Dear Elli,
You're the light of my life, and I can't imagine life without you. That said, parenting stresses me the hell out. It's the reason I blow well over a thousand dollars on my hair every year. To "blend" the gray. You might be wondering what is so difficult about being a parent.
Well, at first it was mostly the fact that your survival depended entirely upon my skills to keep you alive every day. I'm happy to report that I never forgot to feed you and I didn't drop you a single time. I did, however, accidentally smack your head into the side of the doorway on at least two occasions while carrying you. You were a tall baby, and my depth perception is a little off when I don't have adequate sleep.
Nowadays, it's difficult for very different reasons. The hardest thing about parenting right now is to let you be human. To make you responsible for your mistakes. To acknowledge that you are not perfect, and to teach you to also acknowledge the same.
You see, I'm a member of the "gold star" generation. I don't know if I made that phrase up, or if I stole it. But I do know that I came home with enough gold star stickers on my school papers to light up the entire universe three times.
I was very accomplished. Everyone was very accomplished. We all had gold stars and a scrapbook full of certificates for the mediocre performance of everything. I received a little-league soccer trophy for a team that didn't win a single freaking game. I'm not shitting you.
We didn't do anything wrong. Ever. We never sucked at anything and we certainly weren't responsible for shit. Our parents protected us. They went to the school and "had a talk" with the teacher who hurt our self-absorbed feelings. We were asked to excel, but rewarded whether we did or not. We were all special.
I was really lucky. Somehow, I was blessed with the sense to know bullshit when I saw it. And a mother to remind me just in case I forgot. I knew the gold stars and certificates and trophies were bullshit, but I still thought she was a jerk when she refused to march into the school and defend my bad behavior. When she gave me a hug when my feelings were hurt but refused to fix my problems for me. She told me when I was being an asshole. She told me when I had asshole friends. She told me when I wasn't trying hard enough. And she told me when she was proud of me, which wasn't every day. I'm really glad she was such a jerk.
But now we have kids. The "gold star" generation has spawned. And while I was a very lucky "gold star-er", I still feel the influence. I fight it, but I feel it. I want to say "good job" when you didn't really do a good job sometimes. And sometimes I want to defend you even when you are being an asshole.
But guess where that got us? I can't even count the number of knucklehead people I know who still truly believe they are extraordinary specimens of humanity. They are the best at everything and know everything about everything. It doesn't matter that they live with their parents. They are the BEST! These are the people with a special certificate for their 2.0 GPA and only missing 29 days of school in 7th grade.
Seriously. We're all still the best. So we squabble amongst each other and judge one another on every possible topic, especially parenting. We actually spend time arguing visciously about things like the best type of diapers to use and where exactly a carseat should be placed in the back seat of the stupid car.
There are members of my generation who actually think they're smarter than the brightest scientists the world has ever seen. We've literally managed to resurrect previously eradicated diseases and create local epidemics of things like measles and mumps. Because we know best. We have gold stars to prove it.
And we have strict guidelines for building and maintaining our children's self confidence. We must be firm, but not too firm. We must always be right beside them to pick them up when they fall, but don't hover. We mustn't yell, curse, or lose control of our emotions. We should be tigers, but also soft. They must always be reminded of how much they are loved so that they develop a strong sense of self. Positive reinforcement is the only way to go. Reward good behavior constantly and with nearly religious fervor. And don't forget to put them in timeout.
This shit is stressful. I'm not sure any generation has ever behaved so ridiculously in human history. We're a bunch of idiots. And I refuse to let you become what we are. So here's what I'm doing.
1. I told you that you're 76 percent quiz score last week was not impressive. And we went over your wrong answers.
2. I agreed that your basketball dribbling skills need work. And I offered to help you work on them.
3. When your friend at school was mean to you and you cried, I did not email your teacher. Instead, I talked to you about how to work out your issues without intervention from an adult.
4. When you punched a boy in the face this week, I told you that was bully behavior and that I was disappointed. Then I explained my expectations going forward.
5. When you got a 100 percent on your homework assignment, I told you I was proud. Because a 100 percent is truly an accomplishment.
6. I sometimes yell, curse, and lose control of my emotions. And then I apologize. Because I'm not perfect.
7. I tell you that I love you. But I try to show you even more frequently. Because that means more than words.
That's what I'm doing. Because I don't want you to be an idiot when you grow up. And I certainly have no interest in you squabbling with your peers on social media when you're 33-years-old from your bedroom in my basement.
And you will continue to receive a flu shot, along with every other shot your doctor recommends, until you move out. Because he is smarter than me. Even though I truly am an extraordinary specimen of humanity.
And last but not least, I love you. Even though you currently kind of suck at dribbling a basketball.
Mom
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