This message goes out to the young mom with three boys who recently apologized about not being able to stifle her energetic brood - and to the parents of all kids who have ever acted out in public, but especially those with boys who are not always perfect. (Those of you with perfect kids need read no further. Wink.)
The rest of us know who we are. We're the ones in checkout line at the supermarket with a kid wailing so loudly the store manager comes over and offers to bag our groceries. We've had to leave a store - and a half-full cart - more than once because the behaviors of our children made further shopping impossible. We do not always look forward to parent teacher conferences. We are those parents.
We find ourselves sighing and apologizing a lot. Sometimes even when there's nothing to apologize for. It becomes second nature and comes with the territory - uncharted territory for most of us. Because who ever thinks they will be a parent to imperfect kids?
Certainly not me.
But it happens. Thank goodness.
It's probably politically incorrect to differentiate boys from girls. Each child comes with their own unique set of gifts and challenges. This is true. But I am here, deep in the trenches, telling you that mothers of boys (as in plural) belong to an elite club. It's a club filled with bruises, burping at breakfast, tadpoles in the sink, wrestling after dinner and broken things. Lots and lots of broken things - along with mistakes and misbehaviors they truly don't mean to commit, at least not most of the time.
As parents, we learn to anticipate their blunders and any number of scenarios can tug us in the gut with a sense of dread and déjà vu. It's a tug that hits unexpectedly, like a baseball through a window.
The phone rings and caller ID shows it's from the school. A letter arrives addressed "To the Parents of..." Someone starts a conversation with, "You'll never guess what I saw your kid doing at the (fill in the blank)." A neighbor rings your doorbell. While on a field trip, you lose sight of your son for a moment and the next thing you hear glass shattering.
You probably should be embarrassed. Heck, you are embarrassed. Because gosh darn it, if you were a better - stricter, more on the ball - parent they wouldn't do these things.
You are trying your best and still they spray paint the trees in the backyard. They mix Mentos and Coke. They take apples from the neighbor's tree without asking or throw rocks at each other - just because they can.
Those things.
On a good day, they lose the chain from their bicycle or take the book I'm reading to cover the tadpole bowl. A bad day often involves broken glass. Hopefully not the tadpole glass.
When I was a rookie parent every minor infraction seemed intense. Each boyish blunder hung heavy around my neck like a noose. Hot Wheels cars clogging the toilet? Picking the neighbor's peonies? Cringe worthy.
But you know how the saying goes: When life hands you a noose, make it into a necklace. It took me years, but I stopped cringing over the small stuff. Then I realized almost all of it is small stuff. That is cause for celebration - for imperfect parents with imperfect kids everywhere.
Rejoice. We can wear our "nooselaces" with a semi-sense of pride and learn to laugh at the bulk of it. What else can we do? They are kids (or boys as the case may be) and they do dumb things - like bring a tree frog home in their pants pocket. Or have a contest to see who can eat the most pizza before throwing up. Or make yellow snow.
They make mistakes. So do we. All of us. Perfect or not. When we stick together and love one another despite our imperfections, it changes our definition of the word and makes the term unnecessary, not unattainable.
When they mess up and break something again (and they will) often the best we can do is laugh and apologize - not necessarily in that order. And we can do so understanding that things are things and kids are kids.
The difference being one can be replaced; the other cannot.
- Jill Pertler's column appears every Thursday in the Times. She can be reached at pertmn@qwest.net.
The rest of us know who we are. We're the ones in checkout line at the supermarket with a kid wailing so loudly the store manager comes over and offers to bag our groceries. We've had to leave a store - and a half-full cart - more than once because the behaviors of our children made further shopping impossible. We do not always look forward to parent teacher conferences. We are those parents.
We find ourselves sighing and apologizing a lot. Sometimes even when there's nothing to apologize for. It becomes second nature and comes with the territory - uncharted territory for most of us. Because who ever thinks they will be a parent to imperfect kids?
Certainly not me.
But it happens. Thank goodness.
It's probably politically incorrect to differentiate boys from girls. Each child comes with their own unique set of gifts and challenges. This is true. But I am here, deep in the trenches, telling you that mothers of boys (as in plural) belong to an elite club. It's a club filled with bruises, burping at breakfast, tadpoles in the sink, wrestling after dinner and broken things. Lots and lots of broken things - along with mistakes and misbehaviors they truly don't mean to commit, at least not most of the time.
As parents, we learn to anticipate their blunders and any number of scenarios can tug us in the gut with a sense of dread and déjà vu. It's a tug that hits unexpectedly, like a baseball through a window.
The phone rings and caller ID shows it's from the school. A letter arrives addressed "To the Parents of..." Someone starts a conversation with, "You'll never guess what I saw your kid doing at the (fill in the blank)." A neighbor rings your doorbell. While on a field trip, you lose sight of your son for a moment and the next thing you hear glass shattering.
You probably should be embarrassed. Heck, you are embarrassed. Because gosh darn it, if you were a better - stricter, more on the ball - parent they wouldn't do these things.
You are trying your best and still they spray paint the trees in the backyard. They mix Mentos and Coke. They take apples from the neighbor's tree without asking or throw rocks at each other - just because they can.
Those things.
On a good day, they lose the chain from their bicycle or take the book I'm reading to cover the tadpole bowl. A bad day often involves broken glass. Hopefully not the tadpole glass.
When I was a rookie parent every minor infraction seemed intense. Each boyish blunder hung heavy around my neck like a noose. Hot Wheels cars clogging the toilet? Picking the neighbor's peonies? Cringe worthy.
But you know how the saying goes: When life hands you a noose, make it into a necklace. It took me years, but I stopped cringing over the small stuff. Then I realized almost all of it is small stuff. That is cause for celebration - for imperfect parents with imperfect kids everywhere.
Rejoice. We can wear our "nooselaces" with a semi-sense of pride and learn to laugh at the bulk of it. What else can we do? They are kids (or boys as the case may be) and they do dumb things - like bring a tree frog home in their pants pocket. Or have a contest to see who can eat the most pizza before throwing up. Or make yellow snow.
They make mistakes. So do we. All of us. Perfect or not. When we stick together and love one another despite our imperfections, it changes our definition of the word and makes the term unnecessary, not unattainable.
When they mess up and break something again (and they will) often the best we can do is laugh and apologize - not necessarily in that order. And we can do so understanding that things are things and kids are kids.
The difference being one can be replaced; the other cannot.
- Jill Pertler's column appears every Thursday in the Times. She can be reached at pertmn@qwest.net.
