Some days, I really think I have this mom thing down pat. I'm reading good books with the boys. I'm cooking meals with chicken and lots of veggies, all organic. I'm going outside and throwing the football around instead of watching TV. Yeah, man, I'm killing it.
And then some days, I totally muck it up.
Like, for real.
I had one of those days on Wednesday. Alex and I were getting the boys ready for school, and since it was a brisk 42 degrees outside, I thought Jackson should wear pants. Jackson begged to differ.
Normally, school clothes aren't a big deal in our house. As long as the boys wear what I suggest (i.e. require) on the first day and picture day, I'm pretty open to what they wear the rest of the year. That's not really a battle I want to fight every day. Plus, I'm a time freak, so I'm way more concerned about getting everybody out the door on time. As long as we pull out of the driveway by exactly 7:09, I can overlook the fact that the dinosaur shirt one of the boys has on doesn't quite match those plaid shorts he picked out.
That being said, I have no real, clear explanation for why Wednesday morning became a showdown, but I was bound and determined Jackson was going to wear pants instead of shorts. It was like the more he complained, the more I dug my heels in. I'm nothing if not stubborn.
This standoff had been going on for a few minutes when I realized I was stuck.
Because truth be told, at this point, I didn't really care what he wore, I just wanted to get to school on time. But I worried that if I let him change clothes, I would be giving in and opening a door that meant anytime he wanted his way, he would know he could just throw a fit and if he held out long enough, Mom would give in. I was paranoid that I would be setting a precedent that would encourage him to buck authority for the rest of his life, ultimately leading him to a life of crime. I'm nothing if not melodramatic.
So instead of giving in, I left Jackson whining in the kitchen while I calmly walked away to finish get dressed, thinking surely he'd eventually give up and keep on the pants.
But he didn't.
And that's when I lost it.
I stormed into the kitchen and got right down on his level, you know, like all the good parenting books suggest, and yelled something along the lines of, "I don't give a crap what you wear. Freeze if you want." Let's be honest, that's exactly what I yelled, as I flung the shorts at his feet. Pretty sure you won't find that strategy recommended in one of John Rosemond's newspaper columns.
The guilt immediately washed over me, knocking me down and making me feel like the crap I had just been yelling about. This whole situation started because I didn't want to look like a bad mom who let her son wear shorts to school on a cold day, but I ended up being a bad mom who yells at her son, making him cry for real.
I quickly apologized for my reaction, we hugged, and Jackson headed off to school (in shorts), excited about the day ahead . . . but I was still shaken.
My whole ride to school was a never-ending stream of questions- Why did I (over)react like that? What if Jackson hates me forever? What horrible behaviors did I teach him in that moment? What if I die on the way to school and that's the last memory Jackson has of me? Why all this drama over two extra feet of fabric? Why is parenting so hard?
Wouldn't it be great if there were some sort of boot camp for parents at every stage of development? The facilitators would put you in these role play scenarios, and you'd have to figure out what to do, what to say, how to react. That way, when the same situation really occurred, you'd be ready to handle it calmly and gracefully.
When I got to school, I was still upset over my reaction, so I texted Alex. He replied, "Jack knows your love lasts longer than a temporary angry outburst." Man, I sure hope so. And I am so glad I have Alex's calm to balance out my crazy.
This whole thing made me realize parenting is a lot like the roller coasters the boys and I rode at the fair this week. The ups and downs. The highs and lows. The fear and the courage involved in both. You step into the car, wondering if you're even going to survive the ride. One minute things are going uphill, you're full of excitement, waving your hands in the air. The next thing you know, you're racing downhill, hanging on for dear life, hoping you don't get sick. You know the track will level out again, but there's really not a lot of time to stop and recover your wits before the next series of twists and turns.
But here's the thing about riding a roller coaster . . . you never do it alone. There are always other people along for the ride. As parents, we are all connected too, bolted together like the cars of a roller coaster, sharing in ups and downs. Most of the time, we're learning on the fly with little time to practice beforehand. The important thing is that we learn from our mistakes. If we're willing to share the good and the bad with each other, we can form our own kind of boot camp, complete with sage advice from parents who have already ridden the roller coaster a few times before.
When I picked Jackson up from school on Wednesday, he voluntarily held my hand all the way to the car, chattering about his day, happy as a clam. I've gotta tell you, I was so relieved he didn't hate me, I almost started crying for the second time that day. Parenting is not for the faint of heart. It can be frustrating and rewarding, exhausting and exciting, sometimes all in a matter of a few minutes. But as I looked down at that little hand in mine, I knew that even with its ups and downs, twists and turns, parenting is the best roller coaster in town.
