Perfect Parenting

I do many things wrong. I do so many things wrong that it's hard to enumerate all of them. I have failures. This is not to say that I do not have successes, because I do, they are just fewer and farther.


I did not work hard at school. I should have worked harder, should have got better grades. I had good grades, but they could have been better. I should have worked harder at my family relationships, with my aunts and uncles and cousins. I should work harder at my church and religion.


My biggest fear in life is that I will, somehow or someway, fail my children. That I will not be the 'perfect parent'.


Is there such a thing? Does anyone deserve the title?





My parents were far from perfect. But the problems they had between them did not reflect their parenting skills, because each of them were outstanding parents to me on totally different levels. My mother was the consummate 'friend mom'. She loved me and my friends, she loved the kids in the house, feeding them. She loved my girlfriends, the giggling and visiting and talking. My mother was also my friend. This is on some levels, a mistake. When I became a rotten, snotty teenager and she suddenly wanted to assert herself, I just laughed at her. I did, literally, laugh at her..because she had never in our lives together, ever assert her authority over me.


This caused a multitude of problems for us, even now, as I am somewhat her 'caretaker', it's sometimes very hard to divide the friend vs. mother code.


As a child, my father did little with me. I'm sure he was just bewildered as I was with him. We circled one another warily for many years, not really connecting until I was a little older. I can remember when I showed an aptitude for music, he became very interested in my progress, what I was capable of. My love of the arts, books, theater and music was a key part of our relationship. It cemented us together. We were intellectually connected. Not so much emotionally, but we had common interests and unique taste.





As a new parent, I was all over the twins as they developed. I would be the PERFECT MOTHER. So, I read countless books on parenting. As I was planning (well, the word 'planning' has little to do with us being knocked up with twins..) on staying home to raise the duo, I was envisioning mornings of arts and crafts, nutritious snacks, baking, playing. Long lazy naps and fun afternoons together. Well, I can attest that all those ideas went directly OUT THE WINDOW when they arrived. I might have well just thrown those books in the fireplace and lit a match.


See, children are born with their OWN agenda. Unknown to first time parents. I tried and tried to be the best mother I could, of course now hysterical because none of the books had said anything about two year old boys playing with their own fecal matter or peeing in his brother's bed. By age three, I was that mother that came downstairs in the morning, made a pot of coffee and turned on Sesame Street while pouring Rice Krispies into a giant bowl with two spoons for them to share. (one bowl=less dishes)


Twins enter nursery school. I hope and pray that they are not ejected for unknown issues. They are not, and are in fact, extremely bright and loved by their teacher and peers. Whew!


About this time, we decide another child would be just wonderful. Like many young couples, we go off the birth control thinking it will take a few months, maybe up to six months, to get pregnant. Four weeks later I was pregnant.


I mean, I was PREGNANT. As in, 62 lbs pregnant. My doctor, at about 30 weeks, came into the exam room with my file and announces that I have gained more weight at this point than I did with the twins and "my God, Noelle, do you want to be obese?". Thank you, great Obi-Wan of Gynecology. My doctor, the "weight-Nazi".


I go on to have this infant, who just so happened to be yet another son. This child would not come out. He just would not. I should have known then that he was to be always attached to me, because he didn't want to come out in the first place. "Giant Purple Head", as my husband so lovingly exclaimed while the poor child remained solidly stuck, half in, half out. Like some alien life form. He was, at that point on, attached to either my breast or my shoulder and as a toddler, my hip or leg. We made, I feel, the most mistakes with him.


You see, at age 28, I was READY to be a mama. I wanted to 'mother' him...I did. To death. This child, now age 7, is like another limb or appendage to my body. His day begins at 6am when he sleepwalks into our bed and inhabits the spot his father moments ago had vacated. A person truly doesn't know love until she watches her child sleep, watches his little chest rise and fall, his hands clasp and unclasp.


Bad. Bad mothering. The pain of separation when he went to kindergarten was almost unbearable from both ends. It was a terrible year. This year is better. I should have made him more confident.


The addition of the fourth installment into a home with three boys goes as such: as a crawling and newly walking baby/toddler, I would walk into our playroom, turn on Baby Einstein and throw some Cheerios on the floor. This would keep this child out of my hair for at least 30 minutes. By the fourth child, I'm just happy if she doesn't eat dryer lint. We have, from the beginning of her life, drug her to baseball games, football games, soccer fields. She has been toted all over the state, country. And she's a better child for it. She is outgoing and talkative and confident.


I use bribery a lot in parenting. I barter every day. Quid pro quo.


That's not in any books, either..I've checked.

I love the television. I am NOT that mother that says "oh, we don't let our child watch too much tv..." Are you kidding? It's a free babysitter! I am a woman who actually enjoys showering alone! I don't need a play by play of 'going potty' while I'm the one doing it! I like having a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper, if that means 30 minutes of Sponge Bob, so be it. I give my kids apple juice straight from the container (gasp) sometimes NOT DILUTED. I let them eat orange sherbet for breakfast, occasionally cake if available (it has eggs!). I pick my battles. Carefully. I have found that if I am to say what I mean, and mean what I say..I actually have to believe in what I'm saying MYSELF. It's perilous. Parenting is perilous.

I let my kids play outside in thunderstorms. I let them jump in mud puddles. I let them ride on a zip cord hoisted 25 ft off the ground. I have let daughter have pacifier WAY too long, why? Because I want to sleep and she can't sleep without it. Of course.

I do insist they go to bed at a decent hour but that is mostly for me. I admit it! Thankfully, we have found that a rested child is a healthy child.

I have several friends who are better mothers. They all have amazing qualities that I admire. One friend has humor, one has faith. One friend has patience, one has a very loud voice. Some of these women are professional, career driven. Some are, like me, staying at home. All of these kids have benefited in some way or another from these mothers.


The fathers also need some credit.


Of course, my husband is amazing in his own right. He has done nothing but play with these kids since they were old enough. He LOVES them. He listens to them, he talks to them and he coaches them. He helps me discipline them. We know of many men who do similar things with their kids, and again, all these kids seemingly have benefited from their fathers.


I guess that the myth of perfect parenting is just that. A myth.





As I mentioned before, it's like these kids come into the world with their own agenda. Every kid is so very different. My own twins are like polar ends, north and south. The 7 yr old is the west and my daughter the east. It works.





I am not a perfect parent. I am an adequate human being, at best.


My kids are happy. We laugh, they communicate with us, sometimes knowing we will yell, sometimes we just talk. They express their needs and desires. We work hard to keep the lines of communication open.


I think that if we show our kids the respect we want them to show us, it will come around. They are an entity all to themselves. Respect them for the differences, for their similarities.