The Art of Parenting?

While sitting in the waiting room at the doctor's office yesterday, I came across an interesting article in a rumpled copy of The New Yorker (October 2009.) It was enough to keep my mind off the muscle-y knot/pinched nerve in my right shoulder, so I thought I'd post it here:

http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/atlarge/2009/10/19/091019crat_atlarge_zalewski

For the record, our bookshelf houses both How Do Dinosaurs Say Goodnight and Harriet, You'll Drive Me Wild! I don't view the books as any sort of antidote to "bad behavior," rather they are a good starting point to talk to my kids about the need to listen, and the fact that mothers are human, too. (That said, Harriet is a messy kid who seems to have trouble with spilling things. And, the dinosaur-kids have parents who could intervene in all the madness a little sooner.)

But is the new narrative really Bratty Kids And Their Doormat Parents or is it something else?

Kids need to be taught to modulate their own behavior in order to feel some sense of security as they grow up into the world. Modulating behavior means learning self-control and tolerance of situations that can feel bad (like a muscle-y knot/pinched nerve in one's shoulder that hurts but doesn't give you free license to act like a dinosaur at work because you'll lose your job.) Since when did boundaries and expectations become a bad thing?

Slow Down

Life's like a road that you travel on

When there's one day here and the next day gone

Sometimes you bend, sometimes you stand

Sometimes you turn your back to the wind

There's a world outside ev'ry darkened door

Where blues won't haunt you anymore

Where the brave are free and lovers soar

Come ride with me to the distant shore

We won't hesitate

To break down the garden gate

There's not much time left today

Life is a highway

I wanna ride it all night long

If you're going my way

I wanna drive it all night long

- Rascal Flatts

After several weeks devoid of Thursdays, I'm back (if somewhat sheepishly) to this blog. What happened to all of that momentum I had been building? Somewhere between Isabel Allende's advice to "write every day" and Sisyphus and his damn rock I lost speed. But I *swear* I have not been doing nothing. Really. I've been busy with many somethings like driving halfway across the country with children 1, 2, and 3 in tow (plus spouse) in a small (micro) Mazda 5. Without a DVD player. (But I did print out "Free! Printable!" travel bingo cards the night before.) The good news is that from New England all the way to the Midwest it took two [TWO] tanks of gas! (Take that, Toyota Prius!) Before the trip there was rushing and laundry and packing, and afterwards more laundry and unpacking and exhaustion. There was getting ready to leave work for 5 whole days. ("Don't forget to turn on your Out of Office message.") And, oh yes...there was a $140 speeding ticket on I-90 (in Massachusetts of course) and some puke on I-80.

The speeding ticket landed in my lap with great efficiency. I was doing a leisurely 79 (so says the ticket) and making very good time, might I add. I came around a scenic bend in the road when The Officer laser gunned me, pointed directly at me with his forefinger and promptly directed me to pull over to the side of the road. Despite the fact that The Officer was several feet away, I still felt his finger point all the way through the windshield and land on my chest. Yeeouch! It was oh shit/brakes on hot summer asphalt/tall black mounty boots/window rolled down/license and registration/rear view mirror/another poor sucker pulled to the side of the road while we waited for The Ticket/$$$/Be careful pulling back into traffic. For those of you who may be unfamiliar with Massachusetts state troopers, hear me when I say they are a force to be reckoned with. If you are pulled over, remove your sunglasses, hide your cellphone, and keep your mouth shut. I'll save the "I cut off a cop entering a traffic circle in Dorchester," and he told me that "[I] was the reason [he] couldn't get home safely to [his] wife and two kids every night" for another time.

Let's return to the moment of truth...the I'm getting pulled over/oh shit business of state troopers. What is notable about that moment is that all of the passengers in my vehicle, even the 13 month old, fell silent. Hear-a-pin-drop silent. (Well, except the spouse who briefly quipped, "I told you to slow down.") Now, Child No. 1 is a very in tune with rules and rightness, and I fully expected to be reprimanded by him, or for him to tell The Officer very matter-of-factly, "My mom was speeding." But there was nothing. Not a peep. I expected Child No. 2 to giggle, or ask The Officer if he liked mushy bananas which currently amuses my son. But he sat silently while Mommy Got A Ticket. Child No. 3 buckled securely into her five-point harness quietly sucked on her Nuk. Not a sound, not a single fussy moment to perhaps show The Officer that Mommy Was Distracted By All The Noise In The Car. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Perfect silence. In a family with children, perfect silence always indicates something very bad has happened or is currently happening. The ticket was one hundred-forty dollars that I could no longer spend worth of bad! So, after receiving the ticket there was only one thing for me to do. Keep driving. You know, "life is a highway" and all that. It was clearly a message from the universe telling me to Slow Down, to the tune of $140.

Since going back to work full time (f/t WOTHM) I have been running. My friend/co-worker laughs at me because I actually "cross state lines" in order to complete one of my three pick-ups. I work 6 minutes from my home, but to round up each of my three children from each of their respective after-school/preschool/childcare programs it takes an hour to get home, if I rush. I've been running in heels, pushing a stroller across gravel to get to baseball games on time, crazed to be on time, get there on time, make good time. Getting out the door and later back in the door with hats and shoes and daycare bedding, snack for 18 rug rats, school notices, changes of clothes, toys to share with friends, money for popcorn or ice cream or book fair, and homework (don't even get me STARTED on homework for elementary school kids) oh, and don't forget my planner for work with reminders to myself to make dentist appointments and follow up on completed health forms all of which has brought a level of crazy I would liken to feeling seasick on a roller-coaster. I want to get off the ride, really I do. I am getting off. I will slow down. Really.

Afterword: The puke happened on the trip back home, again while I was driving. Child No. 2 ate an entire Starbucks's apple fritter, and a bag of Teddy Grahams, and possibly half of a chocolate brownie "Z-Bar" all before 9 a.m. It was surprisingly easy to scrape the puke off both his clothing and car seat. Car sick puke is one thing. Stomach virus puke is another. I'll clean up car sick puke any time.