Over Christmas, my son, age 24, sat me down for a talk about my mothering skills. He’d been living on his own for five months and he knows things. He is not a parent, something that will become obvious throughout this tale.
“I know you didn’t want me to move out west,” he began.
“What?” I replied. “No! You’re completely wrong about that. I’m thrilled! I always wanted to live in another part of the country, too, but never managed it. I’m really excited and proud for you.”
“I don’t know about that,” said he. “Now let’s talk about the yelling.”
Readers, I admit it. As a parent, I have lost my temper. Not daily, not weekly, not even monthly, but yeah, of course I have. It was never a proud moment, but (cough) they deserved it. Or rather, their actions created a situation for which I was unprepared and to which I reacted with anger and, er, high volume. My son has a list of those times. To be fair, he also said I was “perfect” until he started high school. After that, not so much.
My only goal in life was to be a mother. When I was a kid, my ambitions were lofty — become a pediatric surgeon/mother/home owner/dog rescuer/resident of Australia. I hit three of those things. But truly, the one thing I knew was that I wanted to be a mom. Even if I had never found the right person, I would have been a mother. And I was blessed with two wonderful, kind, smart, funny children who are the lights of my life.
I took to motherhood naturally and worked hard at it, too. Sleep training. Nursing. Homemade baby food. Lots of outdoor time, wholesome games, no TV outside of an hour of Sesame Street or Bob the Builder. No TV on school nights. Tightly monitored social media after they turned sixteen, and yes, I had their passwords.
When they had the throw-ups, I rubbed their backs. When they had fevers, I slept in their beds. When friendships were hard, I gave thoughtful advice. The day my then 9-year-old son came downstairs and said, “Oh, I forgot! I need to bring a camel to school,” I stuffed some pillows into a brown cape, tied it up with twine, and voila. He had a camel. He wasn’t even late for the bus. I got up before six every school day and made them breakfast and lunch and drew cartoons on their napkins (until my son told me to stop). I went to their events, cheered them on, drove them around, taught them to drive and read their college essays. I baked desserts from scratch, didn’t get upset when they broke stuff and moderated their sibling arguments. And I did this all while working in a very competitive field that required a lot of mental energy.