While helping a friend set up a Facebook account, I casually mentioned, “The key thing to remember is that everything you post can be seen by anyone who follows you.” Just then, a notification popped up, letting me know that my 13-year-old son, Dylan, had updated his status.
Dylan is feeling frisky.
“I’ll call you back,” I muttered, my heart racing.
As I reread Dylan’s status, I noticed one of his younger brother’s friends had already chimed in with a comment: “Wow!” Panic washed over me as I imagined the parents of all our kids’ friends seeing my son’s not-so-subtle announcement about his romantic interests. I began to draft a comment like, “You are soooo grounded, you little…” but recalled some advice I’d read about avoiding social media battles with kids. Instead, I decided to take a different approach—a plan that would surely leave him mortified and make him think twice before posting something so cringe-worthy again.
With a mischievous grin, I grabbed my phone and texted him, “How frisky are you?” I could hardly suppress my laughter.
Don’t underestimate a mom’s watchful eye, kiddo.
Moments later, Dylan shot back, “WHAT????????”
Excuse me? How dare he act all innocent! I could picture his classic “Oh no, I’m in trouble” face, where his eyes and mouth are wide open, making him look like a cartoon character. That’s his guilty face. Every. Single. Time.
Feeling smug, I replied, “I saw your Facebook post.”
His response? “What are you TALKING about???????????????????????”
At that moment, a wave of anxiety hit me. What if he didn’t post it? I hesitated and texted, “Ummmmmm. Your update says you are… well, ummmmm… feeling frisky.”
There was a painfully long pause before I received his text: “OMG. I would NEVER post that! My friend did it! I checked my Facebook on his phone and forgot to log out. OMG. I can’t believe you texted me that.”
I could just picture my son, walking around with his friends, blissfully unaware that I had just sent him a text that no 13-year-old boy should ever receive from his mother. The rest of the day, I pondered how he could ever look me in the eye again without needing to run and hide.
When I picked him up from the bus stop, I was relieved to see that he managed to maintain eye contact without turning bright red. He tossed his backpack into the car, opened the door, and as soon as he saw my “I can’t believe I did that” face, he erupted into laughter, tears streaming down his cheeks. I joined in, and we both laughed until we could hardly breathe—clearly, we were just avoiding the awkwardness.
That night, as I lay in bed, I couldn’t shake the thought: “No 13-year-old boy should EVER receive a text from his mother saying, ‘How frisky are you?’” This incident was a real wake-up call for me. I realized that navigating the teenage years wouldn’t come naturally; I’d need to think carefully about every text I sent from now on.
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In summary, this little texting mishap taught me that parenting teens is a whole new ballgame. I learned to think before I hit send and to navigate this tricky phase with a bit more caution (and humor).