The Disclaimer

I never doubted that parenting would be hard work. I just figured I would be much better at it than most people. After all, I spent a good part of my adolescence babysitting my little brother and neighborhood kids, so I knew all the tricks. I could clearly see what their parents did wrong, so I was convinced that by the time my own kids came along, I would be a pro.

I made particular note as a teenager of all the stupid things my own mom did—her rules that made no sense, the endless lectures with no obvious point, or her overuse of “because I said so” when she clearly lacked a good reason. I created a mental file labeled “Things I Will Not Do or Say When I Have My Own Kids.” I never hesitated to let my mom know when adding another of her offenses to my file. Her only comeback was, “You’ll understand when you have your own kids.” Oh please. I added that one to the file, as well.

As I matured, I watched as friends and relatives closer to my age started their families. I cringed at some of their parenting choices, again noting the things I would never do. How could they stand letting their child eat like that? How could they allow that four-year-old out in a Batman costume in the middle of July? Why do they sign those poor kids up for so many sports and activities? My kids would never act like that. My life would never be like that.

My fantasy family was perfect in my mind. I knew problems with the children would be inevitable, but we would calmly work them out and end up closer. My husband and I would be partners on the same page, backing each other up. The kids would learn to respect our clear boundaries and have no need to test them. I had it all worked out.

Then I had kids.
(The disclaimer: I am incredibly lucky to have a wonderful husband and three fabulous, healthy children. But they get on my nerves from time to time. Subsequent posts may reveal some of my frustration, but I am always aware of how blessed I truly am.)