As Spawnling sleeps in his neglect-o-matic after a good morning jaunt to the maul and the other two gremz are upstairs playing 'Ghostbusters' (really - we own both movies and they love them - them's my boys!), I've been mulling over what a complete joke parenting is. Mama Chaos posted about creating the perfect day as an imperfect family. It really got me thinking.
I've worked high tech jobs, management jobs, have taken courses on writing and counselling, dove into a two year series of breastfeeding courses designed for medical professionals (and passed, just in case you were wondering)... and after all that, nothing, absolutely nothing, has left me as baffled as my primary job: parenting.
There are only a handful of hard and fast rules when it comes to raising children. I think I have most of them down pat:
1. Love your child
2. Keep your child alive (this includes feeding, watering and maintaing half-decent sanitary standards)
3. Make it look like you know what you're doing
I'm pretty good at 1 and 2. Nobody's died yet and I give a good hug. But I'm kind of lost when it comes to 3. Anyone with half a brain can see right through my petty attempts at emanating perfection. The truth is, after ten years of motherhood I could get jumped by a gang of thugs with clue bats and still have no idea what I'm doing.
For example: Gutsy's been in a 'play with me me me all the time pay attention to me because I have a new sibling and I need to know I'm still important every second of every day me me me' phase. At the same time, Spawnling is in a 'I'm a newborn so you have to hold me me me all the time and never put me down because I need you and I want you and you're warm and soft and have milk' phase.
I'm in the 'I just want a few seconds to myself please oh please god please I'll do your dishes if you'll just give me enough time to shower and change my puked-on clothing and maybe do my own dishes and put something other than a cookie or a stale cracker in my mouth oh please' phase.
The problem is fairly obvious. The solution isn't. Today I had a few minutes to myself after Spawnling and I picked Gutsy up from preschool. I picked up McCrappy Meals to make lunch time a little easier, set Spawnling in his car seat on the livingroom floor, set Gutsy up downstairs to watch a show and unwind with his lunch and *gasp* I watched some adult television (Crossing Jordan, pervert, not real adult television. I'm too cheap to pay for those channels.)
Gutsy wanted to play after lunch. So we played 'Ghostbusters', 'Camping' and I told a wicked ghost story because I rock like that. This was only 15-20 minutes of play time. Then Spawnling woke up and I had to change him (three times in 10 minutes. The moral of the story is to wait until he's finished going), feed him, burp him, play with him and, when he fell asleep a few minutes later, put him back in his chair. Gutsy wanted to play again. At this point I was talking on the phone with Lushgurl and had started making some chocolate chip cookies. I told Gutsy 'not right now' and he was heartbroken.
So, did I do the right thing? The jury would be split on this one, I think.
Some people would say that I had already played with him and should set some boundaries. After all, I'm a mom to three, including a newborn, and I have to carve out some time to myself and to get things done around the house. True, very true.
Others would say that Gutsy has only had five weeks to adjust to not having his mommy all to himself during the day anymore. That he's bored and lonely and sad (he's even said this himself) and that I should be jumping at those opportunities to spend as much one-on-one time with him as possible. After all, they're only young once and we don't want them seeking out a therapist for some hate-on-mom sessions in their 30's. I also have a very helpful husband who is home in the evenings and lets me get some of those things done. Also true.
I compromised. I gave him the bowl with a bit of batter left over and, when I was finished baking, I took a few more minutes (while holding a now awake and somewhat fussy Spawnling) to track down some ghosts. No shower. No time to change my puke stained clothes. If you're reading, be happy I'm not sitting in front of you telling you this because you'd likely want to puke yourself from the smell coming off my shirt. Nast-ay.
There are a lot of grey areas in parenting. Tell your child how proud you are of them, but don't let them become dependent on praise or they'll need it their entire lives. Pick up your baby when he cries, but only until the magical cut-off at six months of age, when baby suddenly figures out how to manipulate you. Don't lie to your child or they wont trust you, but make sure to ask them what they want from Santa. Teach safe sex and offer birth control so you don't become a 35-year-old grandmother, but encourage abstinence, too. Put your child through college, but teach the value of a dollar by having her work for the things she wants.
Confusing? Hell, yes. Us parents are constantly looking for the right answer. The perfect solution. The way to ensure that our children will, in this world of cruelty and injustice, at least have wonderful family memories and close relationship with mom and dad to hold on to. That's how self-proclaimed child experts can make small fortunes selling books and DVDs. That's how Dr. Phil and Oprah pull in the ratings. Our insecurities make money and money makes the world go round. We buy their BMWs. Aren't we nice?
And yet, even though I know all of this, I still tune in. I still browse the 'parenting' section in the book store. I still question a lot of things that I do, every single day. On November 30th I'll have been a parent for 10 years. Not a long time by some people's standards, but that's a whole decade to learn how to trust my instincts and accept my mistakes. I wish it were that easy some days. Even nearly perfect beings like myself still feel incredibly flawed when faced with caring for those we love. I have horrible coordination, so it's to be expected that I can't juggle the task of raising three children very well, either.
Where am I now? At the computer, holding a sleeping-but-not-really Spawnling. I asked Intrepid to make dinner for he and Gutsy: reheated pizza, apples, yoghurt and baby carrots. At least it's balanced and I didn't have to make yet another one-handed meal. On the other hand, I just had my ten-year-old do something I feel is my responsibility as the parent in the home at the time.
Stupid parenting. Bah, humbug! At least I went Friday morning shopping today. Not as good as Monday morning, but we did get mom conversations and old lady admiration. I tried to pawn a pukey Spawnling off on one of the old ladies, but she only wanted to look at him, not take him home. What's up with that? Maybe I should start charging admission. Then I could buy those Sketchers winter boots I was looking at today. $114. Surprisingly, Geekster says I should buy them for myself in a couple of weeks when some money magically appears in our budget for such things. I'm not going to argue about getting my shop on, yo.
I may be unshowered, overwhelmed and puked on, but at least I'll look sexy from the calves down.
I've worked high tech jobs, management jobs, have taken courses on writing and counselling, dove into a two year series of breastfeeding courses designed for medical professionals (and passed, just in case you were wondering)... and after all that, nothing, absolutely nothing, has left me as baffled as my primary job: parenting.
There are only a handful of hard and fast rules when it comes to raising children. I think I have most of them down pat:
1. Love your child
2. Keep your child alive (this includes feeding, watering and maintaing half-decent sanitary standards)
3. Make it look like you know what you're doing
I'm pretty good at 1 and 2. Nobody's died yet and I give a good hug. But I'm kind of lost when it comes to 3. Anyone with half a brain can see right through my petty attempts at emanating perfection. The truth is, after ten years of motherhood I could get jumped by a gang of thugs with clue bats and still have no idea what I'm doing.
For example: Gutsy's been in a 'play with me me me all the time pay attention to me because I have a new sibling and I need to know I'm still important every second of every day me me me' phase. At the same time, Spawnling is in a 'I'm a newborn so you have to hold me me me all the time and never put me down because I need you and I want you and you're warm and soft and have milk' phase.
I'm in the 'I just want a few seconds to myself please oh please god please I'll do your dishes if you'll just give me enough time to shower and change my puked-on clothing and maybe do my own dishes and put something other than a cookie or a stale cracker in my mouth oh please' phase.
The problem is fairly obvious. The solution isn't. Today I had a few minutes to myself after Spawnling and I picked Gutsy up from preschool. I picked up McCrappy Meals to make lunch time a little easier, set Spawnling in his car seat on the livingroom floor, set Gutsy up downstairs to watch a show and unwind with his lunch and *gasp* I watched some adult television (Crossing Jordan, pervert, not real adult television. I'm too cheap to pay for those channels.)
Gutsy wanted to play after lunch. So we played 'Ghostbusters', 'Camping' and I told a wicked ghost story because I rock like that. This was only 15-20 minutes of play time. Then Spawnling woke up and I had to change him (three times in 10 minutes. The moral of the story is to wait until he's finished going), feed him, burp him, play with him and, when he fell asleep a few minutes later, put him back in his chair. Gutsy wanted to play again. At this point I was talking on the phone with Lushgurl and had started making some chocolate chip cookies. I told Gutsy 'not right now' and he was heartbroken.
So, did I do the right thing? The jury would be split on this one, I think.
Some people would say that I had already played with him and should set some boundaries. After all, I'm a mom to three, including a newborn, and I have to carve out some time to myself and to get things done around the house. True, very true.
Others would say that Gutsy has only had five weeks to adjust to not having his mommy all to himself during the day anymore. That he's bored and lonely and sad (he's even said this himself) and that I should be jumping at those opportunities to spend as much one-on-one time with him as possible. After all, they're only young once and we don't want them seeking out a therapist for some hate-on-mom sessions in their 30's. I also have a very helpful husband who is home in the evenings and lets me get some of those things done. Also true.
I compromised. I gave him the bowl with a bit of batter left over and, when I was finished baking, I took a few more minutes (while holding a now awake and somewhat fussy Spawnling) to track down some ghosts. No shower. No time to change my puke stained clothes. If you're reading, be happy I'm not sitting in front of you telling you this because you'd likely want to puke yourself from the smell coming off my shirt. Nast-ay.
There are a lot of grey areas in parenting. Tell your child how proud you are of them, but don't let them become dependent on praise or they'll need it their entire lives. Pick up your baby when he cries, but only until the magical cut-off at six months of age, when baby suddenly figures out how to manipulate you. Don't lie to your child or they wont trust you, but make sure to ask them what they want from Santa. Teach safe sex and offer birth control so you don't become a 35-year-old grandmother, but encourage abstinence, too. Put your child through college, but teach the value of a dollar by having her work for the things she wants.
Confusing? Hell, yes. Us parents are constantly looking for the right answer. The perfect solution. The way to ensure that our children will, in this world of cruelty and injustice, at least have wonderful family memories and close relationship with mom and dad to hold on to. That's how self-proclaimed child experts can make small fortunes selling books and DVDs. That's how Dr. Phil and Oprah pull in the ratings. Our insecurities make money and money makes the world go round. We buy their BMWs. Aren't we nice?
And yet, even though I know all of this, I still tune in. I still browse the 'parenting' section in the book store. I still question a lot of things that I do, every single day. On November 30th I'll have been a parent for 10 years. Not a long time by some people's standards, but that's a whole decade to learn how to trust my instincts and accept my mistakes. I wish it were that easy some days. Even nearly perfect beings like myself still feel incredibly flawed when faced with caring for those we love. I have horrible coordination, so it's to be expected that I can't juggle the task of raising three children very well, either.
Where am I now? At the computer, holding a sleeping-but-not-really Spawnling. I asked Intrepid to make dinner for he and Gutsy: reheated pizza, apples, yoghurt and baby carrots. At least it's balanced and I didn't have to make yet another one-handed meal. On the other hand, I just had my ten-year-old do something I feel is my responsibility as the parent in the home at the time.
Stupid parenting. Bah, humbug! At least I went Friday morning shopping today. Not as good as Monday morning, but we did get mom conversations and old lady admiration. I tried to pawn a pukey Spawnling off on one of the old ladies, but she only wanted to look at him, not take him home. What's up with that? Maybe I should start charging admission. Then I could buy those Sketchers winter boots I was looking at today. $114. Surprisingly, Geekster says I should buy them for myself in a couple of weeks when some money magically appears in our budget for such things. I'm not going to argue about getting my shop on, yo.
I may be unshowered, overwhelmed and puked on, but at least I'll look sexy from the calves down.