Finally, summer vacation is here. The relentless pace of the past month has eased. The kids keep themselves busy, visiting friends, working and sleeping late. I’m kind of at a loss.
I used to be the Cruise Director of Summer Activity and now, I’m nothing more than an Uber driver, depositing the kids at one location or another. (The 18-year old drives now which is an entire untold story in itself. Is there anything more disconcerting than letting your baby drive down the street by himself?)
I remember the experts telling me to enjoy my children while they were young because after about age 12, they’d prefer their peers to me and boy howdy, that’s exactly what has happened.
I think I enjoyed my kids when they were young. Mostly. Not enough. Not nearly enough because frankly, they were kind of annoying. Well, some of them. (Not the one who is reading this blog because NOT YOU, my darling! Ha.) But I have scrapbooks that remind me of all the things we did, the places we went, the fun we had. Photographic proof.
I remember those early years as a concentrated dose of everything. Too bad I couldn’t have diluted it, bottled it and saved it for these days because now, snuggling in a recliner with a freshly bathed four-year old watching Rugrats before a 7 PM bedtime sounds absolutely enchanting. At the time, I was just getting through the bedtime routine so I could have a moment to myself.
When I come across an article giving tips to parents, I think, too late, too late. Why didn’t we do all the things the clever writers recommend? We were busy, too busy, trying to survive and get through the days. (Also, as it turns out, kids drive you absolutely crazy with their whining and fighting and they resist being who think they should be. Maybe that was just me.)
Why didn’t I tell them everything I know while they still believed I knew everything?
We should have given them more chores, had more conversations, isolated them from technology, insisted that they read every night before their early bedtimes. We should have told talked more, listened more, made them eat more vegetables. We should have lived in the country so they could milk cows and grow produce and we should have lived in the city so they could explore museums and experience a diverse urban community. We should have spent a year traveling cross-country in a camper. We should have never left home.
We should have been young and active parents. We should have been gray and wise parents. We have should had an only child. We should have had a dozen. We should have banned television from our house. We should have watched television together so we could discuss it during commercials. We should have used library cards more. We should have purchased more books.
We should have played with more homemade organic Play-doh and painted with more professional-grade watercolor paints and planted six-foot sunflowers and formed our own family orchestra (complete with violins and cellos) and our own baseball team with a pitcher who could throw a curve ball and a fast ball.
But it’s too late.
So, I’m not a perfect mom, not even close. (That breaks my perfectionist heart because all I have ever really wanted since I can remember is to be perfect and to do thing perfectly and make perfect decisions and every time I’m faced with my imperfection it bums me out.) I’ve made selfish choices and done bonehead things and missed opportunities along the way.
I read those articles with their hints and tips and ideas for parents with regret and a little bit of bitter rage because how it is even possible to be That Parent when you are dealing with kids who don’t even want to brush their teeth or eat carrot sticks? How was I to know that the years really would scream by faster than a rollercoaster? I did not really believe it and now, I feel like I missed some things and I would respectfully request to be allowed to time travel so I could fix up a few things I missed the first time around.
Pending that approval, I can only tell you what I know for sure. We did the best we could with the knowledge and ability we had at the time. We are still doing the best we can, navigating these waters, hoping we are doing the important things right.
That just has to be enough. (Until I can go back in time and spruce up some things.)
Actual Unretouched Photo 
i fall deep into feeling i was not a great mom…it is painful!
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My thoughts exactly, though much, MUCH better expressed. My sons are 40, 35, and 33 and they are all wonderful men but I still have that panicky feeling that I didn’t do ENOUGH sometimes. But you are right; we tried our best but kids themselves are rather an obstacle to perfectionism.
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Oh my goodness this hits close too home. I have read your blog for years and years and have read your posts on raising kids and all things mommy. We will have a high school Senior this upcoming fall and a 10th grader. This is the summer of the first (real) job, and college applications, and providing encouragement and biting my tongue and if I am really honest – behind my smile and cheers is a bucket full of regret, what if’s, worry – can I have a do-over. Our daughters are truly wonderful young ladies and I am proud of them but any of their struggles, weaknesses – I think I should have done this and this or that and this. So what to do. I did my best. I worked full time outside of the home and tried to be a good mom. God’s grace. It is all grace.. Hang in there Mel. I heard your heart behind all the words you have written. You have loved your kids and parented well.
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Hey, hope you still get to the sea.
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For me, so far, I think empty nest is the toughest transition there is. The intensity required to birth, raise and launch children is exhausting and non stop. Then, suddenly, it just all…stops. The laundry becomes easily conquered but the silence is deafening. Leaves a lot of time to replay the “did-we-do-enough–did-we-do-too-much” loop over and over. Once I realized that this was a source of torment, I decided to just ask my men (have to get used to that word) what they remembered most fondly about their childhood. No one complained that I didn’t homeschool. No one lamented the lack of crafts or board games or farm fresh meals. They loved remembering my freak outs, the things they snuck by us (to my horror, I might add), Lord of the Rings marathons, fights over cereal and trips to Urgent Care. Today they would take a bullet for each other–there was a time when I thought they might kill each other. 🙂 They are moving forward- just as we taught them to. We survived them and they survived us and God filled in the gaps. Your kids have never known a day without love- and that is everything. And someday, we will all get the opportunity to perfect our skills as grandparents!
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