Kids are awesome. One of the most beautiful moments of my life occurred just after giving birth to my oldest daughter. I was looking at this tiny little red face and all I could think about was how amazingly beautiful she was. That's when it hit me. Those little eyes, staring at me so seriously? They were the same ones I looked at every day in the mirror. The little ears that pointed slightly? The same ones I was teased about over the years. The pointy little chin? yep, I had seen that before too. And this deep realization punched me in the gut: how could I ever again think of those things as ugly now that I had seen them in my own child and recognized the beauty in them?
That moment was a huge step for me in changing my perspective. Before that moment, I had always tried to look like the models in magazines or other people I saw as beautiful. After that moment my thinking changed. Now, I wanted to be the best ME I could be. I will never think of myself as the most gorgeous creature on the planet, but there is a deeper satisfaction and understanding, acceptance of my features.
And who would not love being someone's hero? Ah yes, in a child's eyes, a parent can do no wrong. Until they reach a certain age of course. But I remember following my Dad around, mimicking the way he stepped, trying to talk the way he did, taking interest in the same music he did, and observing his every move like a little scientist. He told me I would make a good lawyer someday. But in my mind, I saw us marching up the steps to a courthouse in matching suits with matching briefcases while we took on all the injustices in the world like a couple superheros. After all, I was going to be just like him.
There was a falling out when I hit my teens and our ideas of right and wrong, interesting and uninteresting no longer meshed. Still, there was a longing. One night I had arranged to sneak out and meet up with some friends for a night of teenage naughtiness, but Dad asked if I'd like to hang out and watch a movie with him that night. I ditched my friends without a second thought. A parent's acceptance and desire to spend time with their child is a powerful thing. And then Dad found an old row boat. It was a piece of junk as I recall, but he invited my sisters and I to go to the building supply with him and fix it up. We spent more time climbing around on piles of wood than we did actually helping, but we loved every minute and felt immense pride when he would say his girls helped him fix it up.
I always have taken pride in looking like Dad. In fact, I now live in the same general area where he grew up. When we first moved to the area, I had a couple occasions when strangers stopped me and asked if I was related to him. Those were proud moments for me. Yep- that's my Dad. As I've grown older I've had the joy of growing closer to my parents in different ways. Moving beyond the hero worship and seeing them as human. Learning to love them for their faults as well as their strengths, learning to value the wonderful childhood I had while accepting and forgiving the imperfections of it. That sentence sounds blissfully easy, but it has been a process. I believe that part of growing up is learning to take responsibility for one's own issues, recognizing the roots from which they grew but also recognizing that one's parents did the best they could with the information they had. There was a time when I happily pointed my finger in my parent's direction for all the issues and imperfections in my life. But that was also a sad time. And inaccurate. Expecting perfection from my parents is simply foolish and when casting blame for my responses to those imperfections, I was keeping myself in a destructive cycle that was leading me nowhere.
There is still a hint of hero worship when I look at my Dad. I admire so much about him: his quirky sense of humor, magnetic personality, and the ability to turn every situation into a good laugh. The dear man seems genuinely perplexed at times by the reality that people are drawn to him, but I don't find it surprising. After all, I was raised by him and still happen to enjoy being around him. He's not perfect. he's stubborn, irreverent, opinionated, and can be a boogerhead with the best of them (bear in mind here folks, I am the only one allowed to say anything remotely negative about this man. He's my Dad and anyone who speaks ill of him will and has faced my wrath. Fair warning ;).
There is a complexity in parent-child relationships that leaves me scratching my head. My Dad has told me many times that I always seemed to take his negative characteristics and go a step further with them. This hit home with me when my youngest and I were in a full-fledged battle of wills and I realized that the angry little face, the defiant, stubborn attitude... it may not be what I see in the mirror everyday but it is certainly familiar. Some of the less-than-perfect features I passed on to my kids may be genetic but many are learned from them watching me. You know that saying? 'Do as I say, not as I do'. Kids never follow it. Instead, as we stumble along through the job of parenting, moments of clarity creep upon us when we are punishing our children for the very things we do ourselves but wish to ignore.
Of course, we also get to see our spouse's imperfections reflecting back at us through our children. Naturally, these are easier to spot because they are not our own issues. It's easier to point out anyone else's mistakes than it is to recognize and deal with my own. And as we reproduce, the issues we deal with get passed on to the next generation. Someday I suspect that each of my children will go through a phase in which they blame me for all the unpleasant things in their lives. And, odds are that in some way, I am responsible. But I hope that as they grow and take responsibility for their own choices and actions, they will be able to view me as a friend and ally. Someone who's been (or is!) there and can understand.
In this way, my Dad and I's relationship has evolved into a deeper friendship of sorts. He's been there with so many of the issues I am struggling with and, in some cases, he still is. And while I learn from him, I think (hope) that he can learn from my fumbling attempts at becoming a healthier person. I still look at my hero and want to be like him. I still wish we could spend more time together and love that he can unknowingly still chase away all my fears and worries with a reassuring touch or a nod of approval. But as I look to the future, I also hope that one of the ways I can make him proud will be by overcoming obstacles we both struggle with. He would like that. And that is the coolest thing of all: I know that no matter what, he's got my back. He might not look like much of a cheerleader, but he encourages me along this path and smiles when I am successful.
Family. So complex. Impossible to adequately put into words but, I think, always worth the attempt.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Walking the Maternal Tightrope
As I type this, my dear cousin has a little one who has been fighting sleep for whatever reason. Hearing about her struggle and frustration while she tries to help her little one to be comfortable and prays for a chance to rest herself, it brings back memories of when my children were little.
On airplanes mothers are instructed to put on their own air masks before helping their children if there is an emergency. This may seem like common sense to some, but for many years I found this deeply offensive. It took my children getting older and my own mother explaining the concept multiple times before I finally understood: we have to take care of ourselves in order to be able to help others. A true concept but, particularly in the case of mothers with small children, easier said than done.
I recall two separate doctor's visits when my son was a baby. First, I went to see the doctor. I described my strange and frustrating symptoms: unclear thinking, no energy, grouchy, headaches... etc. and this wise doctor looked at me and told me all that was wrong with me was that I needed to sleep. I recall staring at him, only one word clear in my own mind: DUH. This was not news to me. What followed was quite simply a comical attempt on my part to get answers for a question that there appears to be no answer to. The question: HOW?
The next doctor's visit I had given up on myself feeling better and was hoping that the doctor could help me with my grouchy baby. My son admirably displayed all his symptoms for the doctor to see with his own eyes, and when the doctor began to type in a prescription I began feeling very hopeful. Perhaps there was something wrong with this little guy that could be fixed with some medicine and he would sleep? Alas, when I asked the doctor what he was prescribing, he informed me that he was giving my son cough medicine. Of course, I asked why. After all, my son was not congested or coughing. The answer stunned me. Cough medicine would make him drowsy which would then make him sleep so I could get some sleep. I walked out without the medicine and changed doctors. I suppose that is one way to get a child to sleep, but is it worth drugging our little ones for us to snag a couple extra hours??
Obviously, lack of sleep for young mothers is not an uncommon problem. When we consider the fact that, particularly once there is more than one child involved, the mother is outnumbered and those little ones are busier planning ways to keep her busy than they are ways to help her relax, the problem is inevitable. I vividly recall one 24 hour period in which my youngest was teething, my middle child was becoming a pro at getting through any child-proofing locks, and my oldest was happily chattering away about anything and everything. I got no sleep beyond catnaps in the rare, miraculous moments when all three children were sleeping. And I recall that feeling of hopelessness, that irrational thought that I would never sleep again and I was a terrible mother.
My younger sister has mentioned several times being told that she needs to get more sleep for her health. And we have pondered the question of how. I have taken her little ones when I can to give her some extra sleep, but it is never enough.
Within the last couple years I read a book that an old friend recommended entitled 'The Red Tent'. While it was fantastically written and there are many topics I could bring up about it, the thing that strikes me most was the way that these people lived. The book was set in Biblical times when families lived very close together. Children were raised with aunties, grandmas, and many other women readily available and had constant playmates in siblings and cousins. If one woman needed to rest or was sick, others simply took over, even nursing her little one while she took care of herself. Granted, men in those times generally took many wives so the other women were often their dad's other wives, but nevertheless, the set-up remedied this issue young mothers face today. It seems that in our pursuit of privacy we have created problems.
We try to do it all ourselves. We feel like we should be able to keep the house clean, look like supermodels, keep the little ones happy and clean, maintain a 'perfect' relationship with our spouses, volunteer our time at church and school, cook like pros, and pursue hobbies. Some women even work full time jobs on top of these expectations. We feel guilty when we inevitably fail. We feel bad asking for help. And, heaven forbid that we admit we might not have it all under control. The reality (based on my own experiences and talking with other moms)? Ponytails to keep unwashed hair out of our faces (and babies fists), showers just before hubby gets home so he's not totally appalled (if we're lucky), toys and stuff crammed into closets and cupboards if someone shows up at the door unexpectedly, mac n cheese, and a regularly sleep deprived mind.
On airplanes mothers are instructed to put on their own air masks before helping their children if there is an emergency. This may seem like common sense to some, but for many years I found this deeply offensive. It took my children getting older and my own mother explaining the concept multiple times before I finally understood: we have to take care of ourselves in order to be able to help others. A true concept but, particularly in the case of mothers with small children, easier said than done.
I recall two separate doctor's visits when my son was a baby. First, I went to see the doctor. I described my strange and frustrating symptoms: unclear thinking, no energy, grouchy, headaches... etc. and this wise doctor looked at me and told me all that was wrong with me was that I needed to sleep. I recall staring at him, only one word clear in my own mind: DUH. This was not news to me. What followed was quite simply a comical attempt on my part to get answers for a question that there appears to be no answer to. The question: HOW?
The next doctor's visit I had given up on myself feeling better and was hoping that the doctor could help me with my grouchy baby. My son admirably displayed all his symptoms for the doctor to see with his own eyes, and when the doctor began to type in a prescription I began feeling very hopeful. Perhaps there was something wrong with this little guy that could be fixed with some medicine and he would sleep? Alas, when I asked the doctor what he was prescribing, he informed me that he was giving my son cough medicine. Of course, I asked why. After all, my son was not congested or coughing. The answer stunned me. Cough medicine would make him drowsy which would then make him sleep so I could get some sleep. I walked out without the medicine and changed doctors. I suppose that is one way to get a child to sleep, but is it worth drugging our little ones for us to snag a couple extra hours??
Obviously, lack of sleep for young mothers is not an uncommon problem. When we consider the fact that, particularly once there is more than one child involved, the mother is outnumbered and those little ones are busier planning ways to keep her busy than they are ways to help her relax, the problem is inevitable. I vividly recall one 24 hour period in which my youngest was teething, my middle child was becoming a pro at getting through any child-proofing locks, and my oldest was happily chattering away about anything and everything. I got no sleep beyond catnaps in the rare, miraculous moments when all three children were sleeping. And I recall that feeling of hopelessness, that irrational thought that I would never sleep again and I was a terrible mother.
My younger sister has mentioned several times being told that she needs to get more sleep for her health. And we have pondered the question of how. I have taken her little ones when I can to give her some extra sleep, but it is never enough.
Within the last couple years I read a book that an old friend recommended entitled 'The Red Tent'. While it was fantastically written and there are many topics I could bring up about it, the thing that strikes me most was the way that these people lived. The book was set in Biblical times when families lived very close together. Children were raised with aunties, grandmas, and many other women readily available and had constant playmates in siblings and cousins. If one woman needed to rest or was sick, others simply took over, even nursing her little one while she took care of herself. Granted, men in those times generally took many wives so the other women were often their dad's other wives, but nevertheless, the set-up remedied this issue young mothers face today. It seems that in our pursuit of privacy we have created problems.
We try to do it all ourselves. We feel like we should be able to keep the house clean, look like supermodels, keep the little ones happy and clean, maintain a 'perfect' relationship with our spouses, volunteer our time at church and school, cook like pros, and pursue hobbies. Some women even work full time jobs on top of these expectations. We feel guilty when we inevitably fail. We feel bad asking for help. And, heaven forbid that we admit we might not have it all under control. The reality (based on my own experiences and talking with other moms)? Ponytails to keep unwashed hair out of our faces (and babies fists), showers just before hubby gets home so he's not totally appalled (if we're lucky), toys and stuff crammed into closets and cupboards if someone shows up at the door unexpectedly, mac n cheese, and a regularly sleep deprived mind.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)