Here are my 10 easy steps on how to raise entitled children.
- Give them everything they want (I mean demand).
- Make sure you go to all of their events. Don’t miss. The fall out of not attending isn’t worth it.
- Pick them up and drop them off at the door so they don’t have to walk any more than necessary.
- When the latest iPhone hits the shelves, make damn sure they have in their hands. No need to wait.
- If it’s a Tory Burch wallet or Hartman (or whatever the damn name brand is) backpack, buy it. They need to be just like all their friends. Oh, and don’t forget to replace in 6 months when those are out of date. Mom, you must stay on top of your game.
- When you volunteer at their school, under no circumstances are you to acknowledge them. What will their friends think?
- Their bedrooms have to be perfectly designed. All name brands, of course.
- Make sure you book their travel far in advance so you won’t have to fly some other cheap airline.
- Chores? Only, if you pay them immediately. With cash. There is no 2 week waiting period to get your paycheck.
- Let them pick the restaurants. And if they don’t like the one you chose, leave. Drive to the one they want.
- Make sure their selfie portfolio is kept up to date. Every 15 minutes.
- Don’t ever say NO. Not acceptable.
Somewhere along the way, I have screwed up. Royally screwed up. I am guilty of doing everything on this list. WTF was I thinking?
After driving an hour to her basketball game last night, after being bitched at for taking them to a good dinner (restaurant not her choice), after the berating for not signing her out so she didn’t have to wait to take the bus home and get home at 9:30, AND after the evil looks from asking her to put her phone down and tell me about her day, I’VE FUCKING HAD IT. It dawned on me. I’m raising an entitled brat.
Did it really take me this long to realize this? After writing this list, I have at one point or another given her all this. Here is my pathetic logic in all this. I was given very little. Maybe my mother did something right, after all. She ignored me, attended almost none of my games, and gave me VERY little (both material things and affection). One year, I did get a pair of Gloria Vanderbilt jeans. With pink stitching. Remember those? Everyone had those. I HAD to have a pair. And, yes, I had to wait til Christmas to get them. Instant gratification? Yea, right. That term didn’t exist in the 70’s and 80’s.
The closest we ever got to instant gratification was when the CD came out. Instead of having to fast forward through 5 songs to get to the one you wanted, you could just go to track #6. That was AWESOME. The technology was insane. Who thought of this? But I was 17, so I had to fast forward through a lot of songs in my day to get to the ones I wanted to actually hear. The worst was waiting for the film to be developed before we got to see our pictures. Then, they came out with one hour processing. CHA-CHING! Again. That technology was insane. Of course, the Polaroid camera meant instant gratification. But the film was WAY too expensive. Forget it. I couldn’t afford to buy it after I ran out of 10 pictures that came with the camera.
I’m getting off course here. Forget my childhood and its lack of instant gratification. No way to EVER explain that to my children. I had to do chores. I couldn’t do anything on the weekends until I cleaned the entire house. I had to do ALL the ironing. Don’t get me started on the resentment I have about ironing the child molester’s shirts.
My mother was desperate. Married the first man (several times over) to come along and take care of her 4 children. I suppose having 4 children in the early 70’s wasn’t exactly a good selling point. Thus, your choices were limited. Makes you wonder if the man whom she married was looking for a woman with many children. Fucking pedophile. But not me. I’m in no hurry to get married. And I have 4 children. It pays to NOT be desperate.
My goal was to make damn sure my children didn’t have the childhood that I endured. (At least, not the really bad parts). I want them to have a better life. A childhood with good memories. With me being there. But, in the process, I have failed them. I have given them WAY too much. Perhaps, even too much love and attention. Is that even possible? Can you give too much love? How do I undo what I have done?
Or is this just the age? Teenagers can make life miserable. And high school starts in 8 months. Can it get any worse? And, with all that I have given them, I’m just adding fuel to this fire. I can’t take anymore eye rolls. And, yes, I rolled my eyes at my mother. Mainly, when she would sit in the child molester’s lap at the dinner table. I cringe at the thought of that. That’s an eye roll well deserved. But when my daughter rolls her eyes at me because I tell her to put her phone down and talk to me? I’ve had it with that.
There has to be a middle in raising my kids. You know. One where they aren’t molested by a man I bring home and one where they appreciate everything I have given them. Things that I never had.
Where is the middle?