got properly married. Well, that’s one way not to pass on the faith to your descendants I thought but whatever.

The “third hole” principle of indignation is that when everything is a red alert, nothing is a red alert. If you hit the roof about ear piercing, where is there left to go when your kid drives drunk or walks away from his pregnant girlfriend? You have to leave yourself some range, know what I mean? Keep righteous indignation for things that are righteously indignating.

Which brings me back to my tech-use first principles:

(1) Don’t try to keep up. Some parents delude themselves thinking that they are on top of things because they have their children’s login and passwords. Other parents feel like prohibiting one platform will keep their children safe from the ugly side of social media. Newsflash: you can’t keep-up. All media platforms have an ugly side and all media platforms (yes, even Snapchat) can be curated to avoid it. Thinking that you’re on top of things because you prohibited Snapchat or Twitter just lulls you into a false sense of safety. Work on trust and good communication instead of working on managing Facebook, it will pay off.

(2) Bad stuff happens at night. You know that feeling when you go out late at night and realize that your sleepy old town has a whole other life between 11 pm and 3 am? Teenage drama and harassment happen at night. You will avoid 90% of the problems by prohibiting phones in bedrooms and by curtailing online access at 10 pm.

(3) Try to understand by relating. We didn’t grow-up with social media but human nature hasn’t evolved that much in 30 years. Silicon Valley tech titans have found new ways of tapping into what delights and threatens us but we are essentially the same old humans we were in the ’80s. We had rules about when to call who, etiquette about where to hang out, cool kids and nerds. One of my daughters made real friends on Twitter. She wrote a tweet that was re-tweeted by one of her idols and she met a bunch of stans. Now they have a group chat and they Skype regularly, we even visited a few on some of our travels to Toronto and the U.S. Several follow me on Twitter and Instagram. They are a bunch of cute creative teenage weirdos that would never have met anyone like them if not for social media. It reminded me of pen pals back in the days. Agencies were dedicated to connecting pen pals and some made life-long friendships through writing. Look at social media as an extension of what made you tick as a teenager, you’ll find the commonalities in no time.

(4) It’s better to screw-up at home than far from it. I err on the side of permissiveness because I want to know what my children’s strengths and weaknesses are before they leave home. I want them to make mistakes while I can still help them manage the fall-out. Teenagers and young adults can make decisions that will impact the rest of their lives. I don’t want the wild wild world to be their first teacher.

(5) Finally, start small and build on it. The tech genie is incredibly hard to put back in the bottle once you realize you were too permissive. It’s better to start small and add priviledges as your child shows that she can handle it than to try to reel-in an extra long rope after they hang themselves on it.