I'm the definition of an expert parent. I've been through every stage. Theoretically, I know my stuff.
In reality, I'm just as clueless as the next parent. Non-parents, those are the people you should ask for advice. They know everything, yet still don't get why you brought your screaming kid to the grocery store in a tutu and a swimsuit at 10 pm. (Because, LIFE!)
Here's what I thought before I had kids. I thought we would have a child and we would mold that child to our exact specifications. No, mold is the wrong word. I pictured it being easier than that. I thought we would sit the child down one day when it could talk, walk, reason and discuss Socrates, so around like 6 or 7 months old. We would carefully and patiently explain to the child that you always say please and thank you, you wash your hands after you go to the bathroom, you never eat sugar, and you act obediently at all times, but especially when your relatives are watching.
Then I thought the child would agree to the terms and conditions, and from that day forward we would have a perfectly behaved little angel because we had been firm and loving and done everything right. If anything did happen to go wrong, there was always the naughty step. Boom, problem solved.
Turns out, babies can't discuss Socrates until after AP English their senior year, and sometimes not even then. And reminding them to say please and thank you isn't a one-time event. You remind them ten million times, and it's not because you're bad, or because they're bad. That's just the Way It Is. But then, to complicate it, you also have to NOT remind them to say please and thank you sometimes, because you're also trying to instill self-motivation. Sounds like something the kid should be able to do himself, right? Yeah, no. The kid is not able to do anything himself, despite being born with a fully-formed personality that is probably defiant, rebellious and extremely intelligent and creative. Go figure.
It's constant, the raising up of a child. Sometimes you let your guard down because you just need a minute to not wipe anyone's anything or tell any pint-sized banshees what to do or not do. That's usually when your kid pees her pants seven times at a family party. Seven. Times. After we bragged about how she was potty trained at 18 months old, too. Of course this was the first child. Do you think we'd have 7 extra pairs of underwear at this point in our parenting career, or brag about potty training? Nope. This was well before it took Araceli until she was 4 to potty train. It was well before the disaster of training Xanthe TO wear a diaper, (because: split pants in China), then trying to reverse that and potty train her a year later. It was well before I potty trained Freestone by strapping him into a potty instead of a carseat on a trip to Vegas. It was back when we were smug in our knowledge that all the good parents read How To Potty Train in One Day, and then do it, with the assistance of apple juice, salty treats and sticker charts. I have to say here that Ruby really did get potty trained in one day. I said, "Here is underwear. You're going to use the toilet from now on." She said, "OK." No sticker chart needed.
Oh, but I've done the sticker charts. Araceli could NOT care less. Xanthe would panic and not be able to function, asking a zillion clarifying questions until I just ripped up the sticker chart with my teeth and burned the pieces. Golda would go all gung-ho and make a chart to chart her progress on the sticker chart, which she would illustrate with flowers and scripture references. At one point, Freestone ate all the stickers on his practice chart.
With kids, you literally have to come up with a play book for each one, and you have to do it as you go. And then as soon as the kid comes in contact with other humans, the rules change. For example, why do all my kids act like starved baboons whenever someone comes to the door? And then what do you do about that afterwards? It gets awkward trying to explain to your child why he is a terrible human being, when he's just acting like a regular kid. There's a fine line between normal behavior and bad behavior. Normal behavior is trying to get attention when your parent is talking to another adult. Bad behavior is peeing on the ground outside the trampolines at Cherry Hill.
Actually, strike that. There's no line. Kids are impulsive, stupid, unrefined, loud, dirty, rambunctious, and they love to talk about poop. And your job as a parent is to somehow crush all those impulses without crushing their spirit. When I dropped Araceli off at junior high, I said, "Be yourself. In moderation." And that's the crux of why it's so grueling and complicated to raise kids. You're essentially trying to do something that's impossible. And yet, you do it. Parents are pretty amazing.
We deserve a sticker chart.
In reality, I'm just as clueless as the next parent. Non-parents, those are the people you should ask for advice. They know everything, yet still don't get why you brought your screaming kid to the grocery store in a tutu and a swimsuit at 10 pm. (Because, LIFE!)
Here's what I thought before I had kids. I thought we would have a child and we would mold that child to our exact specifications. No, mold is the wrong word. I pictured it being easier than that. I thought we would sit the child down one day when it could talk, walk, reason and discuss Socrates, so around like 6 or 7 months old. We would carefully and patiently explain to the child that you always say please and thank you, you wash your hands after you go to the bathroom, you never eat sugar, and you act obediently at all times, but especially when your relatives are watching.
Then I thought the child would agree to the terms and conditions, and from that day forward we would have a perfectly behaved little angel because we had been firm and loving and done everything right. If anything did happen to go wrong, there was always the naughty step. Boom, problem solved.
Turns out, babies can't discuss Socrates until after AP English their senior year, and sometimes not even then. And reminding them to say please and thank you isn't a one-time event. You remind them ten million times, and it's not because you're bad, or because they're bad. That's just the Way It Is. But then, to complicate it, you also have to NOT remind them to say please and thank you sometimes, because you're also trying to instill self-motivation. Sounds like something the kid should be able to do himself, right? Yeah, no. The kid is not able to do anything himself, despite being born with a fully-formed personality that is probably defiant, rebellious and extremely intelligent and creative. Go figure.
It's constant, the raising up of a child. Sometimes you let your guard down because you just need a minute to not wipe anyone's anything or tell any pint-sized banshees what to do or not do. That's usually when your kid pees her pants seven times at a family party. Seven. Times. After we bragged about how she was potty trained at 18 months old, too. Of course this was the first child. Do you think we'd have 7 extra pairs of underwear at this point in our parenting career, or brag about potty training? Nope. This was well before it took Araceli until she was 4 to potty train. It was well before the disaster of training Xanthe TO wear a diaper, (because: split pants in China), then trying to reverse that and potty train her a year later. It was well before I potty trained Freestone by strapping him into a potty instead of a carseat on a trip to Vegas. It was back when we were smug in our knowledge that all the good parents read How To Potty Train in One Day, and then do it, with the assistance of apple juice, salty treats and sticker charts. I have to say here that Ruby really did get potty trained in one day. I said, "Here is underwear. You're going to use the toilet from now on." She said, "OK." No sticker chart needed.
Oh, but I've done the sticker charts. Araceli could NOT care less. Xanthe would panic and not be able to function, asking a zillion clarifying questions until I just ripped up the sticker chart with my teeth and burned the pieces. Golda would go all gung-ho and make a chart to chart her progress on the sticker chart, which she would illustrate with flowers and scripture references. At one point, Freestone ate all the stickers on his practice chart.
With kids, you literally have to come up with a play book for each one, and you have to do it as you go. And then as soon as the kid comes in contact with other humans, the rules change. For example, why do all my kids act like starved baboons whenever someone comes to the door? And then what do you do about that afterwards? It gets awkward trying to explain to your child why he is a terrible human being, when he's just acting like a regular kid. There's a fine line between normal behavior and bad behavior. Normal behavior is trying to get attention when your parent is talking to another adult. Bad behavior is peeing on the ground outside the trampolines at Cherry Hill.
Actually, strike that. There's no line. Kids are impulsive, stupid, unrefined, loud, dirty, rambunctious, and they love to talk about poop. And your job as a parent is to somehow crush all those impulses without crushing their spirit. When I dropped Araceli off at junior high, I said, "Be yourself. In moderation." And that's the crux of why it's so grueling and complicated to raise kids. You're essentially trying to do something that's impossible. And yet, you do it. Parents are pretty amazing.
We deserve a sticker chart.
5 comments:
Yes we do! Love this post soooo much!
Ha ha ha! The description of Golda making a chart to chart her progress on the first chart cracked me up. A sticker chart for parents is great in theory, but who's going to buy the stickers, let alone search the house for paper and pen? Not the kids, that's for sure.
"At one point, Freestone ate all the stickers on his practice chart." Hahaha! being a parent is so much harder than you think it will be!
So funny. I loved that little walk down memory lane. These kids of ours are tricky. It is so fun to see their progress despite our attempts at parenting.
Ha ha this is too funny. I gave up on any parenting strategies except keep them alive.
Post a Comment