I just came to the realization today that my children are not perfect.
Yes, I know…I am as shocked as you are.
I will not delve into the details of how my perception of perfection was marred as I only believe in talking about my experience of the world and not theirs, but I am reeling.
Worse yet, they were all home schooled. I’m not saying that home schooled children are better behaved than schooled children, but I think I just disproved the 10,000 hour hypothesis. You know the one that says 10,000 focused time on task hours yields mastery. What a crock. I should have cranked out 3 saints.
However, let us just keep this between you and me because they still believe that I believe they are perfect, and I think a little deception in this regard is good for their self-esteem.
And heaven forbid, do not tell their grandmothers. On that note, they would not believe you anyway so go ahead. They are formidable women.
I will be strong…for my husband’s sake….But then again aren’t imperfectly perfect people lovelier to live with…Better for my own self-esteem.
I’m Not Delusional
Glad I’m not one of those delusional parents who continue to lie to themselves about their children’s perfection.
Now I run the risk of painting myself as a rather negligent mother, but anyone who is a parent will understand the constant barrage of requests that come with being the facilitator of all things in the family from mortgage renewals, to health concerns, to maintaining the chore schedule, to chauffeuring children to their various commitments.
This is not a complaint (unless I choose to make it one) as it is a path I chose because I love being home and micro managing involved and resulted in me selecting a career I can perform from home; however, the amount of things occupying my brain causes me to almost always occasionally tune out the white noise…of children talking.
Often elbow deep in the prep of making dinner, one of my children will saunter in (when I say children they are really young adults) and inform me of the latest ache or pain or bad night’s sleep to which I will appear to sympathetically nod, but am really thinking of whether that recipe said a tablespoon or teaspoon of salt. Sadly some things needing attention sometimes slip my mind, but the important ones seem to come around again…hopefully when I am not occupied.
Driving Instructor Extraordinaire
Currently, I’m one of those lucky parents with exactly two children with learner’s licenses in the house. If you cannot sense my sarcasm with the above comment, you are reading the wrong blog for you…go read something that involves science or the news…preferably uplifting news.
Teaching my children to operate a vehicle was something I never desired to participate in. In fact, the idea terrified me….and still does, but in order to see my way from A (child not driving) to C (me never having to drive them or drive with them again) involves B (teaching them how to drive by driving with them constantly).
For those who are embracing a more mindful way of living, teaching your child to drive will put you in the moment literally from 0 to 100 because they’re supposed to be doing 30. I am surprised you don’t hear of this technique more often in conversations on how to be more mindful.
Practice Makes Perfect
A few days ago, a sucker for punishment moment found my good person sitting in the passenger seat alongside my son out on his first driving adventure since putting it aside at the start of COVID. While eager to get his license initially, my son now is pretty blase about driving and happy to be chauffeured; however initiated by myself, I forced encouraged him into having a driving adventure in my eagerness to get this over with.
Cruising along the highway at speeds of 80 km/hour, I pretended not to be anxious and showed my calmness with a cool demeanor, but with my hand gripping the armrest like a vice. I coached him through some various tips and tricks and potential hazards to be aware of which he navigated well. Cruising on a relatively straight and traffic-free road, I started to relax, and we indulged in some light conversation.
“Hmmmm,” my son says.
“What’s up?” I ask conversationally.
“I think I need new glasses.”
“Why do you say that?” Concern creeping into my voice.
“The signs look a little blurry, and I can only read that sign”…pause as important road information sign gets closer…”Now.”
The sign is almost parallel with the car.
Now in the kitchen this conversation would have filed away under things to do soon. In the car, this conversation was filed under the second item to attend to…the first being to get home in one piece.
After directing him to turn onto some back roads for the remainder of his driving time, I shakily contemplated how timing really is everything.