BEING An Average Parent

photo credit: Chris Oughton

There are thousands of parenting articles out there floating around, so many articles sharing infinite wisdom about gentle parenting, parenting so your kids don’t end up with “afflueza” or become total jerks or pansies or addicts or feel entitled to everything in the universe just because they’re alive. There are thousands of articles telling us about how to make our kids feel loved and respected, how to avoid emotional abuse and save our children from low self-esteem and inferiority complexes. There are articles about how to parent in order to make sure your kids aren’t addicted to media or video games or porn. There are articles about how to raise compassionate children or spiritual children or mindful children. I can safely say that this isn’t one of those articles.

When I read these articles, which i do often (and more often when I’m feeling like a shitty parent), I usually close the little “x” in the corner at the end and sigh very deeply and fall immediately in a state of despair about how I am simply never going to be able to pull off any of those fabulous, wonderful things other parents seem to be doing so proficiently for their children because a.) I will never remember that 26 point list of ways to be nice to my kids (b.) I don’t have enough time in the day to find creative ways to remind my children I love them (c.) I consider it an achievement just getting dinner on the table and the kids in beds with their teeth brushed most days.

My kids get the basics from me, and then some on good days. The “then some” is a conversation or a game played together or a walk where I just listen or there’s extra snuggle time before sleep, or maybe an impromptu trip to the frozen yogurt place. There are very few bells and whistles in their life. They don’t have charts with smiley faces or special dates to the opera or the ballet or fancy vacations. They don’t get allowances and they don’t have much by way of fancy toys or accessories either. At this point in my life, I don’t have much to give them other than the basics. They get 3 meals a day, lots of hugs and I never forget to say that I love them. Out loud. Looking in their eyes so I know they’re listening to me.

Being a single mom is a solitary journey, and the load is often much bigger than the shoulders that carry that load. Being a parent at all is way bigger than most people can hold…but being a single parent, well, that somehow stretches the limits of capacity. Every day and sometimes every hour. There’s no one to balance you out or remind you to be gentle with yourself, that you’re doing the best you can. There’s no one to tell you to ease up on your little one’s when you’re expecting too much of them or you’re being wishy-washy with your boundaries and the poor kids are confused because they don’t know what you mean or what you’re actually mad about. There’s no one there to tell you that you’re doing a great job, that you’re a great mom and that they can see how much work you put in that day to make sure you’ve covered everyone’s needs and then some and man, aren’t you amazing! It’s a big job. It’s an impossible job, really, but I suppose that is the sheer miracle of it. Doing the impossible every day.

I don’t have a clue about whether I’m being a good parent or a bad parent. I feel badly that I can’t afford karate lessons and music lessons and tennis lessons at this stage of the game. I hate that the kids don’t have more stuff sometimes, especially when it’s stuff they probably really need. I lose my temper about stupid things sometimes and I’m impatient. I am tired a lot and probably miss really important conversations with my kids. I work random hours so sometimes they have to occupy themselves for long periods of time because I’m finishing a project so I can get paid and buy food or pay a bill. We don’t always sit down at the table and eat together. I make food and we sit on the floor in their room and watch a movie or listen to music. Most of the time, I’m too tired to turn every chore into a teaching opportunity, and damn if it’s not easier to just clean up the mess myself instead of spending two hours turning “clean up the room” into a Mary Poppins experience. That’s our life. I do the best I can.

At the end of the day, most every day, I go up and check on the kids when they’re asleep and I look at them, totally separate from me and think, Man, these little guys came here to be with me. I got so lucky. What amazing humans! How can I be such a shit bag? How could I have said this or done that? Why didn’t I take more time when my daughter asked about this or why didn’t I stay on the floor with my son and his pile of plastic animals and books and his brilliants stories just a bit longer? Why didn’t I hug them one more time or listen for just another 5 minutes? Why did I snap at them when it wasn’t really that big of a deal to begin with? Shit, did I tell my daughter how awesome she is and how beautiful she is and how lucky I am she’s in my life?

Yes, all those things and more can run through my head and inflate my heart with sadness and when I’m lucky, joy and gratitude can rise up after the sadness dissipates. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t want more for my kids, and more importantly, want to be a better, more loving and present parent for them. My little toddler of a son is so profoundly brilliant that when i’m struggling, he comes up to me and climbs on me and sniffs my ear and says, “I’m sniffing you Mommy because I love you!” and then he laughs and I laugh and the world lightens up a bit.  My daughter is more complicated. I’m really hard on her sometimes. I have this absurd need to protect her from everything that she might be challenged by, knowing I really can’t and by trying, I limit her growth. I tell my daughter sometimes how I know I miss the mark on being a great mom. I tell her that there are a million reasons why, but really the excuses don’t matter. I tell her that at the end of the day that I love her and want so much for her in her life and that she’s the best thing that ever happened to me. She tears up and looks me straight in the face ands says, “Mom, you know William and I know how much you love us, right? Because we know you love us more than anything on this earth. And we love you more than anything. So, we’ve all got what we need.” Straight to my heart, this kid!! She also has no problem telling me when I’m really screwing up or reminding of ways that I’ve hurt her or screwed up in the past. She keeps me on my toes. Sometimes it’s hard to listen to, but most times, the best thing I can give her is my full attention and acceptance of her grievances. Humility is a hard lesson learned in parenting. Start there, and everything else seems to fall into place.

I don’t know what my kids need all the time. I’m walking in the dark most days. These are two humans who have their own paths, their own ideas about life and their own gifts and their own set of struggles and challenges. I’m lucky if I can even guess what they want for dinner. But I am so curious about them. So freaking curious, and when I start assuming I know much of anything about being a great parent to them, I’ve already started down the road to ruin. My best guess at being the parent I need to be is about maintaining my humility, being exactly who I am as a woman in the world, letting them be who they are, creating as few obstacles as I can to them being the humans they are called to be in this life, and supporting whatever floats their boat at any given time. I can tell them I love them every day, do the best I can for them every day, knowing that it will never be enough for me, and hope that it will be enough for them. My kids won’t get a regular kind of life (whatever that is), but they've got me.

They’ll have to work a little harder at knowing where I end and they begin. They’ll have just the one parent to hold all that space for them. They won’t have a buffer or peacemaker when I’m not seeing things clearly or I’m being too stubborn. They’ll have to learn to be that for themselves and each other. Will it hurt them or be a detriment to future relationships? Maybe, I don’t know. I can’t preemptively protect them from everything I think they’re going to struggle with later in life. All I can do is just be here with them today. Give them what I can, share with them what I can, love them the best that I can and apologize to them when I get it wrong. Believe me, as a parent, learning to say, “hey kid, I’m so sorry. I really got that wrong. I screwed that up. I’m so sorry. I know I hurt your feelings. Can you forgive me?” is probably one of the best things I can give my little humans.

I’ll never be happy with the way I parent. I’ll never think I’m good enough at this or think I’ve gotten it right. I’m always going to feel like I’m missing something, missing the mark, forgetting something important, and if I go to bed every night still caring with my whole heart about who I am for them and how I can serve them in this world, then maybe I’ll be okay and they’ll be okay. Maybe it doesn’t boil down to being a particular kind of parent, but just being yourself and showing up for the myriad moments of insanity and hilarity and chaos and whatever comes down the pike. Maybe it’s okay to be an average parent, because I think parents in general are super heroes, and being an average super hero is still pretty great.