Friday, July 31, 2015

The Best I Could Do

I never had dreams of being a parent.

Looking back, I never really thought about getting married. To me, growing up and becoming an adult meant living on your own and having a career. For some reason, the fancy white dress, handsome groom, white picket fence and 2.5 kids never really entered my mind. It's not that I didn't want it; I just didn't think about it.

So when I got married in 1995 and then pregnant in 1996, I kind of took it on like any new job or other challenge. I studied everything I could get my hands on, talked to as many people as I knew who had experience, and set myself up as best I could for this new parenting gig. I took my prenatal vitamins, ate right and exercised. I had a doula and a birth plan that outlined my wishes to have things happen as "naturally" as possible. I breastfed for a year, introduced solids at the recommended age, kept a baby book to record all the milestones and made sure my newborn son wasn't lagging behind in any areas of growth.

My plans to go back to work changed when my husband, a Major in the Army National Guard, decided to do a 10-month command course in Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas. We moved there just three weeks after my son was born. I worked from home (halfheartedly) and my son spent five or six hours a day during the week with a wonderful nanny. I took him to Mommy and Me classes and met with a military child development specialist every other month to make sure he was on track physically and mentally. We went on walks every day where I'd spend hours talking to him about the sky and the trees and the leaves and the grass, because I heard it was important to talk to your baby, and not in a baby voice but in a regular voice. I never played that crappy kids' music because I wanted him to love real music, so I played the Beach Boys and other oldies songs because they didn't have any bad stuff in them. Most weekends, his dad was gone getting his EMBA, so we'd go to the park or to one of the playgrounds on Post to pass the time.

After Leavenworth, we moved to Chicago and by then I was no longer working at all. I started two playgroups in our neighborhood on Tuesdays and Thursdays so my son and I would meet people and have some social interaction. We joined a children's museum and went every Monday. We took art and tumbling classes at the local community center. On weekends, we'd play in the sprinkler in the summer or stroll through one of the big malls in the area when it was cold, or go home to see my parents when his dad was out of town or had monthly Drill.

After two years in Chicago, we moved back to Peoria and into a neighborhood teeming with kids. I hadn't thought about having another child - once again, it just never entered my mind. I loved my son, but I hadn't planned on being a stay-at-home mom and didn't really have the confidence in it that I had in my career. But after living on a street full of families with multiple children, we welcomed another son a year later.

It was then that I kind of embraced - or was worn down to embracing - true mommy mode. My husband had retired from the military but had taken a job an hour and a half away in Springfield that required him to be gone 14 days a month. To make up for his absence, I was determined to make every moment count so my children would have all the awesome experiences I had as a kid with a stay-at-home mom. Over the next few years we had neighborhood baseball games, endless rounds of flashlight tag, pumpkin decorating and carving, t-shirt tie dying, pizza parties, slip 'n slides, chalk sidewalk racetracks and snow forts. I walked my kids to school every morning and picked them up in the afternoon. Every once in awhile, I'd surprise them at lunch with ice cream or a cookie. I was a room mom and volunteered on the PTC.

During that time, their dad and I divorced. My biggest fear was that when my kids grew up and someone asked them about their childhood, the first thing out of their mouths would be, "Well, my parents divorced when I was a kid." I didn't want that. Neither did their dad. We actually went to divorce counseling to learn how parent effectively in spite of our failed marriage. The day after we told our oldest son, who was seven at the time, we all went out shopping for furniture for his new bedroom at dad's and then out to lunch. We never argued about visitation or what time to bring the kids home or who's buying this or that for them.

My ex and I never talked badly about each other to our kids. If anything, we talked each other up. Aside from a few bumps here and there where the kids tried to play one of us off of the other, we projected a united front. We all went to Disney World together. We spent every Christmas and most Thanksgivings together, and would occasionally go out to dinner as a family. We'd sit next to each other at soccer and baseball games and school concerts. People would comment that we had one of the best divorces they'd ever seen. I always thought we were better divorced than we ever were married. And when shit hit the fan a few years ago with our oldest son, we joined forces once again to make some very tough decisions - initiated by both of us, discussed by both of us, and decided upon by both of us - that we thought were best for him.

See, my ex-husband and I are very different people. He's laid back; I'm pretty rigid. He's more spontaneous; I'm a planner. He goes through life happy-go-lucky for the most part; I'm constantly anticipating the fall of the sky. His way of life and his rules for the kids are less stringent than mine. In some ways, he's a grown up who decided he didn't ever quite want to grow up. And that makes him incredibly appealing to my kids, especially my oldest one.

This used to bother me, and I'm not going to lie, sometimes it still does. But I know both of our roles in our children's lives are equally as important. I have said it more than once that my kids are lucky they don't have two parents like their mom and just as lucky that they don't have two parents like their dad.

My kids are lucky.

They are lucky that they have their dad and me as their parents. The boy who never wanted to grow up and the girl who never thought she'd marry and have kids grew up and married and had kids. And we did our very best.

Did we make mistakes? Yup. Lots of them. I let my son "cry it out" one night, only to finally break down and go in his room where I realized his foot was stuck in between the crib slats. Another time I drove across town before I realized he wasn't buckled in his car seat. When he came home crying because he said the kids were bullying him, I yelled at the kids before hearing the whole story and giving him the power to work it out for himself. I sent them both to school when they were sick, only to get a call less than an hour later that they had a fever/threw up/have pinkeye. I couldn't handle either of them being disappointed so I made sure that I always "fixed" anything bad that happened to them. I monitored their online grades so closely that I knew if they were failing a class even before they did, and already had a plan outlined as to how to get them back on track. I cleaned their rooms, did their laundry and their dishes, picked up their toys and rarely had any chores whatsoever for them to do. I never let them handle money so they would learn its value and how to manage it. And those are just MY mistakes. I'll let my ex-husband tell you his.

I'm sure if you ask my kids they can tell you a plethora of additional things I did wrong. But here's the deal. I did the best I could. And I think I did more good than harm. I truly believe that there is no job harder in this world than being a parent. I used to tell people that if it were in fact a real job I would have resigned long ago. But that's not how it works - and the days you love it just barely outnumber the days you don't think you can go on. So you keep trying your best, because you know what's at stake. You're raising another human being. He's looking at you and that in turn makes you look at yourself and think, "Regardless of whether I think I'm effed up or not, I'm going to try my damndest not to eff up this kid." So you suck it up and wake up every morning and do the very best you can.

My kids won't realize this unless they become parents - and frankly, that's up to them if they want to go down that road. And until then, my oldest son may continue to blame me for his shortcomings, or his issues, or his problems, or his faults. He may say my Type A personality dominates his dad's Type B, but what he needs to understand is that sometimes it takes the Type As and Type Bs together to make the proper decisions - especially when those decisions are big ones. It's the strong-willed one telling the passively mellow one that something needs to be done, and the passively mellow one calming down the strong-willed one so she doesn't go too far.

So no, I don't think I am the root of my son's issues, nor do I think that how his dad and I parented him is to blame, either. In fact, after thinking back on the last 18 years of parenting - that parenting I never thought I'd do - I'm confident and even have - dare I say it? - a touch of serenity - that I did the absolute best job I could do, and therefore refuse to carry that burden of blame. And if he looks back on his childhood and thinks he got a raw deal, then that's something he needs to work out on his own.

There are very few things I'm proud of in my life, because I have made an assload of mistakes in just about every arena. I have many regrets. But I don't regret having my children, and I don't regret how I parented them overall. In fact, I'm actually kind of proud of it. I've abandoned many things in my life for a variety of reasons, but my kids weren't one of them. There is nothing I have put more effort into and there is nothing I've ever tried so hard to be better at every day. And as far as my adult child is concerned, well, I'll always be his mom, and I'll be here in the capacity in which he needs me to be. But I will never, ever apologize to him for how I parented him ... because I know I did the best I possibly could.

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