Fixing the Past
Twenty years ago when my kids were little, I was very much a “rules and consequences” parent. If I set down a rule and explained a consequence, you can bet your ass that I would follow through. I believed firmly that children were best raised with a clear understanding of what was expected of them. I also believed that they needed to have swift, sharp consequences so that they could change their behavior. I didn’t think a lot about how reasonable my rules were and how capable children were (especially the mix of neurodiverse kids I ended up with) of stopping themselves from following through on impulses they immediately regretted
This style of parenting probably came about because my own childhood was filled with confusion about when my father would be the angry version of himself (about half the time) and when he would be the nice version (also about half of the time). I promised myself I would never be that kind of parent. I did my fair share of yelling. I regret those moments, weirdly, less than the times when I thought I was doing the “hard, right thing” and punished both me and a child (or multiple children) for “bad choices.”
Once, it was when I’d warned a child that if they did x thing one more time, they wouldn’t be allowed to go on the weekend family trip we were planning to leave on that night. That kid was so impulsive and probably couldn’t control what happened next. But I followed through on my consequences and as a result, we both stayed home from the trip. Did that teach this child that I meant what I said when I threatened a consequence? I suspect it taught them only that Mom was mean when she pretended she was being strict.
I bitterly regret missing out on enjoying my kids’ childhoods more, letting things go when they could be let go (still something I’m working on). I regret not learning to laugh about the impulsivity of kids and the sheer ridiculousness of this project called raising children while still being human yourself. I’ve become exactly that annoying older person who can just barely bite her tongue when I see exhausted, frazzled parents who are doing their best shouting at kids in the grocery store who have just opened a fifth package of food that the budget doesn’t stretch to cover.
Yes, I want to say, “enjoy them while they’re young.” Not because I think you’re doing a bad job. Not that at all. It’s just because of my own regrets that I’m trying to save you from. I didn’t ruin everything, but sometimes those regrets hurt a lot. I know how hard it is when you’ve got four kids under the age of six and one of them seems intent on killing the other three. I know what it’s like when you leave kids alone for ten seconds in the bathroom and you come back to find shit painted on the walls. I know it so well. I’m not trying to tell you that it’s the best time in your life. I remember the utter exhaustion, the fear that we wouldn’t get through it, and the certainty that when they were all adults, I would be relieved that I had the house to myself.
But let me tell you what I did this last week. Facebook reminded me of the mistake I made in parenting, a toy that was dropped and never retrieved, a child crying for that toy while I drove away, exhausted and frustrated at not being obeyed yet again. It was twenty years ago and my kid is way too old to want that toy back. But every time I think of that child crying for that toy, my heart aches. Not because I was a bad mom or because they were a bad kid. Because I was trying so damned hard to do the hard, right thing and I believed that the pain of doing it then would somehow become worth it later.
My baffled kid received a gift of a modified, adult version of the toy to let their dogs play with [Morty the dog pictured above with Mike Wazowski pillow]. They don’t remember this event at all. They don’t need my attempt to make it right. They couldn’t care less. But you know what? It helped me to let go just a little bit of that past, lost moment when I was trying my best and making something harder than maybe it needed to have been.
If you’re a parent reading this in the midst of raising small, difficult children, I’m letting you know that when I see you in the store, wrangling them, I ache for you all. If I believed in prayers, I’d be sending them your way. But since I don’t, all I can do is wish for you the sheer relief it was for me to buy that modified toy twenty years later and send it somehow back in time to the two people, big and small, who were trying to be humans in the midst of a difficult world where nothing is as clearly right and wrong as I used to want it to be.