After pacing back and forth, feeling overwhelmed, and shedding a few tears, I found solace in a hot shower and a well-deserved glass of wine. Now, I’m ready to dive into the reality of parenting.
Being a parent is a beautiful journey. For about 72.3% of the time, it’s rewarding. Yes, I admit that I sometimes raise my voice and snack my way through stress. A Pop-Tart here and there might not be the healthiest choice, but let’s be real—I haven’t hurt anyone in the process. That’s a win, right?
I often find myself observing other parents and occasionally sharing my thoughts, and yes, I take responsibility for raising these little humans. Counseling may be in their future, but hey, we have a fund set aside for it. Still, they are individuals in their own right, forming opinions and identities that are separate from my own quirks.
One of my children recently played a significant role in a same-sex wedding, while another proudly sports T-shirts supporting a political figure. Yet another has vocal opinions on gun rights that I would never endorse. It’s fascinating how they can diverge so far from the values my partner and I hoped to instill.
For those unfamiliar with my journey, I believed we were exceptional parents, so we welcomed three more children through adoption and foster care. One of them has a tendency to bite—think T-Rex level. Another is endlessly chatty, often making blunt comments like, “Why is your head so big?” or “I only like my baby.”
After dealing with these two, whom we affectionately call the ‘chaos creators,’ I’ve learned to keep quiet during incidents at the zoo, like when a child tumbles into a tiger enclosure. I can already picture the headlines.
I strive to avoid being “that parent,” the one anxiously waiting beside a police car while emergency personnel assess potentially dangerous situations. I often find myself praying and wondering how they even acquired a hot air balloon from a fast-food chain.
I do watch over them. I guide them. I pray for them. I make sure their sandwiches are crustless and that their nails are clipped. Yet, they remain a delightful mess.
My eldest, who is 14, has an incredible talent for music, able to play the piano by ear since she was two. She can sing beautifully—traits I can’t take credit for and honestly find a bit odd. We even sleep with our door locked, half-jokingly fearing her potential mind powers. While we’re proud of her abilities, they are her own, not ours.
In our culture, there’s a tendency to tie parental worth to our children’s successes and failures. When a child misbehaves, it’s often the mom who bears the brunt of judgment. “She really messed that kid up,” they say.
I’ll admit, I probably played a part in shaping their behavior. However, certain traits are inherent, part of who they are from birth. On my bookshelf, you’ll find worn-out books about raising spirited, challenging, and learning-diverse kids. My journals are filled with prayers from a concerned mom navigating this unpredictable journey.
In my heart, I carry the pieces of a woman striving to raise kind, happy, and well-rounded individuals. Despite my hopes and dreams for them, they are their own beings.
Yes, my kids will have their moments of brilliance, but they’ll also stumble along the way. They may cause offense. They might even encounter legal troubles. While I hope for the best, perfection is beyond my reach.
Just the other day at the store, I witnessed a young mother struggling with her child who has special needs. The scene was heart-wrenching as the boy had a meltdown, and the judgmental stares from bystanders only added to her distress. My daughter and I, along with another parent, offered to help her with her purchase and get her son to the car.
As we buckled her son into his seat, she broke down, crying, “I am not a bad mom. I’m doing my best. My boy means everything to me.”
These children, while they are part of us, are also distinct individuals with their own minds and spirits. They each possess unique talents, shortcomings, and paths. One might need medication, another may find themselves in legal trouble, while yet another could discover a cure for illness.
So, I penned this piece for myself and that mother at the store to remind us both: My kids aren’t perfect nor am I. But I am a good parent.
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Summary:
In navigating the chaotic world of parenting, it’s essential to recognize that while we guide our children, they ultimately develop their own identities separate from us. Embracing the messiness of parenthood, we acknowledge that our children will make mistakes, just as we will. It’s crucial to find support and understand that being a good parent doesn’t hinge on our children’s perfection.