Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Ah hindsight! Sometimes people will tell me what good kids I have and some will even try to give me credit for a job well done. I tend to think that they are doing well despite me.
If it has not yet happened and you have a child, it will happen. There will be something(s) about your kids that you know is a hot mess and you also know you did it. We all like to present a picture of kitchen tables with science fair project in the making while eating carrot sticks. Maybe you truly did sit with your kids during homework and oversee nightly brushing and flossing. I know people who are such stellar parents. I admire them.
On the other hand, I have raised frankenboyz. When your children reach young adulthood you will experience the sinking feeling that your influence is all but finished and you have influenced some rather crummy characteristics. And you will look to heaven with your hands upraised and say, "Rats!"
I won't bore you with the finer points of daboyz as I say enough in their favor here. But I will share with you an example of my own child rearing now causing me aggravation. Brace yourselves, I never made the beds. There, I've said it. Three beds in our house. Zero made except on sheet changing day. I don't know why. Too busy? No. Too lazy probably. And I never expected daboyz to make dabeds. I don't recall ever asking them make their beds frankly.
So now I have a boy who just will not make his bed. And all of a sudden, I've changed my own rules and I want those beds made! I make my bed every single morning doggone it! And yes, it is because we are in a new old house and I want to have everything looking nice. But I want the beds made!
I also never demanded immaculate rooms. Evening pick-ups when they were little. In teenagerhood, I pretty much let it go. They were good kids and when I asked them to, they cleaned up. I felt having a messy space to call their own was fine. And I stick to that philosophy. Every kid has to leave his mark somewhere and a messy room is not such a desperate cry for help. But now I want the room clean.
Yes, I have changed the rules. And they have not. And it is my fault. I have failed to raise perfect men. Don't tell me about living in my house and doing things my way and whatnot. I am a chooser of battles, although not always wisely.
They are good guys. They do not make their beds.
They are kind and honest. They leave dirty socks on the floor.
They do not come home drunk or stay out all night. They do not load the dishwasher with their cereal bowls.
They are frankenboyz.
And I created them.