I read a very interesting article online today. It was written by Hara Estroff Marano and was titled, “A Nation of Wimps?” Its premise is “Parental hyperconcern may be why kids can't cope.” It detailed the plight of many current college students, who don't know what to do when they go away to school and mom and dad aren't there to tell them what to do 24/7. In a way, it made me feel vindicated as a parent. At least once a day, when there is something I need or want to do, I’ll tell my girls to “go play.” Now, my mama told me to “go play” any number of times and I don’t recall being traumatized by the statement. So, how come I feel guilty when I say it?
Before we adopted our two daughters, I had always worked full-time. When I left my job to stay home with them, being their mom became my full-time job. And I went at it with all the enthusiasm and diligence I could muster. For almost the first full year they were home with us, I spent my days entertaining them. I’d do an hour of “school time” with them, teaching them numbers and ABCs, I read to them, I watched TV shows with them and above all, I played with them. I had wanted kids to play with for so long that I really, really enjoyed that part of parenting. After that first year, the girls started to play more by themselves, which was a good thing because, and I never thought I’d say this, I got tired of playing all day.
Let’s face it, as much as I love kids and like to be a big kid myself sometimes, adult fun and kid fun are two different things. And I had woefully neglected my house. Now, I’m no Stepford Wife and never will be, but I do need to keep some semblance of orderliness in my house. When the house is a wreck, it really stresses me out. I also began to get more freelance work (I work from home), so that meant that I spent less time entertaining the kids. They seemed to take it in stride, but I still felt, and feel, guilty about not spending every possible minute with them. But, maybe I should let go of this guilt.
“A Nation of Wimps” suggests that today’s parents micromanage their children to an unhealthy degree. This quote hit home for me: “Or perhaps it's today's playground, all-rubber-cushioned surface where kids used to skin their knees. And... wait a minute... those aren't little kids playing. Their mommies -- and especially their daddies -- are in there with them, coplaying or play-by-play coaching. Few take it half-easy on the perimeter benches, as parents used to do, letting the kids figure things out for themselves.” The article stresses that learning is not limited to academics and that children learn by playing on their own or with other kids, rather than with parents who tell them how to play. Yeah, what’s so wrong with sitting on a bench and letting the kids play?
My mom never “played” with me. Was she neglectful? Absolutely not. She read books to me, she colored with me, she took care of me in every important way, and was always, always there to listen to me. But, she didn’t spend her days entertaining me. She spent them taking care of our house, tending our vegetable garden, cooking our meals, and, yes (gasp!) actually taking time out to watch some afternoon soaps! The horror! I feel absolutely sinful if I spend a little time watching videos on You Tube.
She didn’t feel the need to micromanage my days. She wasn’t strict with me about trivial things. If I didn’t like what was for dinner, she’d make me something else. She didn’t make me go to bed at any particular time, even on school nights. She didn’t limit the amount of hours I spent watching TV. She didn’t play food police and monitor every morsel of snack food I ate. She didn’t check to make sure I did my school homework or tell me when to do it – that was my responsibility -- but she helped me with it when I asked. Outside of one well-deserved spanking, she never punished me – she just made threats that were never acted upon or gave me very heartfelt lectures when needed. Everything she did flies in the face of all the parenting books I’ve read and try to follow. The experts would say she didn’t set enough limits, that she endangered my health by not forcing me to eat vegetables, that she didn’t make sure I got adequate sleep so I could achieve at school, that she didn’t even make sure I got my homework done before I watched TV, that her lectures fell on deaf ears and that she should have given me “consequences” when I misbehaved. The experts would all predict a dire future for me based upon my upbringing. And they would be wrong. I grew up to be an independent, responsible adult because my mom gave me some space to breathe and expected me to take care of my own responsibilities. I wasn’t her full-time “job,” but her much-loved child. She and my dad were too busy trying to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies to overanalyze every move they made as parents.
Maybe I’ve been taking this parenting thing too seriously . . .
Disclaimer: Lest one of my siblngs read this post and think, "Who was this permissive parent? Not my mama," I will add that my mama was very strict and overprotective about any activities outside the home. That said, she did give me a lot of freedom at home.
