If I were to create a list of activities I find less than enjoyable, it would surely feature kneeling on hard floors and engaging with toys that have likely been marinating in a mix of germs.
Recently, my radiant daughter, with her sparkling eyes, excitedly asked me—after a grueling sixteen hours of being awake—if I wanted to join her in a hairstyling game while she luxuriated in the tub. The truth? No, I really didn’t want to play that game, especially considering I was feeling rather off. Thanks for the offer, sweetheart!
The mere thought of getting down on my aching knees to the chilly bathroom floor and running my fingers through Mermaid Barbie’s probably germ-infested hair made me want to conjure up some excuse to escape. Surely there were towels to fold or dishes to wash—or maybe I could just pretend I had a sudden urge to stab my eyeball with a hot poker. Yet, sometimes you have to step up as the adult, regardless of your mood.
I know I let my kids down now and then, especially since I’m the parent who still kisses them in public and refuses to let them tattoo their faces before family gatherings. However, I genuinely want them to see me as more fun than I may actually be, smarter than they might think, and genuinely interested in their endless chatter about Minecraft mods or bracelet-braiding techniques—more than is mentally healthy for anyone, really.
It wasn’t until I unleashed my kids upon my own mother that I noticed her impatience with little ones. Not in a cruel way, but more in a “your patience filter wears thin after 60 years” kind of manner. As a child, I had no clue she was like this. My memories are filled with her patiently waiting while I made my selections at the library, expertly untangling anything that knotted, and smiling as I helped her bake treats. She was the embodiment of patience, standing by like a watchful bird, ready to fly off to her next task when the moment arose.
Looking back, I realize that in her silence, she may have been yearning for the freedom to pursue her own interests instead of being tied to mine. From driving me to activities that now I know bored her to tears to ensuring that every birthday and holiday included gifts from my favorite cartoon characters, she crafted a world filled with cherished memories that she, too, appreciated.
And for that, I am more grateful than I can express.
So, that evening, as I gazed at my daughter, eagerly awaiting my response with a long-haired mermaid doll in each hand, surrounded by the fluffy bubbles I had created with my special claw technique, I smiled. I pushed aside my impatience, disinterest, and exhaustion, and said, “Of course, I’d love to, my sweet girl!”
It’s why, for the next thirty minutes, I ignored the pain in my knees while styling mohawks, updos, and side ponytails by the tub. It’s why, the next morning, I taught myself how to French braid the messy red locks of an Ariel doll with a fading eye so that I’d be ready to say “Yes” again the next time she invites me to our special bath-time hairstyling game.
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Summary
Parenting often involves moments of sacrifice and discomfort, as illustrated by a mother’s reluctance to engage in a hair-styling game with her daughter. Reflecting on her own upbringing, she recognizes the efforts of her mother in creating joyful memories, which inspires her to embrace her role as a parent, despite her personal challenges.
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