I Got Time Today...

I'm a self-tape machine

Stop. Checking. Dumbass.

My thumb swipes down with vigor as if the force with which I refresh my inbox will magically reveal what I'm hoping for. The list of emails remains unchanged. Nothing new.

UGH.

I set my phone down on the chair and then nudge it under my thigh. Out of sight, out of mind. If only.

My son's laughter as he slams the ping pong ball makes me smile. I take in the scene of my family all together in my brother's basement, a scene we've been looking forward to for months. We are here to visit and celebrate my nephew's graduation from high school. 

The walls are adorned with University of Michigan paraphernalia, vacation photos and various other decorations symbolic to my brother's family. As I look over my right shoulder, I see a beautiful photograph of the cross streets from my childhood home; West LaSalle and Columbus.

Earlier that day we drove around that neighborhood. We showed the kids our old high school, pointed out the convenience store and pizza parlor where we would stop on our walks home and finally, we stopped at the brown ranch house where my brother and I grew up. The home that held in it so many memories; from my first steps to my father's last breath. Feeling too awkward to knock on the door and bother the current homeowner, we chose to admire it from the outside, identifying for our kids our bedroom windows. I gazed at my window, thinking of how many times my younger self did the same from the inside. Visions of hand-me-down furniture and various band posters swept across my mind. I thought about the dresser mirror that reflected my changing looks and frustrated scrutiny. The mirror that served as my first imaginary audience and camera lens because mostly, my childhood bedroom encased every expression of my dream to be an actress. Those walls absorbed my love for performing along with the ache of not knowing how to get there.

I was looking at that window decades later as a professional actress, but I didn't have that movie moment of emotional triumph. Of course I was joyful that I could tell that little girl that she will eventually figure it out. That she'd find her path through improv comedy where her confidence would grow and her talents validated. But along with the reassurance, I'd also have to warn her that no matter how sure she feels about her purpose to perform, the agony of uncertainty will be a part of it, and that some days she will wonder if she's enough... a day like today.

"BOOM! LET'S GOOOOO!" 

I jump at the sound of my son celebrating his ping pong win. We all cheer for him, recognizing that his older cousin definitely took it easy on him. 

"I'm next!" My daughter hops up and grabs the paddle from her brother. 

Looking around I feel a warmth wash over me. What a perfect day. I was transported back to my childhood with that hometown visit and now I see the beautiful bonds of family with my own kids and their cousins. Missing my father is always the constant during these moments, but there's my mother cradling my son, running her fingers through his hair the same way she did to me when I was small enough to snuggle into her lap. 

Suddenly my right thigh buzzes.

"Hey there.  Couldn’t loop you into this one, but I’m sure there will be more stuff coming up.  Hope to see you soon!"

Fuck. 

I stare at the text from the producer of the project for which I had auditioned. He and I had worked together many times and he's been a champion of mine for the last couple of years. Somehow, hearing the bad news directly from him is tougher to take. I'm sure he told my agent that he'd like to be the one to let me down, but I can't help but feel I let him down. 

Most of the time, I am able to immediately detach myself from the final decision of an audition or callback. This was a learned behavior since getting my hopes up led to disappointment most of the time. 

I was on a strong streak of detachment until this one. Not only was this gig a done deal in my mind, my cocky-ass was figuring out child care for the travel to California for the shoot. I curse myself for getting my hopes up, but given that this producer knew what I bring to... nope, don't do it, Sheevani. Nothing is a given. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This post has been sitting in my drafts folder for over 2 years. Since then, I've had one of the most successful periods of my acting career including 2 national commercials and the lead role in a short film. Remembering this day and the extreme disappointment I felt reminds me that you never know what's around the corner. Why didn't I publish this 2 years ago? I think I didn't want to sound like I was whining about ONE lost opportunity, and I can see why I felt that way. But as I read this now, I interpret this piece as a reminder to look around and see what you have to be thankful for. And that one disappointment shouldn't make you question your worth.  

172 Stab Wounds

Don't mess with me

When the victim was found, it was one of the most gruesome scenes ever recorded. Not only were they naked and decapitated, but the autopsy reported exactly 172 stab wounds all over the body. The punctures ranged from hesitant to extremely deliberate, as if the killer became more intentional as the stabbing went on and on. 

"I had never seen such passion in a killing," said the lead detective, "It was certainly a murder fueled by pent up emotions... the person who did this had been waiting a long time and once she got started, she was determined to keep going until there was nothing left."

At press time, the killer is still at large and expected to kill again. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the course of 4 years, I produced 172 episodes of a podcast called, Hot & Heavy: The Elaine Benes Podcast. Now that I'm a few months removed from publishing my last episode, I've been able to reflect on what I did... and why it matters in the trajectory of my life.

People assume I am very confident. Once a co-worker shared that he would never have guessed I suffered from as much self-doubt as I did after he got to know me. "You just project confidence and come off a bit intimidating." I honestly couldn't believe what he was saying considering how different I felt inside. Maybe it's because I'm tall with good posture? I am terrified of getting a hunch back.

The reality is, for most of my life I've feared looking like an idiot. Deep down, I knew I wasn't stupid, but the idea of making mistakes, failing, or simply not knowing how to do something was terrifying. The imagined embarrassment crippled me. 

This is why I often shied away from hard things. Instead of the "can do" attitude that many successful people have, I celebrated the "oh hell no I can't do that" approach.

Creating the podcast was my way to push through the doubts. Instead of coming up with all the reasons I couldn't pull it off, I took baby steps and figured it all out. I also made commitment to myself that I would see it all the way through - since it was a rewatch podcast, there was a clear start and end point to the show, so I said to myself, "If you start this... bitch, you are going to finish it!" 

Some "oh hell no I can't do it" excuses that ran through my head were:

• I probably can't figure out the tech stuff to properly record a podcast!
• No one is going to want to listen to a niche podcast about ONE character in a show that hasn't been on TV for over 20 years!!
• What if I get a bunch of online hate for what I say??
• Oh great, yet another podcast in the world - who the fuck am I to think this voice deserves a spot in that space?

As I was recording my very first episode, I had to hit pause about 10 minutes in. Fuck, it was really hard. Having prepped my notes and an episode structure, I thought it would be a fun time chatting about my favorite sitcom and its best character. But I was rushing, stumbling over my words, running out of breath with a mouth that was bone dry. Later I would learn these were very common things that happen for first-time podcasters. But naturally I just thought it was my ineptitude rearing its ugly head.

I stood in my closet which served as my podcast studio and stared at the ceiling. Uh oh, it's happening. I cannot do this, I knew it. This is too damn hard. But instead of giving in, I took a deep breath and gave myself permission to feel the challenge of recording my first podcast episode. After all I had announced this podcast was coming, made social media pages that advertised the release date of episode one, so I couldn't back out. THAT would be embarrassing. Bitch, you're gonna finish it.

Episode one was published a few days later and it turned out fine. I knew I could improve and improve I did. Every week as I delved into my process for each episode I felt such a great sense of accomplishment. Once the volume of self-doubt was muted in my head, I dove in with the can-do attitude that alluded me for most of my life. Before I knew it, I was 50 episodes in and built a show from the ground up of which I was very proud and I had no doubt I could keep going until the end.  

On episode 172, I said the following in my final thoughts:

It's been exhilarating, challenging, rewarding and most of all - this podcast has been the evidence that I can overcome all the negative voices in my head - I can push away the urges to give up - from now on, because of Hot & Heavy: The Elaine Benes Podcast - I know I can fucking crush whatever I put my mind to. What I’m about to say is a cliche, but cliches exist for a reason - If I can do it, so can you - believe me, I am the GOAT when it comes to talking myself out of hard things because I don’t believe in myself. And just as I've discussed so often on this podcast, certain storylines can get old and exhausting and I’d seen the episode where Sheevani Desai gives up WAAYYYY too many times.

Now, was my podcast a success? In terms of listenership or revenue, no...  it was not a success. At the time of writing this, the total downloads are just shy of 5,800. Sure I hoped it would resonate with the Seinfeld nerds and/or Julia Louis-Dreyfus fans. Perhaps I imagined a cult following that could somehow land my little show on the radar of JLD and she'd agree to be interviewed by me in her palatial estate in Los Angeles and then we'd discover a bond so deep we'd have to work together and star in Desai and Dreyfus, a buddy comedy complete with heart and hi jinx!! Yeah, I had some big dreams, but that wasn't the goal. I didn't know this when I started, but it turns out the goal was to prove to myself I could do it. That I could finally seeing something through that was challenging and put my fear of failure to the test. So yes, my podcast was a success. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maybe I've been listening to True Crime podcasts a bit too much, but when I thought about the triumph over my self-doubt - stabbing it 172 times with each podcast episode seemed like the best way to describe it. I'm a murderer now, folks. Not just that, I plan to be a serial killer.

True Detective

"Sheevani, you've got to calm down. It's just a math test, hon," Lindsey said, her sparkly blue eyes shining at me with concern.

I watched as Mr. Jacobsen handed back our pre-calculus tests and I guess I wasn't hiding my stress very well. Why does he have to do this so slowly? Look at test, read name, survey the room to find student, walk at a snail's pace to their desk, lower test onto desk, lift stack back to face and start over.

I shrugged my shoulders at Lindsey, apologetic about my anxious vibe. She tilted her head and smiled at me. We met our freshman year, so almost 4 years ago now, and I've never really recovered from the perfection of her smile. It was like her entire face smiled, even her eyebrows somehow. Yes, focus on Lindsey's smile - that's a perfect distraction from the impossible task of predicting my test score.

"DESAI!" 

He had arrived. I took a deep breath and stared at my desk, waiting for my test to be placed in front of me. After a few seconds of nothing happening, I looked up at Mr. Jacobsen. He looked back at me with an indecipheral expression, then looked at the test he was holding, then back to me. 

"Mr. Jake! What!?" I said in an annoyed tone usually reserved for my parents.

He smirked, looked at the test again and looked back at me before slamming it down. 

91%

I collapsed in dramatic wave of relief and rested my head on my right forearm. I heard a few chuckles in the room. When I looked back up, Mr. Jacobsen was walking away on his glacial-paced journey to hand the rest of the tests back. I looked over to Lindsey who was shaking her head.

"See? No reason to stress!"

I nodded and looked at the test again, specifically that 91% at the top. Excuse me, the beautiful 91%, written in deep red marker and encased in a haphazard circle. Oh, what a gorgeous sight. I can relax.... that is, until the next test, the next quiz and then, oh god, the FINAL EXAM! Here we go again...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm sorry to report that the infant and toddler memories of my kids are now starting to fade. At least Facebook's On This Day feature does help to remind me of when my daughter was obsessed with ice and my son couldn't stop quoting PJ Masks. I'll smile wistfully at my phone screen and then look up to see my kids in the present; laughing at YouTube videos or bopping their head to a rap song (clean version, relax) by an artist I have never heard of - and I panic a bit. More-so than longing for when they had chub rolls on their wrists, my panic stems from the realization that they have entered the stage of life that imprints so much of their future selves. 

For that reason, I find myself in the "detective" stage of parenting. No, I'm not going through my kid's belongings, but rather I'm constantly investigating behaviors in order to solve the mystery of who and what they will be. Okay, I know that sounds very heavy (and impossible), but it's rooted in my desire to nurture the parts of them that will be helpful in life, and at the same time recognize the parts that will hold them back. 

This thirst to understand them comes from my own memories of disconnection. My parents did the best they could, but I've never forgotten the ever-present doom of isolation and shame because my strengths didn't fit into the traditional paths they held so high. Since I didn't want to disappoint my mother and father, my life is a combination of some of that tradition and frantic dream-chasing. Don't get me wrong, I love so much about my life, but I do often wonder how it would be different (better or worse) if I was encouraged to follow a path where my talents could fully thrive. 

I never want my kids to wonder about that.

Eyewitness Clues

From the moment your kids are born, I think it's a natural human tendency to attribute every little fuss or pleasure to an inherited family trait. My son starting solid foods early HAD to be something he got from my father who enjoyed everything about food. My daughter's affinity for animals most definitely comes from my mother-in-law who seems to be the All-Animal Whisperer. Obviously none of this can be proven, but it gives us that anthropological comfort.

As my kids have gotten older and their interests more specific and complex, I keep a keen eye on how they respond to various stimuli. Much like a scientist. That's right, I'm a parental detective AND a scientist, constantly observing my subjects (kids), hypothesizing and drawing conclusions based on my findings. And just like a scientific experiment, sometimes the results will surprise me. 

The Case of Puberty

Within the last year or so, I've seen my once bold young girl become more and more shy and fearful. I had to remind myself that this was normal considering she's entering puberty. Hell, I can clearly remember those intense emotions when I was around her age. 

When my daughter refused to go to her first middle school dance, I was shocked. This is a girl whom I've observed to love music, loves to dance and loves being social with her friends and yet, when I asked her if she wanted to go, she shrugged her shoulders and expressed that it was "not her thing." 

Paul and I took turns gently expressing why we felt the dance would be a fun experience. We told stories from our middle school dances; she delighted in the possibility of seeing some of her teachers dance based on my memory of seeing my stiff science teacher, Mr. Hyre, groove to disco music. I even showed her the moves he did. Paul spoke more broadly about how these are the moments and events that build lasting memories with her friends. After a few minutes of sharing our thoughts and listening to her reservations, we left the discussion with, "just think about it." 

The next day, on our way home from school, my girl casually dropped the news that she was going to the dance. I squealed with excitement. A few days later when I picked her up from the dance, she ran to the car breathless and said, "THAT WAS THE BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE!!" 

Parenting win.

I've been able to use this dance example as fuel for whenever she displays some irrational fear, which leads to more examples of her overcoming obstacles; it's exponential really. The more she faces her challenges, the more reasons she has to believe she can conquer the next one that comes along. 

Conversely, some of the clues into my girl's psyche can be distressing because they seem all too familiar. Struggling with math, for instance. If only the solution was going to a dance!

I chose my opening story to illustrate that my relationship to math education was rife with anxiety. I willed, wished and yes, even prayed for my kids to inherit the math talents of my husband. It seems my son has directly descended from his father, but not my daughter. She's going to have to put in a lot more work, just like I did. 

There are layers to her math struggles and we are peeling them back one by one. I am determined to help her nip this issue in the bud. Perhaps because I feel responsible? She gets it from me, after all. Whatever the motivation, after every disappointing test score, I've been adamant to tell her repeatedly that we will figure this out. Emphasis on the WE. And after every test triumph, I tell her that her hard work paid off and that she is capable of math greatness. Emphasis on SHE. 

My daughter is dealing with some fear and math confidence issues, but I've also observed some very encouraging behaviors as well; 

• She stands up for herself and speaks her mind 
• She loves storytelling
• Her imagination is non-stop
• She gets a wide range of comedy, from broad to very dry (this is particularly pleasing to me 😏)
• She loves to make her friends laugh 
• She holds herself to a high standard

Ah, nice to remind myself of the positives as well... my heart can get so tangled in guilt and concern for the habits I want her to break, but that's parenting. Nurture the helpful and starve the hurtful. 

Incessant Inspection

What about my son? Yeah, I just spent a lot of time analyzing the observations of my daughter. I wasn't necessarily expecting that would take up so much real estate in this post, but it makes sense considering her age. A lot is revealed when you have to deal with so many unfamiliar, and sometimes scary, changes. So, my magnifying glass has been pulled in her direction a bit more during the last year or so. 

But a good parental detective who uses the scientific method doesn't just IGNORE her other test subjects! My son gives me plenty of clues and I spend many hours theorizing what they could mean for his future self. 

Here is a quick rundown of my findings:

• OBSERVATION: Son is really into Emo Rap
• He's an empath. Or is he identifying with the lyrics about feeling so much anxiety and depression? Must keep an eye out for any behavioral issues. Inquiries about why he enjoys the genre elicits vague responses. Will track how long this lasts. Could be very temporary, like his love for Beyonce's Homecoming.
• OBSERVATION: Son loves to find ways to jump off high surfaces
• He's a thrill-seeker. Enrolling him in Ninja class has allowed for a safe outlet of this tendency. Does he want to keep going with this and expand to tumbling and gymnastics? Parkour, perhaps? Maybe he will climb rocks and mountains? Will require heart monitor for my palpitations if this expands to dangerous areas of adventure.
• OBSERVATION: Son is obsessed with super cars and loud engines
• He will be a car enthusiast. Has already stated he will own multiple Bugatti's and Lambos, even though I and his father have informed him they are bad investments. Audibly reacts in a positive way when he hears a loud engine on the street. Future career may entail engineering or car design? If so, looking forward to a sporty whip in my 60s. 
• OBSERVATION: Son wants to learn EVERYTHING
• This curiosity will serve him well. From helping me cook to perfecting barrel rolls, it's difficult to find knowledge he doesn't want to gain. Except the Beyonce catalog. He's all set. I can live with that because I believe this tendency will lead him to cook me meals one day. Very excited for that. 
• OBSERVATION: Son is very sensitive and cries easily
• I know this is my genetic gift and curse to him. People will love him for it, but it will be a frustrating trait during stressful times. Must validate feelings and also use the tools I use to temper when and where the emotions are necessary. We shall make progress together, son.
• OBSERVATION: Son laughs at toilet humor... A LOT
• Makes sense as he descends from generations of fart and poop humorists. 

These findings are just the tip of the iceberg and subject to change at a moment's notice. At least I'm never bored with this boy. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the last couple of months, I've been thoroughly enjoying RuPaul's Drag Race. It's the binge experience I didn't know my soul needed. In almost every season, at least one of the drag queens reveals how he is estranged from family because of his lifestyle. The tragedy of those experiences are written all over their faces, no matter how much make-up they've applied. 

I was so moved by something a supportive mother said during the Season 7 finale episode. Violet Chachki, one of the drag queen finalists, was so lucky to have the full support of his family. His mother was in the audience and RuPaul asked her if she had any advice for parents out there who have a son embracing drag. 

"Just let them be who they are and love them," she said.

So simple and so beautiful.

The entire purpose of being a Dr. Detective is to serve that sentiment. As a parent, the least we can do is stay cognizant of what our children show us, because they are constantly showing us who they are. They will grow and change and it's our job to keep up and roll with all the growing and changing.

After all, to use RuPaul's wisdom, if we cannot teach our kids to love themselves, how in the HELL are they going to love somebody else... can I get an amen in here?

Middle School

Smack dab in the middle of that awkward stage

Dear Daughter,

Tomorrow you start middle school... middle school, the era in which about 97% of adults agree was the worst time in their adolescence. 

For me, it was technically junior high which consisted of 7th and 8th grades, so I was a year older than you when I began the adventure of lockers, changing classes, school dances and... feeling so unfit for the social structure that it made me sick to my stomach.

My optimistic side is screaming that you will be okay. You will be okay because you are not me circa 1990. You will be okay because you're already more socially adept than I ever was at your age. You will be okay because anti-bullying efforts are as prevalent now as Hyper-Color shirts were when I roamed the halls of Churchill Junior High. And finally... and I hope most of all, you will be okay because I will be there to relate with my personal experiences. 

My pessimistic side keeps breaking through with a bullhorn telling me that the pain of these years is inevitable. You won't be okay because kids at this age are cruel in a way that cannot be cured by a "buddy bench." You won't be okay because you did inherit some of my crippling sensitivity. You won't be okay because some of your friends will mature faster than you, leaving you behind... which will break your heart. And finally, and I hope least likely... you won't be okay because your mom will be unable to cope with your pain. 

While you are more excited than nervous, I find myself dealing with the inverse. But I'm keeping all that shit inside and far away from you. It's not your problem. This transition has been a worry since before I knew you would ever exist. I told myself that if I ever became a parent, don't ever forget what it was like to go through the hell of junior high. Don't lose touch with feeling so incredibly out of place, yet so desperate for acceptance. Don't shut out the confusion of those familiar friends becoming strangers overnight, as if you'd missed a few episodes of your life. And most of all, don't dismiss or ignore the intensity of the pain, because that will only make your kid feel like he or she deserves how helpless they may feel. 

My brain is a mess with the optimism, pessimism and expectations from my past... but the one thing that hangs over it all like an umbrella is my determination to be your emotional rock. If I find myself at a loss for the perfect piece of advice or strategy to get you through a tough situation... I can listen and listen until we figure it out together. That's all I ever wanted at your age... someone to listen so I didn't feel so alone. 

So, my sweet girl... I may not always have the answers and I may not fully understand the scope of how you're feeling, but my arms and ears are open for you always. 

Love,

Mom

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Me,

You got through it and are stronger for it. 

Love,

You

Dear Fear...

Watching Fear the movie is my preferred way to experience fear.

~~~

Ugh, it's happening again. Fear and self-doubt are seeping into my brain and I'm having moments of giving in. 

That f*cking f-word is rearing its ugly head because I've decided to finally start a passion project that's been a couple of years in the making - a podcast. Yup. I figure I've already nestled myself in the blogosphere, so why not delve into another overly saturated creative universe? 

The podcast is dedicated to the genius of Julia Louis-Dreyfus as Elaine Benes in Seinfeld. It's as nichey as niche can get, but as a woman in comedy who has been greatly influenced by JLD, I have no problem with that. 

But oh god... what if I suck at it? What if I cannot figure out all the tech stuff?! Oh shit... people will comment and review and what if they say really mean things?!?!? 

Sigh... everyday as I'm setting up different aspects of the pod (inside term for us podcasters), these fearful questions spring up like those annoying tufts of hair that never stay behind your ears on ponytail days. And while I let the stomach ache set in for a few minutes, I try to remind myself that I am more than capable of figuring it all out and that the fear is part of the process.

FEAR IS PART OF THE PROCESS.

I've recruited some contributors to the podcast and gave them a sneak peek to the intro episode I plan to release soon. Immediately after I sent the link, a fresh wave of fear wafted in. Sure, I thought the episode was pretty good, but maybe it's actually the absolute worst thing they will ever listen to? 

A few hours later I received a text from one of my friends/contributors that completely changed my mood. 

Little did Matt know how much I needed that encouragement at that very moment. 

Along with JLD (fan term for us Julia Louis-Dreyfus fans), another person on my list of inspirational women is Emm Gryner. A singer-songwriter from Canada, I met Emm ages ago when Paul was making an album with his then band. Her then husband was doing the artwork for Paul and through conversations he learned this man was married to one of Paul's favorite artists. 

"Holy shit, guess who he is married to?"

"His wife!" (insert me laughing like an idiot and Paul humoring me with a fake laugh)

"He's married to EMM GRYNER!"

Paul owned all of Emm's albums and I became a fan through him. Fast forward to today... Emm is one of my dear friends. In the process of becoming her friend, I also totally fangirled out and learned how BADASS she has been over the entirety of her career. Seeing her take charge of her own path has had a major influence on me over the last 15 or so years... more than she will ever know. I often look to her when I'm feeling insecure about my own talent or value. 

Emm has a fabulous series, Ciao Monday, that she releases on her social media every... well, Monday. It's to help her fans forget their Monday blues for a few minutes. And those short videos do the trick, believe me. In each episode, she answers a fan question and since I've been entrenched in spirals of podcast fear for the last couple of months, I asked how she conquers her own fear. Well, no surprise she totally crushed the answer in her video and it helped me immensely.

Click HERE to see Emm's Ciao Monday episode about conquering fear.

"When women step into their power, it involves getting brutally honest with ourselves... a lot of the healing comes from figuring out why." ~Emm Gryner

Brutal honesty? I'm fearful of putting myself in a position to be criticized. My succumbing to that fear for the better part of my life has left me with an ocean of regret. Giving in to my fear is not worth it. 

It is high time to stamp my footprints on the path that scares me because the safe path is well-trodden, pretty boring and gives me regret diarrhea. And nobody wants that. 

~~~

For those interested in my podcast, Hot & Heavy: The Elaine Benes Podcast, please follow HERE.

The Entertainment Gap

Some of my expressions while I watch my kids' fave YouTubers

~~~

"Oh wow, that's cool!" I force out.

My daughter is not convinced.

"Okay, I'll stop bugging you, Mom. I know you're not into it."

I look up from the green onions I'm cutting and watch her skip away. My heart sinks as I open my mouth to stop her, but she's halfway up the stairs before I decide not to lie to her. She wasn't wrong... I was 1000% not into it. I am trying. Wait, am I trying? Perhaps I'm trying harder at my act of looking interested rather than actually being interested. 

Sigh, this was going to happen eventually... don't be so hard on yourself.

Well sure, I mentally respond to my self-comforting thought, but shouldn't I fight against the stereotype I  see on lazily written sitcoms? The oft-distracted mother who cannot be bothered by her kids. Beyond that, wouldn't it be in my best interest to keep tabs on what my kids are into so that I'm not blindsided when I find something upsetting under their beds... otherwise known as the plot of a lazily written Lifetime movie?

No matter what gymnastics I put my thoughts through, the bottom line is that it is happening: I can no longer understand nor tolerate most of what my kids find entertaining.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Many phases of parenting are universal. Now, the specific elements may change, but the overall experience of these transitions can be recognized by most parents, no matter when they raised their kids. Right now, the separation between what my kids enjoy and what I and my husband enjoy is widening rapidly... and even though I know it's a natural progression of their development, I must admit it is bumming me out. On the upside, I do appreciate the moments to myself after years of curating my days and hours around my kids' interests. I mean, I used to dream about these days a few years ago. But I also find myself reaching for a railing amongst the rumbling wake of my kids' slipping away. 

Not Your Mother's YouTube

My kids have favorite YouTubers. Some are gamers and some are reactors. Some have tons of super cars and others do challenges. Some clearly have sponsors and some just post from their basements. All of them are extremely unappealing to me.

Now, I've certainly considered the route of banning YouTube from the house, but I quickly dismissed the thought because I don't want my kids to be the odd ones who cannot relate to their peers. I realize that may sound trivial, but I was that kid and I know how isolating that can be. We didn't have cable in my house growing up and so the conversations about Nickelodeon or the videos on MTV were completely lost on me. My parents also didn't allow Nintendo, so any chance to bond over Super Mario Bros or Zelda wasn't possible. As hard as I tried, I couldn't really get a spirited conversation going about a riveting ABC mini-series starring Joanna Kerns.

In addition to how foreign this form of entertainment is to me, I also worry about the breadth of content out there for them to stumble onto. I take a little comfort that my kids use my account which is on restricted mode, so for the most part, the videos they watch aren't inappropriate. Annoying as f*ck and insulting to my comedic sensibilities? Hell yes. But not inappropriate. However, that doesn't mean something undesirable can't slip in during a video about achieving the perfect drift in a Lambo. YouTube even tells you that when you choose restricted mode.

Paul and I see the whole YouTuber thing differently. He's very quick to dismiss the whole phenomenon as 100% awful and as a sign that the world is on it's way to a poo-filled pit of dumbed down entertainment. I'm not quite so negative about it. I see it as the obvious evolution towards which this tech-heavy generation gravitates. These YouTubers are people who have grown up with the internet, so instead of chastising them as the antithesis of true art, I see them as a loud reminder that subjectivity is ever-present... especially as you get older and the art forms that you cherish are becoming all but extinct. 

I recently downgraded my YouTube subscription which means my kids are experiencing the interruptions of advertisements numerous times per video. It frustrates them to no end, but my Gen-X ass takes great pleasure in the slight overlap of experience. I resist a full on "back in my day we had to put up with 2 minutes of commercials and we couldn't SKIP any of them" diatribe, but I'll take what I can get. I'm certainly not entertained by the actual YouTuber, but the "UGHHHH" from my kid waiting for a 15-second ad to finish is pure gold.

Parental Amnesia

"Remember this feeling. Remember this feeling. Remember. This. Feeling."

As a kid, I'd repeat this to myself whenever I felt like talking to my parents was like talking to aliens. Sure there was the whole immigrant parent gap, but it was more than that. While I'm not as dramatic as Alison the Basketcase from The Breakfast Club when she declares that, "your heart dies" when you grow up, I do surmise that becoming a parent injects your heart and brain with a sort of protection serum. All messaging from those organs are filtered through a watchful lens when it comes to your kids. That good intention to protect your kids can blind you to memories of being their mental and emotional age. I have wanted to avoid that blindness for as long as I can remember.

Which is why this period of my parental journey isn't consuming me with despair. I have moments of acknowledging the rapid change in my kids and there are flashes of sadness, but because I really dig deep to fish out my own memories of when I was at their stage of discovery, I know that this is just a natural progression for all of us. There's really no point in resenting it. I cherish the memories with my family of sitting on the couch and everyone enjoying the same movie or television show - everyone laughing together. But, eventually there were large swaths of time where I'd be in my room doing what I wanted; listening to music, acting in the mirror, writing in my diary, etc. As I got older, the interactions with my family became less frequent even though we lived under the same roof, but it didn't mean there was any less love there. 

I'm well aware of the differences in the types of entertainment and the impact it may have on this generation versus my own. This isn't a post about screen time or the emotional affects of social media and curated influencers. Believe me, I do have my worries about all of that, but my approach isn't terribly different from what I described above. Every parent goes through their child dealing with circumstances that are foreign to what they themselves went through. New and unfamiliar shit has always been feared by the older generation. The New York Times reported that the telephone would invade everyone's privacy back in the late 1800s. The Beatles and Elvis were going to ruin our kids! Heavy metal was the devil's music! Back in 1989, I remember my parents watching a 60 Minutes segment about how damaging Bart Simpson could be to the youth of America. He's a cartoon who says, "Eat my shorts!" The horror!! 

Before you scream "it's not the same!!" I am well aware that those aren't analogous examples... I've watched (and acted in, and got cut from) The Social Dilemma. But the fear of the unknown is the same. Again, this isn't a post about the dangers of the internet on my kids, it's about how I plan to approach all the personal unfamiliarity with my kids. And in a nutshell, it's an approach of acceptance, reasonable protection and compassion for their emotional growth. 

Whenever my parents would freak out about something I was watching or hearing, I remember saying to them, repeatedly, that just because I watched or listened to something didn't mean I was going to emulate it. And that was coming from a young girl who was easily susceptible to influence! However, that susceptibility had a point and that point had been defined by my parents. I very clearly understood their rules and was scared to death of their wrath. So, I'm firmly planted in the reality that my kids will fall under the spell of influence, that's unavoidable, but I plan to instill in them the foundational values we as their parents expect of them... and hope they listen. That is parenting in a nutshell: guide and hope. 

Common Grind

I was once told in a corporate performance review that the problem with my work was an obvious "lack of effort." Ouch. Now, it didn't come as a surprise since my track record was littered with half-assery - especially with things for which I had zero passion. That moment, sitting across from a manager who was 2 years younger than me but acted 20 years older than me, rattles around in my mind quite a bit. My effort deficiency has always been a source of shame.

If I want to spend time with my kids as they get older, I'm going to have to put in the effort to make that happen. My heart aches at the increased time apart as a family. Sometimes I will look around and notice that everyone has been in separate rooms for hours doing their own thing... which on the surface doesn't seem that bad, but for a mother who is adjusting to her babies increased independence, it can be a melancholy realization. 

Whether it is dinner, a game or a movie we all agree on (after several trailers are reviewed), we spend time together because I make damn sure it happens. I find myself on high alert for any activity that we may all enjoy, which isn't easy since their likes and dislikes are ever-evolving. At present, we all love Conan O'Brien remotes on the Team Coco YouTube page. The kids are tickled that their parents are actually watching YouTube with them and Paul and I are able to enjoy one of our all-time favorite comedians. It's a win-win. Until one of them gets bored of it and then I'll have to figure out the next thing. 

It can be exhausting, but half-assing family time isn't in the cards for me. If effort is what it takes... then effort is what I'll bring.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ever since I started writing this post a few days ago, I've consciously changed my approach to the way I respond to my kids' new and emerging interests. Retelling the story from the introduction sort of woke me up to my, again, lack of effort issues I've struggled with in my life. 

Yesterday, I sat with my kids and watched a few videos with the intention to not say one negative thing or play Crosswords with Friends on my phone the whole time. I really watched and really listened to my kids as they explained what was going on. And you know, an amazing thing happened - I actually enjoyed myself. Instead of focusing on my distaste for the actual content, I focused on the joy it brought my kids and I enjoyed their joy. And what was even more fabulous was that most of that joy was coming from my engagement in their interests. When I asked if I could watch with them, their eyes LIT up. This pocket of time where my kids actually enjoy sharing their interests with us is temporary, I know that... so I need to savor it. After a few YouTube videos, I watched them play their favorite iPad video games while asking questions and making funny comments. We were laughing... we were together. 

And, I had to remind myself all over again... remember this feeling.

 

I Want the Truth!

Preach Lt. Kaffee!

~~~

You Want Answers?

It never gets old. I've done it hundreds of times. But, it is still my favorite part of the day. 

Picking my kids up from school brings with it an energy that I badly need around 3:45pm each day. As they launch themselves into the backseat of my car under hurried pressure by the carpool monitors, they bring with them loud, joyful greetings, violent backpack drops and a couple of annoyed jabs at each other for an unintentional elbow hit. 

A few days ago, my daughter's energy was noticeably different from the moment she clicked her seatbelt. While my son was halfway through his usual onslaught of school news, I could see through the rearview mirror that my daughter wasn't quite herself. 

"What's wrong?" I asked her.

"Nothing," she responded. 

Having mastered the art of the "Mom Nag" I didn't accept that dismissal since her watery eyes and slumped shoulders were telling a completely different story. 

"Friend stuff?"

"No."

"Are you feeling sick?"

"No."

"You seem sad, are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes."

"Are you just tired?"

"Yes."

We stopped at a stoplight and I mentally reprimanded myself. 

Let it go, Sheevani! Yes, she's clearly upset about something, but maybe she just needs a minute. Give her space!

Then I remembered she had her math test that day. So much for letting it go.

"Oh! How did your math test go?" 

"Fine."

"You think you did okay?"

"Yes."

Sighhhhh. I was getting nowhere and with the rise of frustration in my chest, I decided to really let it go this time. She will tell me when she's ready... or she won't. These days her friends got most of the chatty attention via FaceTime or texts. I begrudgingly accepted her mood and asked my son to continue about the news of his day.

Code Dread

Unit, Corp, God, Country... aaaaand Consequences

~~~

About a half an hour after we arrived at home, I received an email from my daughter's teacher. The subject read, "Incident from Study Hall." A warm wave of panic made its way down my arms. I could hear the shower running upstairs. My daughter was busy washing the day off of her, no doubt scrubbing away what I was about to read. With a deep breath, I clicked on the message. 

My daughter had cheated on her math test.

The words bounced around in my vision and the phrases "meeting with the Dean" and "detention" and "disappointed in her behavior" jumped out and stung me like hot oil spattering from a pan.

I took another deep breath. I re-read the email after my heartbeat slowed and I could absorb each word.

Since she'd been having some issues with her math test, her incredibly kind teacher allowed her some extra time at the end of the day to complete her test. She was given this time during the study hall period which is where students work quietly at their desks. My girl started getting frustrated and visibly upset which prompted a couple of her friends to go over to her desk with the intention of comforting her... which led to them helping her with the test problems. When the teacher saw this, she reprimanded all three of them. 

Okay. So it wasn't a situation where she had conspired to cheat on her test. Whew... it was a relief to know my daughter wasn't a totally different person than I had known for the past 10 years. What happened was sort of... accidental cheating, but cheating nonetheless. She certainly knew she should have told her friends, "Thanks, but no thanks." 

As I let the situation settle into my consciousness, I felt a range of emotions; disappointment, worry, confusion. After I cycled through my initial reactions, I felt... anger. Anger because she had lied to me over and over again in the car and then again after we got home when I gave it one last effort to get her to open up about what was wrong. Her lies came out as effortless as reflexes... and that crushed me.

Knowing my girl and her lifelong reputation as a people-pleaser, I knew getting in trouble must have been devastating. Every conference or casual encounter with her teachers since daycare never failed to entail some comment about what a delight she is to have in class. My daughter thrives on this. In fact, the previous night was our parent-teacher conference where the same teacher who caught her cheating had clutched her chest when she expressed how much she loved our daughter. "I absolutely ADORE her," she had said. 

The hiss of the shower ceased. She was done. 

No doubt this was brutal for her, but she still lied to me repeatedly. I was experiencing both anger and sympathy, the combination of which left me with an unexpected stoicism as I climbed the stairs to confront her about what I knew. My legs were moving at a slower pace, weighed down by the realization that this was the angriest I'd ever been at my firstborn child.

"I just got an email from your teacher," I said. She was standing in the tub wrapped in her towel. Maybe I should have waited until she was dressed. 

"Oh," she said and looked down.

"Yeah," I said. We stood in silence for a few seconds. 

"She said you're going to have lunch detention next week and..."

My girl buckled at the knees and started sobbing.

"Oh NOOOOO!" she screamed. 

"Hey... heyyyy. Come here," I pulled her up and wrapped my arms around her, my shirt soaking in the dampness of her hair. 

Her cries came from deep inside her and then she started shouting into my stomach.

"I'm the worst kid! I'm so sorry! Punish me however you want, I'm terrible! I'm such a bad kid! Everyone hates me! YOU must hate me! Dad will hate me! My teacher hates me!"

I swallowed hard. She was breaking my heart, but contrary to my usual empathic ways, I felt no tears coming. I was still too mad at her for lying to me. This was uncharted territory for both of us. 

"Stop," I said gently and pulled away, "you're not a terrible kid. You made a mistake. You made a big mistake. I don't want you to think you're the worst kid, that's not true. You're a really good kid who messed up and now you're going to have to deal with what happens..."

She nodded her head and wouldn't meet my eyes. I saw the goosebumps on her arms and her kneecaps bouncing with chill. 

"Go get dressed and we'll talk about this some more... go. Oh, and no iPad for tonight and maybe the rest of the weekend, okay?"

For the next few hours, Paul and I dealt with our distressed daughter. After exchanging emails with her teacher, we understood better the next steps and discussed with her how to navigate the toughest challenge in her young life. 

"Look, I'm actually glad you're this upset, hon, " I said, "it makes me feel better that you understand just how serious this is."

"And we don't hate you, sweetie," Paul reassured her, "we love you so much, we know you, we know you're a great little girl. But when you make a mistake, you have to accept the consequences."

She was snuggled up in the crook between her dad's chest and chin when I decided to finally bring up what broke my heart the most. I'd kept it at bay until she was calm enough to hear it. 

"So, I have to say the thing I'm most upset about is how many times you lied to me today."

Her exhausted eyes looked at me with regret. 

"I mean, I asked you at least 10 times what was bothering you on the way home. I even asked specifically about your math test!"

"I know," she said softly.

"Honestly, that's the worst part of this whole thing for me. You've lost some trust with me today. That doesn't mean you can't earn it back, but knowing how many times you lied to me during that car ride home, I... I don't trust you as much as I used to," my voice was thin and strained. She was hearing me, but my hurt and anger made me continue.

"Even if you think I'll get mad, you HAVE to tell me the truth. Believe me, if I catch you lying, things will go WAY worse than if you just tell me the truth in the first place, do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Please don't lie," my eyes were closed, "please, please don't lie to me. Seriously, it's my number one rule... DO NOT LIE."

"Okay, I'm sorry, Mom."

I opened my mouth to say it again, but one more time felt repetitive. Her eyes were fixed on me and I could feel that moment - my voice, my words, my expression - was making an imprint. 

Will she lie to me again? Of course she will. But at least she knows where I stand on the matter. 

ARE WE CLEAR!? Crystal.

Watch out Colonel Jessup, Kaffee's GOT YOU!

~~~

One of the most jarring things to accept as a parent is the pace at which your kids grow. Sure, legs get longer, chubby feet elongate and the tic-tac teeth disappear... but the mental and emotional growth spurts are what keep me out of breath on a regular basis. Parenting my daughter through this experience was both draining and rewarding. For reasons that are so painfully relevant right now, I cannot think of a more important lesson than accepting consequences when you make a mistake. Hang on, I need to state that again...

ACCEPT THE CONSEQUENCES WHEN YOU MAKE A MISTAKE.

Since our children are witnessing too many adults acting in such foolish and shameful ways, I find myself pushing hard on these life lessons. Lessons which used to be so fundamental but are now being treated with suspicion and hypocritical caveats. I mean, it used to be a bad thing to lie. Remember that? Lying would actually get you in trouble. Now, we are trapped in this backslide where all the things that used to make you a bad person can often be rewarded. I have never been more motivated to fight against the normalization of lying and for fundamental ethics. 

Paul and I also made sure to dispel her of any presumption we have of perfection. We told her we expect her to make mistakes, that mistakes were a part of life. Stories were told from our own lives where we'd messed up and had to face tough consequences. 

"The most important thing is that you learn from every mistake," Paul said.

"Exactly. If you keep making the same mistakes over and over again without learning from them, that's when I'll be disappointed." I said.

My daughter was in a funk for the next couple of days, and that showed me she was on a path to regain some of the trust she'd lost. She even self-grounded herself from her iPad when I lifted the punishment. At 6:30 Monday morning, I found her sitting on her bed in tears. 

"I'm just nervous to see my teacher," she said, "and I'm nervous about the detention."

I was expecting this.

"I know, but this is what we talked about. Today you are facing the music because you were caught cheating. It will be tough, I don't blame you for being nervous. You got this."

She nodded and laid her head on my shoulder. I kissed her tear-soaked cheek before getting up to leave the room. Then, in a pure Mom Nag moment, I felt an urge.

"I'm still really hurt that you lied to me, you know. No matter how hard it is to tell the truth, please do not lie."

"Okay."

I had to say it again. Because unlike what Colonel Jessup believes, I CAN handle the truth!