Recently, we went to my Dad and Stepmom's. My stepsister was visiting with her family, and we had not met her new son yet, so it was an exciting family get together. Before we arrived, I reminded my boys several times to be careful with the "new" baby. Reminding them, that since he is 7 months old, they had to be gentle with him. I reminded them, that if they wanted to be wild or loud, they needed to go outside. I begged them to limit bodily function noises to the car or bathroom.
All the little things I was worried about. . .and. . .
It ended up being a great visit. The kids did great with their new cousin. I got in some sweet baby time, and chat with my sister, whom I adore. My boys played great with the baby, and also went outside a lot to romp through the grasses and swing on the tree swing and be loud outdoors. It was perfect.
Until we left.
As I was walking in front of my parents' house, I noticed a massacre of several plants. I do mean massacre. Plant parts were everywhere - except in their proper plant growing form. FYI - my Stepmom is a plant-enthusiast. I don't know how else to describe it, but she is a gardener-extraordinaire. She has beautiful gardens, plants, landscaping, etc. These were not meaningless weeds that my son decapitated.
Of course, it was wrong of my son to destroy my Stepmom's plants - although he honestly thought they were weeds, and was very sorry. I was so upset about the plant destruction, that I allowed it to ruin what, had really been, a 98% successful visit (which is not always the case, and really was something to celebrate).
My Dad had asked me, during our visit, "Why do you always complain about parenting? What did you think it would be like?"
This really made me think. I do complain a lot about parenting. It stresses me out. It is harder than I thought it would be. And after this visit, I realized that a lot of my stress and anxiety revolves around the little things, the 2%. The wrecked flower plants, rather than the 3 hours of successful behavior, conversation, and interaction.
No more. I vowed to appreciate the other little moments, the ones that add up to the 98% of positive that is my day, that is work, that are my children - that is life.
This past week was very stressful. We experienced the death of a guinea pig (rest in peace Momma guinea pig), state required testing, a stomach bug that hit 3/4 of us very hard, and a wicked case of poison ivy (Stepmom's plants got their revenge on my ten-year-old).
But you know what I really remember from this past week? Walking into my ten-year-olds classroom to check on him (poison ivy), and found him sitting on the floor next to a classmate engaged in what seemed to be a relevant and fun conversation so that I only warranted a glance and a quick smile (rather than the usual "Mommmmmy!!!" followed by a barnacle-like hug). Don't get me wrong, I missed the love-fest greeting I usually get, but I was also impressed and pleased to see my social struggler interacting appropriately with peers. That was a little thing, but a Big moment.
I remember my poison ivy suffering ten-year old completing his reading EOGs without complaining (which is a bonus on a good day), and doing well. THEN getting hauled to the doctors for a poison ivy diagnosis and medication.
I remember feeling tremendous success at running 4 miles (post stomach bug), and not passing out.
I remember my 8 year old NOT even offering to help, but just helping me to carry in the massive amount of stuff I had one day after work.
I remember my two sons, sitting relaxed, and enjoying a frozen yogurt treat, having a normal conversation and my youngest son asking his big brother for a yellow gummy bear, since he didn't get a yellow one, and my ten year old just giving it to him. No argument, No negotiation. No blip in their conversation - just a seamless request to sharing moment. Very mature.
I remember sitting at the table with my husband and my ten year old, and my husband and I broaching the fact that our son will soon be in 5th grade, and being more aware of his body and hygiene and maybe (gasp) even talking about s-e-x. My ten year old quickly shot us down informing us that we did not need to talk about that at all, while from another room, my 8 year old (with selective hearing) announced, "You can talk with me about SEX! I want to talk about it!"
Some things never change.
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