Cork mum: ‘I live with a teen who should be working for NASA’

If parenting teenagers is a sport, I would like to formally withdraw from competition, not because I’m not trying, but because I am completely outmatched.

I live with a 14-year-old who should be fast-tracked straight to NASA. Not next year, not after exams, immediately. If they could apply an ounce of their determination, strategy, and sheer brilliance to space exploration, we’d be on Mars by Tuesday.

Unfortunately, at present, all of that talent is being directed at one very specific goal: getting around the parental controls on their phone.

It started, as these things always do, with hope.

I installed the controls, set the limits, entered the passcode like I was launching a missile, and stepped back thinking, ‘there, I’ve nailed it, I am finally in charge’.

This was my first mistake.

Parenting a teenager in the age of smartphones is not a position of authority. It is a game, and I am essentially Tom, while my teenager is Jerry, with wifi, a back-up plan, and what appears to be a minor degree in computer science.

Take the full lockdown. I remember the day well. I set the phone to full lockdown; no apps, no access, no loopholes. It was, in my mind, a masterpiece. I even made a cup of tea and sat down, quietly pleased with myself.

I’ve done it, I thought. I’ve cracked it.

But, I had not cracked it.

Somewhere between me sitting down and taking my first sip of tea, my teenager had already entered what I can only describe as hacker mode.

The phone went into airplane mode at precisely the right moment, a friend’s account was accessed, passwords were deployed like secret codes in a spy film, wifi was located, abandoned, and reconnected like a tactical operation.

At one point, I am fairly certain the time zone was changed.

The time zone.

I didn’t even know that was something you could do.

I’m still trying to figure out the clock in the car, and this child is bending time itself for extra screen minutes.

It’s not just one trick. It’s layers, strategy, contingency plans.

I change the passcode, they observe, quietly, casually, like they’re not paying attention at all. Next thing I know, it’s been cracked.

I restrict an app, a new one appears.

I turn off data, wifi appears.

I turn off wifi, there’s a workaround.

I put the phone down in front of me thinking, right, that’s it, checkmate.

Five minutes later, I look up, and they’re back, fully operational, as if nothing has happened.

At this point, I don’t feel anger, I feel awe.

Meanwhile, in the middle of all of this, is my 11-year-old.

She watches the whole thing unfold with the wide-eyed innocence of someone who still believes rules are rules. She hasn’t yet entered the world of loopholes and digital espionage.

There is potential, of course, under the right conditions, say chocolate or a shiny bribe, she could absolutely be recruited as an accomplice. But for now, she remains beautifully, refreshingly unaware.

She looks at me, looks at her sibling, and you can almost see her thinking, Is this allowed?

No, love. No, it is not. But also, I’m not entirely sure how to stop it.

There are moments, glorious, fleeting moments, when I think I’ve won.

The phone is down, the room is quiet, there is actual conversation. I might even get eye contact. I sit there, calm, composed, thinking, this is it, this is what it’s meant to be like.

I practically want to document it, frame it, notify the authorities.

And then, a subtle movement, a glance downward, a hand, ever so casually, reaching.

Before I can even process what’s happening, we’re back, the screen is on, the system has been bypassed, the game is very much still in play.

Tom and Jerry, every single time.

I set the trap, they outsmart it, I reset, they adapt.

It would be exhausting if it wasn’t so impressive.

Because underneath all of it - the loopholes, the determination, the creativity - is something quite extraordinary. Problem-solving, persistence, the ability to think three steps ahead.

Skills that would be absolutely brilliant in literally any other context: homework, for example, finding school shoes, putting a plate in the dishwasher, or even remembering to pack lunch.

But no, their true calling, it seems, is outwitting me.

Where does that leave me?

Slightly defeated, frequently confused, regularly outsmarted, but also laughing, a lot.

As much as I pretend to be horrified, there’s a part of me that is genuinely impressed. I am raising a teenager who refuses to give up, who can solve problems in seconds, who looks at a system and thinks, there has to be a way around this.

And most days, there is.

I will continue to set the controls. I will continue to change the passcodes. I will continue to believe, briefly, optimistically, that I am in charge.

But deep down, I know the truth.

I don’t run this house anymore. I just provide the wifi.

I am simply a participant in a highly sophisticated, ongoing game. One in which my teenager is winning, and my 11-year-old is watching, quietly taking notes.

Even when the house is quiet, I know it won’t last, and tomorrow there will be new tricks, new loopholes, new triumphs.

I will sip my tea, reset the rules, and do it all over again, because somehow, this is parenting, this is life, and secretly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.