“Don’t repeat that. You hear me?”
I add that necessary disclaimer to practically everything that comes out of my mouth within earshot of my teens.
I spit out this disclaimer as fast as possible, or bear the consequences: whatever I said, in jest or anger or fun or just a mom-revelation that sends teenagers into snot blowing laughter, it doesn’t matter.
It’s too late.
It’s already been blasted out to 10,085 friends in their twitter, instagram, tumblr, snapchat universe before I even know why what I said was tweet worthy. (Usually falls in the ‘duh-mom’ category.)
The NSA has nothing on my kids: if I say something particularly inappropriate, by the time the DO NOT TWEET THAT is out of my mouth, it’s gone. And I’m famous in their world. Or humiliated. I don’t know the difference, hence the ‘duh-mom’ category.
It’s not like I trash talk everybody all the time, but there are times, when um, the frustration escapes my inside thoughts and become outside rants. I’m just venting, in the privacy of my own home or car, until some teenage spawn shares it with their world.
#DoNotShare should have it’s own hashtag, and should be a binding agreement for my kids.
Do. Not. Share.
Not exactly the message we’ve been drilling into the past 20+ years of parenting, but I find myself saying this more often than not. Usually after the fact. Maybe it should precede it, but I’m not a lawyer. Or a journalist. So I’m not up on the correct protocol.
When parenting on the fly, and every so often something not-so-pleasant may come out of my mouth about, I don’t know, a slutty prom dress, a surprising couple, snow day decision, or, hypothetically, a request from an overly enthusiastic team captain’s parent for a $200 “suggested” donation for ‘team expenses’ like flowers for senior night, because the “boys are just too busy to fundraise.”
I am not always proud of these comments. Okay, sometimes I am.
But just as when talking to reporters and the “off the record” is sacrosanct, so should be: “do not share that.”
Which when translated to high school teenager means: do not, I repeat, do not snapchat, tweet, text, Facebook, vine, tumblr, reddit or otherwise share my comments with your circle.
“But that was funny.”
No.
“Really funny.”
Don’t do it. I’m warning you … (insert mean mom look here)
“Can I do so anonymously?”
No.
If your loser friends want to hear me lose it on someone, they need to come over here and experience me in real time.
I really need a disclaimer and a waiver for everyone with a device that enters my sphere. Do not share what I have to say. If I want to share it, I’ll do it here. Or here. Or here.
Or, best yet, face to face so there’s not misinterpretation.
I say what I mean, and mean what I say, usually, when not drinking or hungry or overtired or PMSing. I just don’t always want it broadcast to the world.
Sometimes, more often than not, what I say is just white noise, and should stay that way.
Right there with you, sister. My tongue has scars.
But yeah, I need to come over and experience the real time trash mouth fun and games. I need laughter therapy but this probably a freebee, right? : )
And if we had a dollar for every time we have said, “don’t you dare repeat that or tell your friends about that, I don’t need moms pissed off at me” we could leave for our spa cruise tomorrow, right?
save me a seat on the cruise!
You.Crack.Me.Up. I can’t even……
laughing all the way to the bank, right?