As parents, we’re always finding teachable moments for our kids. At the same time, we’re learning to adapt our parenting approach as circumstances change or as our children go through various phases (no goth phase yet … fingers crossed). We have a few parenting fails along the way. Admittedly, sometimes we’re just winging it. I think the scariest parenting lesson is when you figure out that nobody has it figured out. When you start out as a parent, you think one day you’ll have all the answers and until then, you’ll find some unicorn of a parent to help guide you to parenting perfection. Then one day you realize that unicorn doesn’t exist, you’ll never reach perfection, and what seemed like the optimal solution for one child doesn’t work for the next one. But hey, we’re all doing the best we can.
So every day we’re learning from our own mistakes or, more preferably, the mistakes of others. But sometimes the greatest lessons we learn are from our kids – especially if we stop to listen. I experienced this just last week. First week of school, and I was dreading it. I felt terrible for the opportunities my kids will continue to miss. Sports. Hanging out with their friends. I stressed about how I’d fit in helping them with their studies in addition to my job and keeping up with the endless cleaning, laundry, dishes, cooking, etc., etc. I didn’t speak my reservations aloud because I didn’t want to put undue pressure on my kids or taint their feelings about distance learning. I didn’t post my worries on social media because I didn’t want my daughters to somehow see it. And frankly, there’s enough negativity and angst-worthy posts on there as it is. I certainly didn’t want to add to the worries of others. When my boss asked how I felt about the kids distance-learning from home while I would also be continuing to work full-time from the same location (and same bandwidth), I replied with a great deal more optimism and enthusiasm than I actually felt. My kids are so self-directed, they practically teach themselves. I got this. I’m not worried at all. We’ll just wing it. But in actuality, I was stressed. Secretly I was dealing with more than a few sleepless nights, my fair share of tears shed in private, and an overindulgence of antacids to “cure” the heartburn that comes with the stress of the unknown.
The first day of school arrived, along with more loads of anxiety. Supply pick-up, meet-the-teacher conferences … just a few things I had to learn to flex around during a busy workday. I’m a team member down and barreling into fiscal year-end, the busiest time of the year, so working double-duty is already taking its toll. No worries, I’ll just work later. Sleep is over-rated anyways and who needs time for friends or self-reflection?
So on Friday morning, there I was, my high-schooler already three days into e-learning and doing an awesome job, and my elementary-school aged child, Bella, starting her first day of distance instruction. I was dragging from another late-nighter I pulled at work (and by “at work” I mean crammed into the tiny desk in the corner of my room) and the hours spent tossing and turning after that before getting up extra early to start the workday again. My heart was in my throat from worrying about how Bella’s first day would go online and how she’d adjust. But my youngest already suffers from her own anxieties, so I put on a brave face when I woke her up for her “exciting” first day.
Bleary-eyed, she crawled out of bed and wandered off to eat some cereal and brush her teeth. I’d been online working for a couple of hours by that point, so I took this break in the day to tidy up my room. I looked around, surveying the laundry and cleaning I’d fallen behind on. A few moments later, Bella came running in. She had on one of her favorite t-shirts but was still wearing her fleece pajama pants.
“Can I wear these on my Zoom class?” she asked.
“Of course,” I told her, trying to match her enthusiasm. “Be as comfortable as you want to be. Nobody can see you from the waist down.”
Bella smiled brightly, did a little dance right there in my room, then said, “This online thing is going to be AWESOME.”
A weight inside me lifted. There’s still a thousand worries and even more unknowns. I have no clue how we’ll get it all done. But despite all this, I smiled back at her and said, “You’re right. It’s going to be AWESOME.” I’m glad I didn’t share my pessimistic views of the new school year. I’m relieved my daughters have a good attitude and are choosing to focus on the positives. I’m going to try and take a page out of their book. This online thing is going to be awesome. And you know what, because we’re starting off with the right attitude, it just might be.
You are an awesome mom too!!!!