When I was a
kid I thought my parents knew everything. By the time I was a teenager I
thought they knew nothing. Now that I’m a parent I realize I was right, both times.
I think knowing everything while knowing nothing is pretty much the reality of
parenthood. Parenthood is basically getting thrown into the deep end of the
pool and struggling to make it to the ladder.
When you feel confident and you master swimming in the deep end of the
pool someone throws you into the ocean.
Parenthood is a constant struggle of convincing your kids that you do in
fact know what you are doing all while doubting yourself every single day.
If you don’t
doubt yourself are you really a parent? Don’t ask me. I spend most days flying by the
seat of my pants. I tuck my kids in at night and I hope that I did an OK job.
That’s right an OK job. When I had my first son, the idea of being an “OK parent”
was out of the question for me. I was going to be a phenomenal parent. Sure. I
was swimming in the pool and I was good at it, only the pool was calm and no
one else was in it. Once I had my son I realized that the pool was full of tons
of other swimmers and all of those swimmers had opinions on my swimming
abilities.
To be honest
now that my boys are out of the baby stage I find myself wondering more than I
thought I ever would if I am going to be able to navigate each new unchartered
territory of water we enter. The hopeful answer is yes, but the honest answer
is, I’m not always so sure. Facebook has been kind enough to remind me on the
regular with my “Facebook Memories” that the baby years are long gone. Gone are
the days of napping, snuggling, snacking, and giggling within our own little
bubble. We are in the elementary school days now and I have to tell you, they
are going faster than I could have ever imagined they would. I’m not naïve; I
know middle school and high school will be here in a hot second. That’s how
this parenting thing works. The days are long but the years…well the years move
fast.
Lately I’ve
noticed that our family is so busy that the days are flying by and the months
are moving at warp speed. My oldest son is eight and my youngest is five. There
is something about my eight year old that has changed in the last year. I can
see that a big change is upon us. I can see that I am about to get thrown from
the pool into the ocean and I’m terrified.
He’s almost
nine years old. Nine. Yet somehow I can close my eyes and remember the nurse
putting him on my chest like it was yesterday. I can remember his little hand
wrapping around my finger. I can remember whispering to him that I would never
let anything or anyone hurt him, and I meant it. There is a change in the way
both my husband and I treat him now. He has shifted from being a little kid to
a boy. We expect more of him. He has responsibilities around the house. He is
expected to get his homework done or baseball practice will just have to go on
without him. He is expected to clear his plate after dinner. We remind him
about doing his best and making us proud. We tell him not to cry when he is
fighting with his brother about basketball. We tell him to toughen up. We tell him to be
the big brother and give his brother a turn. We tell him not to get angry at
his brother. We tell him not to cry. We flail around in the ocean making
mistakes and hoping that we will be given another chance to learn how to swim.
Today I read
yet another article about a heartbroken mother who lost her son to the epidemic
of heroin. When I tell you it scares me I don’t really think that it accurately
portrays how I worry about it. I know that no matter how much we try to protect
our kids this is the one thing that can reach out and grab them without
discriminating. Drugs don’t care that you took your child to toddler music
classes. Drugs don’t care that your child was gifted in reading. Drugs don’t
care that your child was a soccer, baseball, hockey, dancing, fill in the blank
star. They don’t care. Drugs don’t care that in elementary school your child
had everything going for them. Drugs don’t care that they were in the school
play. Drugs don’t care that you used to be able to talk to them about anything
and everything. Drugs don’t care that at one point you thought your ears were actually
going to fall off from how much your child went on and on and on about anything
and everything. Drugs literally don’t care about your Facebook memories.
Today when
my son came home from school I talked to him for a while about his day. I took
the time to listen. I really listened because if the OK parent in me is being
honest, I don’t always listen. I often multitask. I look through their folders
and empty their lunch boxes all while nodding along to the stories of the day. I give my kids a snack and have them do
homework. I break up fights and tell them to stop crying.
I’ve been
thinking about something a lot lately. Why are we telling our kids not to feel?
Maybe you’re not guilty of this. I am though. I am so guilty of this, only I
didn’t even realize it. It hit me like a ton of bricks that every time we tell
our kids to stop crying, to toughen up, and to stop flipping out over what my
husband and I perceive to be silly, we are in fact telling them to stop
feeling. We are telling them that their emotions are not worthy. Every time
they tell us they are bored we try to fix it. Maybe this is some of the
problem. Maybe. I say this because obviously as I walk slowly into the water
from the beach I can’t possibly already know what the parents out in the deep
are dealing with.
I can’t help
but think that kids need to feel boredom. They need to feel still. They need to
feel the difference between being busy and being relaxed. Our kids need to feel sad. How can they ever
appreciate being happy if we don’t allow them to embrace being sad? We all need
a good cry every now and then. We need it. We are humans. We are meant to feel.
Kids are anxious for a reason. We are telling them to stop. We are telling them
to sit still, to be quiet, and to do their best. Their best? Their best is to
be a kid. Their best is to be curious, anxious, sad, happy, angry, overwhelmed,
silly, loud, and quiet. Their best is to be comfortable with who they are and
know that we, as their parents will embrace them for it. Drugs allow people not to feel, the question
is why are so many people afraid to feel? Let’s allow our kids to feel. Let’s
embrace them for it. I’m not suggesting we allow kids to cry and punch, shout
or laugh through their entire day. I’m suggesting that we allow them to
navigate the baby pool in the best way they know how. I am suggesting that we
allow them to feel scared, that we allow them to admit they don’t know if they
are ready for the deep end and when they do, it may help to tell them that we
didn’t always know how to swim.
