Self-Imposed Pressure of the Parenting Variety

We missed the Lights Fantastic Parade tonight. We had intended to go, because Ari slept through most of it her first Christmas, was too young to go at the time it was held her next Christmas due to bedtime constraints, and would have been at the perfect age for it this year. Her friend was going to be there... and it was written on the calendar as a dedicated, planned event for this weekend.

And then Andy and I just totally spaced on it. I didn't remember until about 6:45pm... which meant it was too late to head over and too close to bedtime as well.

Of course, Ari has no idea we let her down in any way whatsoever. We hadn't really talked it up or said anything about it, and she was perfectly happy to watch The Berenstain Bears nestled in blankets and laps upon the couch... and then head into her nighttime ritual, thinking of what she wants to do tomorrow.

But I am disappointed, and I feel guilty for letting her down. I think I feel such pressure sometimes to be the perfect parent - to offer her all the happiness possible, to make every holiday special, and to find or create events in her life that will become happy memories she'll treasure later.

Silly to put that much pressure on myself and silly to think my idea of perfect might be the same as hers or that I have that much control over her experience and perspective on her life. (Or that there is even such a thing as perfection.) She will make her own meaning, create her own narrative, and enter adulthood with her own concept of her childhood, our parenting, etc.

So... I am trying to let it go. There's always next year (if we're here), and - as Andy said - plenty of more time to provide opportunities for joy.

An Instant Can Change Everything

I was talking to my sister today, who is celebrating her birthday. She just had surgery and everything went very well, which was a great relief. She also just landed a great job, and she and her new baby are both doing very well.

Then she shared some sad news with me. Her godson fell off a boat and drowned. He was going to turn three in a few months. His death has created a rift between his parents, and Lydia is not only mourning his loss, but is also very concerned for her friend (his mother) who is, understandably, devastated.

Ariana is a very willful and independent child. It's something Andy and I love about her, but also something that causes us a lot of stress each day. She is spirited and strong and fast and fearless. This means she often skips around the fringes of danger, and we must be extra vigilant with her because she is not always good at remembering all the little pieces of advice mommy and daddy have shared in the hopes of helping keep her safe and out of trouble. (And she is only 2... so it's not like we really expect her to.)

That said, I can admit that there have been times when my focus on her has lapsed... where I have stopped following her with full attention for a few seconds - and she is suddenly no longer in my line of vision. A split second of realizing I was not keeping track of her... and then she appears, happily involved in something with an unwavering gaze.

Andy and I have been lucky. Our lapses (which I believe every parent has) have never ended in tragedy... those seconds of "Where's Ari?" have never led to any serious danger, hurt, or panic. But sometimes, it is just that... luck.

If you believe in such things, please keep this young boy's family and friends in your prayers. And send him your blessings for peace and love as he transitions into whatever may come after death.

The paradoxical nature of parenting and toddlerhood

My daughter is amazing: beautiful, smart, insightful, playful, funny, passionate, independent... I could go on forever. She is also what one might call a "spirited" child. She's willful and constantly on the go. Her energy level is astounding... which can be incredibly challenging at times as a parent.

She is our first, and one of the most difficult things I have struggled with during these first two years has been my sense of my own failings as a parent. I am not a natural mother... at least, I don't feel I fit the stereotype of glorious nurturing provider who is playful and fun and always has ideas for how to stay busy even when trapped indoors during two straight days of icy weather and dangerous temperatures. I need peace and solitude to recharge, and so I find myself often feeling overwhelmed by how much attention and focus she requires.

And this makes me feel incredibly guilty. And sometimes discouraged. And often disappointed in myself.

And I think of my other friends who have kids: Noelle, who also has a spirited daughter and manages to continue working as a writer/performer and to provide a sense of humor and flexibility while being loving and patient; my friend Diana, who is raising two children and makes time to create memory books and plan these amazing family events; Dana who is raising twins and chose to stick with nursing despite intense physical pain because she wanted to do what was best for her kids. Each of these amazing women gets down on herself, feels guilty at times, and has shared a sense of insecurity about her abilities and her worth - her identity as a mother.

I think sometimes we are able to be kinder to others than we are to ourselves. We can see strength, passion, and commitment more clearly and are more apt to commend the effort made instead of focusing on errors. We see their hearts, and we honor their endeavor.

Why is it so much easier to throw stones at ourselves?