All I can say is, thank goodness for my goody-two-shoes kid.
Like mother, like daughter.
So I learned last night that one of the girls at our crazy sleepover Saturday night told Caroline that she didn’t need to tell her mom everything. The girl offering this tid-bit of information is the one who no longer lives in our neighborhood. Thank goodness. She’s very mature for her age; a slick, mean-girl-in-training who is heavily influenced by an older brother and, in her younger years, a less than stable home life.
I’ve always felt a little uneasy around this girl and despite my better judgment, I agreed to allow her to sleepover. Sometimes she’s still a sweet girl, but sometimes the growing-too-fast side appears and who knows what sort of information she’ll bestow upon Caroline and her friends, who for the most part, are still innocent and completely oblivious to the ways of the world.
Obviously telling someone they don’t have to tell their mom everything is innocuous in the grand scheme of things. She could have offered up something much more salacious, which would give cause for copious amounts of damage control. And not to mention, leaving me red faced and flailing about, trying to use the right words, as opposed to over reacting and making things worse. In our case, a quick reminder that we’re supposed to do what we know is right, according to our parents, according to the law and according to God, even when we’re encouraged to do otherwise, was all that needed to be said.
Caroline didn’t tell me any of this, but the other sleep over participants told their mom, who then told me. When I approached Caroline about it, she said it was because I told them they couldn’t put whipped cream on the face of the first girl who fell asleep. Caroline told them I said no and the other girl told her they should just do it and not tell me. Like I wouldn’t find the remains of an empty whipped cream bottle or even worse, caked on dried whipped cream on my furniture.
Thankfully, Caroline held her ground.
Or, perhaps they all forgot about it during their obnoxiously loud sing along to the song stylings of one Justin Bieber?
All I know is that even on a good day I feel wholly unqualified to be a parent. Factor in the outside influences of children who have been taught a looser set of morals than I’m trying to instill in Caroline and I find myself even less qualified. And entirely out of my league.
Sometimes I think I have a handle on things; other times I literally close my eyes, cross my fingers and simply hope for the best.
Perhaps I should write a book about it? I can picture it now……Parenting: Just Wing It!
Poor Caroline. She deserves SO much better!