I don't think one is truly a good parent unless one routinely questions oneself and doubts their abilities, daily. Doubting your abilities means that you can take the arrogance out of the equation, and get down to the reality that is the human version of trial and error. Really, isn't that what parenting is? Taking the best and worst lessons learned as a kid and tweaking them to make a difference in your own children's lives?
No, I'm not judging anyone. Relax. I'm explaining my own crazy inner turmoil.
So, here's the thing, I question myself nightly/daily/hourly. I can't help it, I'm a chronic worrier. I worry about everything!!! I worry that my kids aren't getting what they need from me, I worry that I yell too much, I worry that they'll repeat the foul language I've a love affair with. I worry that they won't be able to break the cycle of chronic laziness *we've* (cough) seemed to develop... I worry that they don't eat the right things, I worry that they don't feel loved enough, content enough. When I drop them off at school I make sure they are in the building before I walk/drive away. I worry that their going to go out and get hurt or kidnapped. I insist the oldest spawn texts me his every move, just so I have an idea of timeframes, in the event something horrifying happens. During field trips, or going to friends houses, I take a mental picture of the clothes they're wearing, just. In. Case.
The cops daughter is never far from the surface...
In my very first blog intro, I explained that I have an escape route detailed out, just in case the Hubster becomes a zombie (or more realistically, incase of a fire. What?! I'm not completely cracked! Geez) Well, I do, and it's intricately detailed right down to getting the kids in the car to make our escape.
**side note** I truly hope that if the Hubster does indeed turn into a flesh/family eating zombie, that he doesn't chase the kids and I out the door and pound on our car like the beginning scene in Dawn of The Dead!! Yikes!! He's a really strong guy, and if zombies are anything like they are in The Walking Dead, my Hubs could do some serious damage!!! I'm embarrassingly obsessed, any cut he comes home with becomes suspicious to me. (I also worry, that in case there really is a fire, I remember to get the Hubster!! I'd hate to be in zombie plan mode and forget his ass!). I know, I know, I'm neurotic, but at this point there's no going back... Unless I gets meds, and as it so happens, I'm suspicious of those too. Go figure. *g*
Sorry, the very idea of zombies diverts me into various stages of panic.
I have a hard time understanding why some parents don't worry half as much as I do. That doesn't make them negligent parents, nor uncaring. I'm simply in awe of their ability to *not* worry quite as much as I do! I could learn a thing or two from them. Yet, then I'd most likely worry that I'm not worrying enough. It's a viscous circle, all this worrying.
Does my worrying make me a better parent than any of you? No, but it does allow me to take step back and realize that I'm far from perfect. Every night when I lay my head upon my pillow, I silently question my decisions throughout the day and pray for a better tomorrow. Not because I want to impress anyone, but because my kids are worth my best efforts, along with the agony of trying to achieve those efforts. Especially, if I've failed them that day.
Not all days are good ones, just as not all are bad ones, but, a majority of them I'd love to be able to call "do over". Questioning myself allows me the wish that tomorrow will be a better day and that hopefully I'll be the mom I want to be, not the "thanks for participating" ribbon winning mom. I'm aiming for the mother of all ribbons (pardon the pun), the blue one, baby! Someday, I hope to achieve that coveted ribbon, even if it happens to be cut up construction paper, that's been drowned in glue and drawn with a crayon-or in Audrey's case, sprinkled with an entire container of glitter-of which isn't just for whores and strippers you now, it's also for seriously craft minded 1st graders, with a propensity to use it on *everything*. Either way, I'd be honored.
I watch them sleep and I realize how lucky I am to have each and every one of them. Their contented sighs during slumber, that convey the happiness of their dreams, warms my heart. The soft "I love you's" they mumble, when their tired and drowsily cuddling into you, knowing their safe and cherished, is pure heaven. That's what makes parenting all worth while.
For me, it's that tiny niggle of doubt in my parenting abilities, that keeps me striving to do even better for them the next day and everyday there after. I'm blessed to have them in my life.
Now if someone could just afford me the patience to deal with their idiosyncrasies when their awake, and my own neurosis, we'd be golden!
All in all, I complain about my kids an awful lot, but *most* of it's all in good fun. My kids are the bombdidly, (as are yours!) and they deserve the best.
So, here's to a better tomorrow!