Imperfect Parenting
Shortly after having my first baby, I decided I was going to be
the perfect parent. I immediately began to keep an intelligent
library of child-rearing books on my nightstand and would
replenish the stock as each book was absorbed into my
sub-consciousness and checked off the "read" list. My fixation
on perfection was evident. The bookstore clerks began to call me
by name. My bank statement regularly presented the preference
for my local Borders Bookstore and my husband was consistently
reminded of my expertise on the subject from my readily
available corrections and helpful tips. When the matriarchs of
my family tree would enlighten me with the sage advice of "I
made my mistakes and you will make yours", I would nod in
agreement simply to humor them and pay respect for the
admittance of their parental blunders. But, I reassured myself
that there was no way I would let "mistakes" creep into my role
as mother. My children would be raised seamlessly, with nary a
flaw, and would grow up to raise their children perfectly
because of my initiatives toward diligent parenting. I was on a
glorious roll until my firstborn learned to draw.
Revelation #1 came when my son was in his darling fourth year.
This is the year where children begin to draw stick figures,
flowers, and houses with smoked coming out of the chimney. My
firstborn was no different. I was so pleased when I came across
a sketch that my son had drawn of the pleasant panoramic
rendition of our front yard. It had such pleasing detail,
including a whispy, three-tiered, warm smiling sun and two
overly tall flowers, surely symbolizing my sweet one's love for
the beauty in his life. The house had a slightly rounded roof
which I was sure represented the gentle parenting he received;
the lack of sharp edges, a sign of the warmth emulated within my
son's nurturing home environment. Frilly curtains aligned the
cheery open windows. And then...I noticed the stick figure. It
seemed that my dear boy must have made a mistake on it, since it
was slightly scribbled. Nevertheless, I searched throughout the
house to find the young lad to elaborate on how wonderful a
picture he had drawn. I found him, lavishly praised his
creativity and then inquired about the stick figure. "It's you,
Mom." I then asked if he had made a mistake on it due to the
excessive lines. With head down, he grinned and announced that
it wasn't scribbled "It's you on fire, Mom". Shock! Disbelief! I
asked him "why" and he just giggled. I decided not to make a big
deal out of it and instead told him it was a great picture
anyway, but, oh dear, the tumultuous thoughts that began racing
through my bewildered head would not quiet! I acted on the
notion of tormented child syndrome immediately and phoned a few
family members, who also thought it rather humorous and
dismissed any negative connotations. Thankfully, I also spoke
with a friend (who happens to be a psychologist) and he informed
me that it was not that my son had pyromaniac tendencies, nor
did he wish me in harm's way, it was simply a common way for a
child to express himself when mad at a parent. Earlier in the
day, my son was forbidden a third cookie at Grammy's house and
mom's nastiness at the sweet omission warranted a good ring of
fire about my humble likeness as a stick figure.
The evidence of childhood displeasure is bad enough when
relinquished in the confinements of your own home. It is when
the disclosure is made to the public that leaves a mom a bit
sheepish. And, might I add, it is an experience that every
self-congratulatory mom should experience. Revelation #2 came
earlier this autumn month while in 1st grade. The students were
instructed to decorate a pre-drawn vehicle which represented
their transportation home after school. The choices were school
bus or car. My son, being the mom-taxi'd lad that he is, chose
the car. I stumbled upon this visual when I had come to school
to assist the students in making apple pies. There I was behind
the wheel, a side profile of mom with long chunky red hair, a
big, bold blue eyeball and a big, blood-red...for everyone to
see...frowny face. Lovely! I guess for popularity's sake among
the class (teacher included) I should try to refrain from
excessive morning scoldings toward my son's tail-dragging
tendencies.
Luckily I have grounded myself to realize that my mother and
grandmother are right. I will make mistakes and even if I do
not, my children are going to find times to under appreciate my
mothering skills. The more I live this crazy life of a mom, I
realize that books are great to fall back on but they are not a
valid substitution for the actual experiences of being a mother.
We are three-dimensional beings with emotions; we are not a one
dimensional black and white paperback devoid of erroneous zones.
In fact, there are times when you may want to launch the
clever-beyond-years, all-knowing text book through your front
room window. And even when you do follow all the educated and
researched wisdom, you will find that for every book you read
there is another one with conflicting advice from PhD's and MD's
that will still keep you guessing at your adequacy of a parent.
In the meantime, until your kids have children of their own,
they are not going to forgive you when you leave them with a new
babysitter for the first time nor will they excuse your
uncoolness of not letting them leave the house without shoes,
play near edges where they may fall or hook up with society's
possible law-breaking citizen of the future. As well, you will
make mistakes. There will be times when you think your child is
exaggerating to get out of dishes...right before he projectiles
dinner across your kitchen floor. Your motherly attention scale
will surely go off balance toward one sibling leaving the other
miffed and brooding. And yes, in this day of 'spare the rod'
mentality, you may very well retract your arm and release a
swift whack on a well-padded diapered butt. But, in the end, if
your goal and desire is to love and nurture your children the
best you can, surely you will not deviate too far off the path
of good and crash into failure.
Being a mother can be construed as one of those thankless jobs
in life. But, luckily it is also a role of delayed
gratification. For all the time and energy you are putting into
raising your child into the near perfect specimen of a human,
you, nor they, will fully know the result of your diligence
until they become adults. You will receive a few more
long-awaited thank you's from your kids as they start
fine-tuning their own parenting skills. You will be able to see
and feel great about your obvious contributions toward their
success and forgive yourself for your perceived errors that
contribute toward their flaws. It is then that you can sit back
and think to yourself, Wow! My child has become a great person
because of me...and in spite of me!