Bad Parenting

Last week there was no school on Monday. Tuesday we woke up to a blizzard outside and an email saying school was cancelled. My kids were thrilled, we love snow days. The day started great: I made pancakes and bacon and let them stay in their pajamas, but as the day went on it turned less fun. All three of us took turns being cranky and short with each other. One of the kids cried at least every hour and I was constantly getting blamed for their unhappiness (you won't let me have candy, why can't I do this, etc.). In a last ditch effort to save the day I bundled up with them and we had a snowball fight, but of course that ended in frozen fingers and sadness. My oldest kept saying he wished daddy was home and my youngest wished grandma could come over. So at the end of our cooped up bonus day home I felt like a terrible mother.

I often get stuck in my head second guessing and doubting but especially when it comes to how I am raising my kids. I just so badly want to do it right. I was a straight A student, always turned in my assignments on time, and followed directions well. I wish parenting could be as clearly defined as school. I would love to know exactly what I need to do, and when I have done it a gold star by my name would be great.

I let my kids have a piece of candy or a sweet every day, once a week I put a frozen pizza in the oven and call it dinner, I let my kids play video games or play on the tablet for an hour each day (more on Saturdays when I want to sleep in), I worry about them, sometimes I hover, sometimes I let them do things other parents wouldn't, sometimes I lose my temper and yell, sometimes I push them too much with my high expectations, sometimes I don't push them enough and enjoy babying them, I haven't devoted enough time to teaching them how to ride a bike, I say no when they ask me to play video games with them, I tell them about things happening in the world that might frighten or worry them, I give them processed foods for snacks and I only buy organic when it is on sale. Before I had kids I thought I would teach them a foreign language before they turned 5 … I haven't. Some of those things will seem like terrible parenting decisions to some and some will seem like parenting wins to others.

Next I could list things I am proud of, but who even knows what that is because every single decision can be criticized, picked apart and in hind sight seem like a bad one. Trying to always do everything right is very hard. On that snow day when the kids and I were all getting frustrated my oldest said “I get mad at myself because I want to be perfect at everything.” That crushed me. I felt guilty that maybe he picked that up from me. I also felt so much compassion for him and wanted badly for him to know how much he is loved unconditionally.

When my husband and I traveled to England for ten days last summer it was our first time being away from the kids and stepping out of my everyday situation gave me the opportunity to reflect on it. I was well-rested, relaxed and in the moment. I told myself “this is how I need to be.” This is who my kids want. They want me to be myself … relaxed and in the moment, not trying to predict all the mistakes I am making that they will tell their therapist about 30 years from now.

But life happens, we get tired, we get frustrated and we get caught up in trying to do everything right. The other day I was talking to a mom that I think is great. Her kid is kind, intelligent and well-spoken. In fact, everyone that knows him says these things about him. She is great at her job and a great mother. She casually mentioned a conversation she had with some other moms about how they all felt like bad mothers. It surprised me because of course she isn't a bad mother. I guess we are all just trying our best and then trying even harder to be ok with that.

I thought about that, went home, decided we were making our own pizzas that night, let the kids put pretzels and goldfish on their pizzas, carried dinner downstairs and let them watch tv while we ate. We left the mess downstairs to deal with later. And we were all happy …

Pita Bread and Family

     A couple of days before Christmas my brother and I decided to make a Lebanese feast from scratch using our great grandmother's cookbook and following all of the notes she and our grandmother added in the margins. There were some hiccups along the way. First we could not find everything we needed for our ambitious plan. My brother, now used to living in New York City was surprised at not being able to find any ingredient imaginable within one block. Nevertheless, we donned our aprons (I wore a bright red apron with giant cat faces and Santa hats while my brother got a handmade one with gingerbread people on it). We followed the directions carefully, except for that I don't eat red meat so ground turkey would have to do in place of lamb, and by dinner time the house smelled like Tita's and everything was ready to eat … except the pita bread. We did not account for all of the many phases of pounding, kneading and wrapping in various bedding that were involved. By the time the bread was finished my kids were in bed and we were slap happy as we pulled out a ridiculous number of round loaves from the oven. Our mom mostly watched from the dining room, but she did help fan the door when the smoke alarm went off.

     Some time later as I was throwing the hardened extra bread that never got eaten outside for the birds I wondered why we went through all the trouble. But I also smiled remembering my brother punching the dough, his twerking demonstrations/tutorial and the barrage of personal questions he was compelled to answer held hostage in my kitchen and it seemed like time well spent.

    My brother has changed a lot over the years as have I and we do not get to see each other often. Sometimes I felt overwhelmed by how little time we had to catch up on so much time. Sometimes I had to remind myself he is that same guy I used to carry on my hip and take for walks in the stroller because he has changed so much. Maybe that is why we wanted to cook from our Tita's cookbook. No matter how much has changed, no matter how far apart we live and how much I dislike talking on the phone- we have a shared story. We lead such different lives and yet we share this same history.

In addition to the time with my brother and mom I also spent a lot of time with my in laws this Christmas and it all got me thinking about family. Family is something that I think about a lot but do not write about or talk about much with strangers as it can be so complicated and it feels like I am telling other people's stories that are theirs for the telling. Of course I am referring not to my own two children, but the family from which I come.

     As I was unpacking the other day and reflecting on the great trip we had visiting family I took notice of my travel make-up bag. I thought about how much I have used it and what a great gift it was so many years ago, but I couldn't share that with the gift giver today. That is as far as I will go with details, but it got me thinking about how complicated families can be. People move away, they surround themselves with new people, have different experiences, learn different things, perspectives change and yet here we are in relationship with these people who knew us before all of that and who may now be very different from us. Over the years hurts can build up, resentments, secrets and assumptions, but also laughter, love, memories, shared trauma and gratitude. Sometimes I wonder if we all just want to know that we are proud of each other.

     Deep relationships are dangerous territory and yet the joy I feel when I see my children developing a brotherly bond with each other is indescribable. I love when my kids roar with laughter as my dad tells them his childhood stories, I love that when we arrived in another state with cousins they hadn't seen in a long time they immediately started playing together and wanted to be together every second. I love that my mother in law watches the Marco Polo videos I send her of the kids over and over and over again. I love that my sister in law and I never had a lull in our conversations. My heart melted when my youngest came into the living room and curled up on his great-grandmother's lap. And I love that my kids think spending time with my mom is better than Chuck E. Cheese.

     Like making pita bread from scratch, maintaining relationships usually takes longer than is convenient. And being family with another person goes through ups and downs … phases. Sometimes it hurts and doesn't seem worth it but then you realize that it was never about the end product, but rather it was about the mutual growth it took to get there.