In reflecting on my childhood, I find myself considering three possibilities: (A) my upbringing was remarkably positive, (B) the Sun-In I used on my hair may have affected my cognitive abilities, or perhaps (C) my parents managed the demands of parenting with far greater poise than I do now.
This contemplation often arises during my moments of maternal stress. The typical sequence is as follows:
- I step into the house.
- My 6-year-old bombards me with a rapid-fire series of questions: “What’s for dinner? Can we have mac and cheese? By the way, you forgot to send in money for the class winter celebration today, and Riley took my Rainbow Loom!”
- My 10-year-old pipes up, “I hate mac and cheese! Can we have chicken instead? That’s my Rainbow Loom, not hers! And she punched me! I forgot to tell you I need poster board for my project tomorrow!”
- My partner mentions a last-minute work meeting and informs me he has to leave in 15 minutes.
In an instant, chaos erupts. The children are screaming at each other, I’m raising my voice in frustration, and my partner is chastising me for raising my voice at the kids.
Reflecting on my own upbringing, I don’t recall my parents facing such turmoil. They both worked full-time yet managed to raise children without the luxuries of the internet or smartphones. I didn’t have the option to text them for a ride home; instead, they trusted I’d be waiting outside Roller Palace at 9 PM as promised. Family dinners were a daily occurrence that didn’t require a microwave, and clothes shopping was a seasonal endeavor that didn’t involve a phone for entertainment while we waited.
Despite lacking the conveniences I now have, my parents never appeared overwhelmed by the daily chaos. So, why do I feel like I’m on the verge of a breakdown? With all these modern resources at my disposal, why am I so frazzled?
What will my children remember about their upbringing? Will they recall the times I cried out of sheer overwhelm? The moments I lost my temper? Or will they remember my unconditional love, my ability to make them laugh daily, and the cuddles we shared?
Will my daughter cherish the early mornings we spent watching the royal wedding together, or the whimsical Barbie wedding I organized? Will she fondly recall my playful April Fool’s Day pranks? For my son, will he remember the excitement of hearing Nirvana for the first time with me? Will he recall my enthusiastic cheers at every baseball game, even during the sweltering playoffs? Will he remember the day we jumped into the ocean together when he wanted to try snorkeling, or how I helped him back to the boat when he got tired?
I may never achieve the calm and collected parenting style I aspire to, and I might not shield my children from witnessing my struggles. However, I am dedicated to ensuring their childhood is filled with joyful memories, and I hope these experiences are what they hold dear.
Yet, just in case, I have a hidden stash of Sun-In ready for their teenage years.
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In summary, motherhood is a journey filled with both challenges and cherished moments. While I may not have all the answers, my commitment to creating joyful experiences for my children remains unwavering.