Eating Spiders, Wild Streaks And Raising Children
Even after raising three kids I can’t confidently advise anyone else on how to parent.
I do believe, though, that there are three absolute rules to follow:
One, make sure they are fed and watered. You would feed and water cattle, wouldn’t you? Children are no different.
Two, clothe them even if they throw fits and insist on wearing only a frilly yellow tutu and nothing else when they are two years old.
Three, do not let them grab and eat the goldfish straight out of the tank.
Other than that I have often found parenting baffling.
For example, when Adventurous Singing Daughter was young why did she like to eat sand so much? That could not have been tasty. Why did she repeatedly try to eat spiders? How many spiders did she eat when I glanced away for just ONE second?
Why did Rebel Dancing Daughter wear the same two dresses over and over for years when she was a little girl? I bought them at garage sales. One had fruits, the other flowers. Why did I bother buying her other clothes when she wouldn’t wear them anyhow?
And Darling Laughing Son. What was the fascination with carrying around a metal spatula when he was two? Why did he have to stubbornly wield my long wooden spoon like a sword when he was in the stroller?
So many years have gone by since then.
Rebel Dancing Daughter is now trotting around Europe and has been offered a job in the Ukraine after graduation. I want her to go to the Ukraine about as much as I want my left arm to fall off my body and start hitting innocent people.
Adventurous Singing Daughter is heading to college in the fall but what she would really like to do is circle the globe and have – wait for it – adventures. She is going to college because we will not fund such globetrotting, so off she slogs.
And Darling Laughing Son? Well, that kid has a wild streak. He wants to keep his wild streak. We want to beat it out of him.
It is in these parenting moments, sometimes hard, sometimes hotly argumentative, sometimes baffling, that I often remember holding their hands when they were little.
I held their hands when we went to the zoo, the library, the park, the river. I held their hands when we danced, when they cried, when we played in a pool or read stories. Those sweet, tiny, warm hands.
Now I feel those sweet hands slipping away. They’re older. They are often gone, away at school, away in a different country.
I am older, too. I tire easily. I want to put my feet up and drink coffee. I want to daydream by my garden.
Sometimes it truly saddens me, that that part of life, the raising the kids part, is going.
And yet. As the kids are flying off, I feel myself flying, too. I have been working and raising children for twenty two years.
And now, finally, there is time. Time for me. Time for Innocent Husband. Time for change.
Time to love the kids as they get older and become themselves.
Time to travel, read, do something new.
Time to hold hands.
***
I love you Adventurous Singing Daughter, Darling Laughing Son, and Rebel Dancing Daughter.
No matter where you fly off to, I will always be here, my hand outstretched, a hug waiting for you. Be safe, be kind, be you.
Do not eat sand or spiders. Wear more than two dresses. Be careful with that wild streak. And call yo momma.
