Updated: June 1, 2017
Originally Published: August 18, 2015
In contemplating the less enjoyable aspects of life, I often find myself dreading tasks such as kneeling on unforgiving surfaces or engaging with toys that have likely been contaminated by unseen germs. Recently, my delightful daughter, with her sparkling eyes, brightened my day when she asked if I would join her in a hairstyling game while she relaxed in the tub.
To be honest, the last thing I wanted to do was engage in that activity. After a long day, I was feeling a bit under the weather. However, the enthusiasm in her voice made me reconsider. The thought of bending my stiff knees to the cool bathroom floor and styling a Mermaid Barbie’s potentially germ-ridden hair was less than appealing. I could easily concoct an excuse—perhaps chores awaited or I could claim I had an injury—but sometimes, being a grown-up means pushing through discomfort.
I recognize that I probably let my children down from time to time, whether it’s by showing affection in public or denying them the chance to get tattoos before family gatherings. Yet, I aspire for them to view me as more fun than I might be, more knowledgeable than they assume, and genuinely interested in their endless chatter about Minecraft mods or bracelet-making—much more than is healthy for anyone.
It wasn’t until I handed my children over to my mother that I grasped her own impatience with kids. It wasn’t malicious but rather a reflection of her experience over sixty years. As a child, I only remembered her endless patience—waiting for me to choose the perfect books at the library, expertly untangling any knot, and encouraging me during our baking sessions. She was always present but perhaps silently longing to pursue her own interests as well.
From driving me to events that likely bored her to tears to ensuring every birthday and holiday included gifts from my beloved cartoon characters, my mother created cherished memories that she enjoyed just as much as I did. I appreciate her efforts more than words can express.
This understanding is why, on that particular evening, I looked down at my daughter, who was holding two long-haired mermaids surrounded by the fluffy bubbles I had created, and smiled. I decided to push aside my impatience, fatigue, and disinterest to say, “Of course, darling!” I spent the next half-hour crafting mohawks, updos, and side ponytails by the tub. The following morning, I even taught myself how to French braid the tangled hair of an Ariel doll with a faded eye, preparing myself for the next time she requests our special hairstyling game during bath time.
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Summary:
Navigating the challenges of parenthood often requires putting aside personal discomfort to engage with our children. Despite the physical strains and moments of disinterest, embracing these connections can create lasting memories. Reflecting on my own childhood helps me appreciate the efforts of my mother and encourages me to be more present for my daughter, even when I’d rather not.