I’m not one to boast, but I suspect my children are honing their skills as aspiring journalists. How can I be so sure? Because they seem to have an insatiable urge to report every trivial detail of their lives. Each of them is eager to relay their “breaking news,” clamoring to be the first to share their latest scoop with me. It’s a race to the finish line, with them pushing each other aside and shouting to ensure their stories reach my ears before anyone else’s.
However, if they wish to thrive in the world of journalism, they could benefit from a crucial lesson: not every incident warrants a report. While I certainly need to know about significant events—like “Someone is drawing on the wall with your lipstick!” or “There’s a bleeding situation!”—the petty grievances such as “He said I have too much hair” and “He tried to put his toe in my cereal” can drive me to the brink of insanity.
The delivery of these trivial tidbits is often accompanied by an ear-piercing whine that sounds remarkably like a mosquito with a serious case of PMS. I can always predict a dramatic reveal when I hear the drawn-out call of “Mooom-meeeeee?” that crescendos at the end. Then comes the delightful part (and by “delightful,” I mean the part that makes me want to run away): “He said I look different!” “He called me ‘orange!’” “He said my underwear looks like something from a cartoon!”
I want my kids to feel heard and understood when they approach me with important matters (note the emphasis on important). But how do I convey to them which issues deserve my attention and which they should handle on their own? It’s a perplexing parenting challenge, akin to the advice we give them about accepting candy—never take it from strangers, except, of course, on Halloween when you’re getting it from unfamiliar faces. It’s tough to help them discern what qualifies as “significant” because, in their eyes, even a comment about their breath smelling like oatmeal is worthy of an urgent report.
In most instances, I simply choose to ignore the inconsequential tattles. If I react, I inadvertently signal that their antics merit attention, which is precisely what I want to avoid. Take, for example, a recent incident: “My brother called me a poop face!” one of my sons complained.
“Well,” I responded, “are you a poop face?”
He pondered this for a moment. “No.”
“Then he’s mistaken, and it’s irrelevant. Now go play.”
My policy is straightforward: if no one is injured or in a dangerous situation, their complaints will either be tuned out or brushed aside. Yes, I want to be alerted if someone is attempting to leap from the top bunk, but if the most pressing issue is that “he said I’m shaped like a banana,” they can sort that out themselves.
I view this as an important lesson in conflict resolution.
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In summary, navigating the world of parenting requires discernment, especially when it comes to distinguishing between serious situations and trivial grievances. Ignoring the latter not only fosters independence in children but also preserves parental sanity.
Keyphrase: Parenting Tattletales
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