insaine parenting

Joelle logs on to check Asher’s report card. All A’s, no surprise. That’s reassuring, at least.

She flips to her Nordstrom tab. Dorine, her ChatGPT plug-in, immediately recommends three outfits. Probably based on her Instagram likes, by the looks of it. They’re exactly what she needs for her conference next week, actually.

She can’t remember the last time she shopped for clothes on her own. So glad to be done with those days, she thinks. Now she can have the effortless style she always wanted.

Dorine asks if Joelle would like her to purchase the outfits. She selects the blouse and necklace, skips the trousers, and hits submit. Dorine congratulates her and says that her order will arrive in 1-2 business days. Joelle selects “Add to Calendar” so that she remembers to check with the doorman if she doesn’t get a package notification by Wednesday.

Great. That’s at least two things done from her Saturday checklist. She moves on to Instacart, selects the meals she needs for the week, and places an order for delivery on Sunday. She’ll just get takeout tonight. Maybe from that new Thai place?

She asks Dorine to auto-order two Pad Thai for Asher and Dawn, and one Som Tum Thai for her, scheduled to arrive by 6pm.

Asher cries out from the living room. “Mom!”

“Just a minute!” She quickly asks Dorine if there’s anything else she needs to do to stay on track for the week. When she receives a quick, “on track” note, she closes her laptop and heads to the living room.

Asher is perched on his beanbag, slapping his Nintendo Switch against the palm of his hand. “This stupid thing dies so fast now.” He points it at her like an extension of his finger. “I told you it couldn’t handle the upgrade.”

“Well, honey, you wanted to play the new version. I’m not raising you to wait around for what you want. If you have the tools, use them.”

“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes.

“Anyway, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” Joelle slowly sits on the arm of the couch, trying to avoid wrinkling her silk joggers.

“Please, spare me another one of your lectures.”

“Excuse me?”

He sighs. “Sorry, carry on.” Asher looks in her general direction, but she can see that he’s already calculating the likely length of this conversation using his smart glasses. Joelle has a pang of regret for agreeing to upgrade them.

“Stop,” she says.

“Stop what?”

“You know what. I’m trying to talk to you, and it will take as long as it will take.”

“Dorine estimates it will take 3.5 minutes.”

“She doesn’t even know what I’m about to say.”

He pauses, then says, “She expects it’s about the performance gap between my report card and my Social Health Score.”

Joelle blinks. She’s still unnerved by Dorine sometimes.

“Ok, but that’s not all.”

“No?” He asks rhetorically.

“No.” She stands up, brushes off her joggers and gathers her thoughts, then sits down again. He watches all of this with resigned boredom.

“Here’s the thing, honey. I’m worried about you.”

“Here we go,” he mutters under his breath.

“I’m serious. You are a straight-A student. You’re in all the right extracurriculars.” She starts counting on her hands. “Chess club, soccer, Volunteers of America.”

“I’m familiar with my resume,” Asher juts in.

“And yet,” she says, widening her eyes until he makes eye contact. “And yet, I can’t help but worry that you don’t seem to have any friends.”

“Are you saying I’m socially inept?” He asks with a chuckle.

“Not at all!”

Asher outright laughs.

“Ok, fine, yes. Maybe I am saying that. But by every metric, you should be in the top 1% of your class for Social Health. You’re funny, obviously smart, and handsome. You have good teeth, you’re athletic. Dorine even told me that, on average, 2.5 girls have a crush on you at any given time.”

“Oh my god,” he cups his face in his hands. “So we’re counting halves of people now?”

“I would have killed to know that about my classmates at your age,” she insists.

Joelle can tell his patience is wearing thin, so she changes tactics. “Is something going on that I should know about?”

“You literally know everything about me, as you just demonstrated.” Asher says.

“So, what’s up, Ash? It doesn’t seem like you want to spend time with anyone who’s not on the other end of that Switch.”

He sighs, tossing the Switch on the carpet. He leans back in his bean bag and rubs his eyes with the palm of his hands.

“I just,” he starts. It takes everything in Joelle to wait for him to keep talking.

“I mean,” he looks up at the ceiling. “What’s the point?”

“There are a million points!” Joelle bursts out.

“Name one that doesn’t have to do with my quote-unquote ‘Social Health,’” he says sarcastically.

“Social health is an important measure of your well-being.” Joelle fiddles with her Apple watch band. Her nervous tick, he thinks.

“Kids with strong SHS’s are proven to be more likely to live a happy and fulfilling life. That’s all I want for you.”

“And don’t forget the correlations between financial stability, general attractiveness, and predicted longevity,” he adds, mocking her professional tone.

“I can feel that you’re frustrated with me, but that doesn’t make what I’m saying any less true, Ash.”

“I know all the stats, Mom.”

“Well, you don’t seem to take them seriously.”

Asher leans forward, hugging his knees. Joelle makes a mental note to add mobility exercises to her checklist for today.

“Dorine, I thought you said this conversation would take 3.5 minutes. What do we need to do to resolve this?” Asher asks.

Dorine’s even tone fills the room, Good afternoon, Asher and Mrs. Ryelan. Your conversation appears to have hit a stalemate. Would you like me to suggest a potential path forward?

“Yes.” They both answer at once.

I’d be happy to. Asher, your mother is worried that your apparent disregard for the American Institute of Teen Health and Wellbeing’s Social Health Score is be—

“Speed it up, Dorine,” Asher interrupts.

Sure. She needs reassurance that you understand the score is an effective predictor of long-term wellbeing, and that you will make an effort to improve it. Would you like me to suggest ways that you can do so?

Asher looks at his mom, who’s now nodding at him, waiting for acknowledgment.

“This is bullshit. She always takes your side first.” Then to the ceiling he says, “Dorine, what will my mom do in return?”

In return, Mrs. Ryelan’s cortisol levels are projected to decrease by 5%. As a result, she will likely appear less worried, argumentative, or nervous, due to her renewed confidence that you are well-positioned to improve your Social Health Score with a few simple adjustments.

“Would that it were true,” he mumbles, rising from the beanbag. Joelle hasn’t gotten used to how tall he’s gotten in the last year. Asher practically towers over her now. She rolls her shoulders back to reach her full height.

“She’s right, you know.” Joelle says softly.

“She’s not right. That’s what you and Ma don’t get!” He practically yells.

“Calm down, right now,” she whisper-yells. “When Dawn gets home, we can have a discussion about this as a family. Maybe it will be more productive.”

He turns bright red, and she instinctively steps back.

Both of your pulses have spiked. I recommend that everyone takes a deep breath, Dorine chimes in. I’ll count you down — 3, 2, 1.

Asher and Joelle both do as they’re told.

Asher looks at her mother, and notices her elegant tracksuit. He hates to admit that she looks cool. It adds another weight in his stomach. If she bothered to ask, he’d swear that his stomach was full of stones lately. Heavy and rumbling.

“What’s the point of socializing when everyone already knows everything about me?”

“Honey,” she starts, moving to caress his arm. He shrugs it off, “I’m adding no value to this moment,” He says, then brushes past her on the way out the room. She hears his bedroom door slam moments later.

Mrs. Ryelan, would you like me to prepare an effective parenting strategy for dinner with Asher and Dawn?