The Perfect Parent

I was lurking on a parenting web board today that I used to frequent quite a bit and one of the threads on there got me thinking. Mostly that I'm glad I don't post there anymore. The original post could be paraphrased as "I'm a bad mommy because I yell at my kids and I'm trying to stop, please help me." She actually said in the title "bad mommy alert". Insert MAJOR eyeroll here. Whatever. Since when does it make you a bad parent if you yell at your kids? I agree that using a raised voice for every little transgression will probably backfire on you in the long run on the discipine front. But sometimes you just can't get your child's attention any other way.

So... between hush-hush parenting, the spanking-is-abuse camp and the self-esteem police, most of us are apparently in big trouble and our children are destined to fail as human beings. I'm not saying that we should reverse whatever parenting archetype we are working with and put our kids down, or spank them or shriek at them every time they get out of line, but are we supposed to be our child's best friend? Repeat after me, gang: NO. We... are ... the ... parents. Granted, none of us is perfect and we all regret some of the things that we do with regard to our children. I'd even venture to say it's okay to feel guilty if you yell at your kids for no apparent reason (which I'm ashamed to say, I've done on more than one occasion). But we are human beings and we're raising humans not automatons. And human beings have emotions: good and bad.

This brings me to the gist of the thought process that this poor, idealistic (and somewhat deluded) mommy stirred up in my brain... the Perfect Parent. That's what we all set out to be. From even before we have kids, and through each step of parenthood (up until we actually have to live through a particular stage with all involved parties coming out alive) we have a set of rules (conscious and subconscious) that we think we are going to live by. Rules that will make us a better parent then our own were:

HAH!

is what I say to that.

You already know the rules. They started being invented when we were children ourselves.

1) I'll never make my kids eat brussel sprouts.
2) My kids will be allowed to stay up late every night and watch rated R movies.

These are the easy ones to laugh off, but as you got older, the rules got more complex:

3) I'll never buy a minivan like Mom's (complex because you won't know you want it until you need it, and by then you might need a church van).
4) I won't ever use the TV as a babysitter (yeah right...talk to me again after you havent showered for four days straight).
5) I'll never yell at my kids.
6) I'll never spank my kids.
7) I'll never.
8) I'll never.

I guess the point I'm trying to make is that we simply can't BE the perfect parent who lives up to all of these hare-brained rules. Like I said before... until you are in that moment, and living that particular situation, you can't possibly know what you will do. It's much better to treat the Perfect Parent rules that you set up like the Pirate Code... not so much of a code and more of a guideline~ if you dont know what I'm talking about you haven't been to the movies in far too long... but I digress.

The bottom line is: You can't call yourself a bad parent for undermining your sense of parenting idealism, by actually behaving like a human. And you can't let your Perfect Parent Code get in the way of actually parenting. And you're not going to hell for yelling at your kids every once in awhile.

The Soccer Mom Mystique

I am a Soccer Mom. For 5 1/4 seasons I have held this title (among others) along with millions of other moms around the world. And to those in the world who aren't Soccer Moms... there is this air of mystery about those of us who are. It's like all those anti-Soccer Moms out there are wondering how the hell they can avoid meeting the same fate. "My kid plays Little League and I spend all my time driving Davy to his games and practices, but at least I'm not a Soccer Mom (shudder)". Or even more frequently: "I'm never having kids because there's no way I'm going to ever be one of those!" Being a Soccer Mom is now as big of a cliche as being an 80's Yuppie in the world of the 2K-oughts. I know that sounds melodramatic, but think about it for a minute. Even I remember thoughts like these passing through my brain at various points in my life. I had similar thoughts about mini-vans. And yet, here I am.

There seems to be this idea that the woman whose kid plays soccer somehow lacks the feminine mystique, the je ne sais quoi, that other women possess (or at least think they possess). What we seem to represent is the total sellout to convention and old-fashioned expectations of women and mothers. We (apparently) cannot possibly be a Soccer Mom and still maintain the image of What We Used to Be. Take as an example a recent commercial for the Nissan Quest (I think it was). The bottom line was "if you want to be the cool soccer mom on the team, you need this car". As if there's no way you could achieve any level of hip-ness without it. Stifler's mom you are not.

And why is that? What's wrong with us Soccer Moms that women dread the day that they will be initiated into the fold, rather than enjoying the fact that soccer is (usually) fun for our kids and great for their bodies and minds? Heck, you might be nurturing the next David Beckham or Mia Hamm. Okay, probably not, but even if you're not... you're obviously a cool mom because you care enough about your kid that you are willing to be one of those in order to broaden his or her horizons. Doesn't that count for anything? It totally counts. And I have bad news for those of you who believe that you aren't One Of Us, just because your kid plays baseball or plays in the band or runs track or does drama.

The truth is that it doesn't matter what activity your kid does. If you are a devoted follower of that activity and your child's Number One Fan, you are a Soccer Mom. Soccer was just lucky enough to be picked as the activity to label the so-called "cliche" mom. Probably because most of us in White-Picket-Fence-ville have kids who have or will have played soccer at some point in their lives. It's the American way, right?

I think there's something about the Soccer Mom which elevates her to the next level in the parenting corporate structure. It's like getting promoted from mail clerk to mail manager or something like that. There's nothing wrong with being a mail manager and there's nothing wrong with being a Soccer Mom. As a Soccer Mom, you get to watch your kid do something that truly doesn't involve you. You can cheer them on from the sidelines, which as parents, we should do through the whole of their lives right? It's a step in the right direction... the way you want your kids to go. To live and play, with you right off to the side screeching encouragement. That's the way it should be...

We're all Soccer Moms.

A Beautiful Day Makes a Beautiful Yard... (maybe)

Ahhhhh... the sun is shining! At last! The warm air has arrived. I couldn't be happier. I almost feel like I could head outside and mow the lawn. Almost, but not quite. It doesn't matter though because my body feels nice and warm for the first time in weeks. I'm truly grateful. I might even dance (but probably not).

This weekend promises to be perfect. Mid-70s and sunny. In short, gorgeous. So, FINALLY the big task has become MULCH the YARD. KILL the WEEDS. MAKE the yard BEE-YOOTiful. Really exciting stuff...but it will look good when it's done. There are 50 bags of mulch stacked up next to my house waiting patiently to be laid out. They've been there for more than month. With any luck, they will have killed the grass underneath them so I can make a new plant bed. I'm dreaming of peonies and lilacs and other beautiful flowers that I'm sure I'll kill within a week. But a girl can dream, right?

I just can't wait to get at it...mainly because I won't be the one who has to get the get-go going. If you think I've mowed a lawn in the last 15 years, you're crazy. I'm not even sure I know how to turn one on. That's how bad it is. If you think I am capable of dragging a 3 cubic foot bag of mulch across a yard, think again. Okay, maybe one, but no more. However, I must admit I'm a mean hand at killing those weeds. Squeeze, spray. Squeeze, spray. Spurge, clover, dandelions... tremble in fear. I'm on my way out... Hey, it helps, right?... Right?... Hello? Okay, fine, maybe not...

There comes a time in every housewife's life when getting the job done means delegation. If that means hubby humps the mulch bag, then great. Or if writing a check gets your lawn mowed, even better. I'm not ashamed to admit that while I'll do anything around the house, around the house is not my forte.

Here's rule number 2 in the Guide:

Housewives manage the house, but under no circumstances should they be expected to do everything. Delegate, delegate.

We must protect our manicures along with our offspring, right?

Who knows though? I just might mow that lawn anyway. What the heck?

American Idol: Parenting 101

I just want to take a moment to talk about Sanjaya Malakar. But from a slightly different point of view. It's the simple truth that he's got minimal talent and just didn't belong on a show like American Idol...even if you remember past puppy dogs like Kevin Covais, John Stevens and Jasmine Trias. There's always one, every year.

However, I've never seen one of them inspire so much controversy as poor Sanjaya. People boycotted the show over him. WTH? For me, I watched every week in fascination as he continued to warble out his cheeseball song choices. And my personal admiration for him grew. At the beginning of the Top 12 competition, my heart bled, not for him, but for his mother. I cannot imagine how hard it must have been to watch him and then listen to the criticism he faced each week. It takes a strong momma to sit back and watch anyone belittle your child for any reason. And she had to watch the whole country turn him into a whipping boy. If it were me, I'd have been begging in my heart for him to get voted off the show.

The thing is though...he outlasted more criticism than any other competitor that I can remember. And he did it with his head held high. It's like the ultimate gauntlet run. On the one side you have the tomahawks and the bolas and whatever other weapons they choose to use. On the other side you've got the ones rooting you on, forcing you through the lineup. And he came out the other end. I'm sure he made his momma proud.

It's a perfect example of what we have to do...we have to let our children live their lives. No matter how hard it is for us. We may know in our hearts that they will fail (but even then they may surprise us). Or we may not be sure, but it's not up to us to make the choices for them. All we can do is hope we gave them the tools to make the right choices.

So, anyway. I say Sanjaya scored one on the masses. And he didn't have to win the competition to do it.

This Teacher Didn't Teach

When I was a little girl, I used to pretend that I was a teacher and I used to dream that that was what I would do when I finally grew up. That was the only job I could think of that I wanted to do. I even taught my little sister how to read when she was four. We had a chalkboard and "lesson plans" and everything. To me teaching was the perfect job, because every kid knows...kids are awesome...so what better way to spend the day, than head to head with a room full of kids? The one thing I failed to see was that if I was going to be the teacher, I wasn't going to be one of the kids anymore. And as a grownup, it's a whole different ball of wax being in a room with 26 rambunctious youngsters. I admire and respect those hearty souls who do manage to do it, but I am the first to admit that it's not for me. This was the first serious career decision I ever made: nope, not going to be a teacher.

That being said, every so often, it's loads of fun to spend some time in the classroom. Especially if it's your own child's classroom. Take this morning, for instance...

First, a little explanation: There is an organization in our area that sponsors a supplemental art instruction program at the local schools. Each month a parent volunteer (or two) teaches a lesson on the work of a particular artist or genre. Then there is a project which goes along with the lesson. We do eight of these lessons per year in every grade at the Big One's school. This is my big chance to play teacher again. And the beauty of it is...it's outside the curriculum, so if all they take away from it is the name of the artist and maybe a memory of fun, then we as the "teachers" have done our job. It's the ultimate job for the teaching enthusiast-with-no-experience.

Back to today...this month's lesson was about ARCHITECTURE. I did not teach the lesson, but I was there to set up the project and help wrangle the heathens into submission. After a lovely presentation on the gothic, neoclassic and modern (among other) styles of architecture...the children came pouring out of their classroom into the pod. After a nearly futile ten minute scramble to organize the kids into groups of four (which, by the way, were already assigned before they came out of the class), we managed to get them settled down to their project: each group must design an elementary school~ front, back and two sides elevations. If you've never tried to explain an elevation to a second grader, it's much harder than you might think. Especially when you throw in the mix the plaintive cries of "all of our pencils are broken"... and "where can I put the pool table?"... and "can we draw whatever we want?". So much for the 20 minute presentation. Well, long story short...I don't think we've discovered the next Frank Lloyd Wright or Eero Saarinen, but it was still loads of fun seeing what the kids managed to produce.

Here's the point I want to make: Even though teaching is not something that I feel I would be good at...there is a level of satisfaction that comes from being part of the crazy mix in the classroom. Knowing the kids, letting them get to know you. Spending time admiring their work, correcting mistakes, guiding their creativity. It's more than satisfaction...it's a privilege to be able to be so involved. And the school/teacher spend all their time thanking me (what's that about anyway?). As a parent, there is so much to be gained from these little opportunities. It's allowing yourself the chance to take a peek into the world your child enters almost every day of her (or his) life. Just being a part of the class dynamic for an hour can give you more insight into your child's life than a weekend spent in their sole company. There is a chance to learn all sorts of things about your own child, about her friends, about her teacher, and about the school.

You can pretend all you want that you are the teacher, but the one who's really learning is you.

High Winds and Mental Health

Brrrr. Spring has yet to sprung here. I'm freezing my patootie off today. And I'm falling over dead tired. I think Mr. Edgar Allen Poe said it best:

"Once upon a midnight dreary,
while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping,
suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered,
`tapping at my chamber door -Only this, and nothing more.'"

"Visitor" and "gently"...like hell. Try wind gusts so strong that two of my deck chairs ended up at the other end of the backyard. For the whole night. And going strong as I type. And apparently that's nothing compared to what we're supposed to get later on. I hope my trees survive. I hope my roof survives. I hope my sanity survives.

The girls and I are taking a mental health day today. After a night such as the one past, I think that I (at least) deserve it. And Shorty too. Poor little thing screeched her way through much of the night. Who can blame her? Her window is front and center on the mosh pit that our deck must have been during the night. And what a concert, too. The wind plays some mean guitar, I can tell you. And the exhaust fan damper plays a mean bass drum.

So it's now 11:29 am. We are still in our PJs with no intention of changing that any time soon. I've gotten two things accomplished so far today. I turned on Roomba in the dining room (cookie crumbs are hell on carpet) and I started this blog. I'm on fire.

Take it from me, though...lesson number one in the Guide should always be:

"The mental health of your self and all those around you is paramount to a successful career in home management."

These days can be bliss, if the wind doesn't get knocked out of you.