There are a lot of things about parenting that no one ever tells you. If I could chalk it up to a metaphor, I view it as a collective club of women that we all know from pivotal moments of our lives. They’re sitting in a proverbial day spa, and every single one of them are smug little liars when it comes to parenting. They’re in matching white robes and towels. One is having her nails done and another has cucumbers over her eyes because they did their time and now they can’t be bothered. It’s so hilarious, they’re laughing about the entire situation and all the things they didn’t tell you are coming.
I think they’re not so secretly glad they survived.
Maybe they’ve all got amnesia because motherhood deteriorates brain matter. Either way, they forgot to include a crapload of info when it came to things that could help future generations. Because sometimes, I just wish I’d known certain elements were coming. There’s always been a sense of smugness when it comes to parenting.
I guess I could replace those women with versions of DeLorean-riding me. Because I’m a little smug. There’s thirty year old me who is pretty humored with twenty-five year old me who is learning the ropes with one baby and I’m pretty much exhausted. Then there’s thirty-five year old me laughing at thirty year old me who doesn’t know what to do with three. Now there’s thirty-nine year old me laughing at all of them, because now I get to sleep. But also with a little more empathy because the younger versions can eat hamburgers and it won’t keep them up all night, so they’re winning in different ways.
And then there’s fifty year old me who doesn’t exist just yet, throwing in a nice round of guilt, telling me I’ll miss stepping on legos but also, that the best is yet to come.
If I’m being perfectly honest, I made a decision that ‘the best is yet to come’ as my parenting mantra, so I’m not sad when each phase passes. I can’t very well sit around and cry all day, staring at baby pictures. I have a job to do. Saddle up, soldier on.
But I’ve always thought I would have fared better if babies could arrive with a full set of instructions and warning labels. Details drawn out specifically for each parent. I’m not asking for much, just a tag they can attach to their toe at the hospital. Thanks, God.
General warnings: Comes with a full blown penchant for anxiety, and, has a smart mouth.
Specifics: At the age of fifteen, she’ll sneak out with a friend and throw the car into neutral so she can go for a joy ride even though she doesn’t have a license. At midnight.
Oh wait, that would be my warning label. And my label would be more of a phonebook of issues and suddenly it’s cutting off the circulation on my baby toe.
Thanks, Universe
So there are a lot of things about parenting that I didn’t know. When I made that last push, and that beautiful child entered the world, I fell back onto the hospital bed in sheer joy and exhaustion. I immediately knew the primal urge within me that would protect my baby for the rest of my existence. I went from being timid, unsure and selfish, to, I will cut you prison-yard style and ask questions later if you mess with my baby.
What am I getting at with all my metaphors and weird illustrations? Forget the deep moments and the important stuff. Forget the sweet emotions and the hardships of parenting.
I had no earthly idea the amount of homework that would come with each kid.
No. Really. This is kind of a big deal. How could people leave this out when I was expecting? WE DID THIS ALREADY. I have 2.5 degrees THAT SAY SO. Stop making me do all the homework.
I get the general concept. Some out of touch dinosaur in the higher-ups, hands down a bunch of standards to teachers everywhere, who are changing the world. We are SO grateful to the teachers. Really. I must have the preface here before I complain, and I know how this works so douse the angry mob torches.
Also, let me just go ahead and put it out there that we homeschooled for three years. So we get that angle, too. Each option is loaded with pros and cons with just raising our children in general.
But in the middle of changing the world, some of our amazingly incredible stewards of our school system, have decided to turn our little corner of the world, into an award-winning arts and crafts fair.
In the past few years, we’ve constructed a journal of a child who has survived the plague in France circa 18 I-don’t-remember. We’ve helped create a board game from scratch that looked better than vintage Candy Land to show feudal lords and land ownership. We’ve made costumes to rival the very being of Martha Stewart and we’ve attended every stinking event that we possibly can, whilst surviving a passive aggressive room mom on an ill-placed Pinterest craze who clearly had too much time on her hands. She was stealthily skilled at indirectly demanding that I make robot juice boxes.
The kids got plain juice boxes and they were all the better for it, thankyouverymuch. {The party wasn’t even robot juice box themed. {She doesn’t even go here!} It was a normal party and I’d signed up for juice boxes} It was an amazing exercise for my people-pleasing tendencies. We’re all gonna make it.
Probably not juice box mom, but the rest of us, we’re all gonna make it.
I think I’m just amazed, at the level of competition some people exude the older our own children get. We’re surrounded by it. The more we’re pulled into this world, the more I’m exposed to, and try desperately to resist it. I’m all, don’t you have laundry to fold? A job to attend? A HOBBY?!
From taking sports a little too seriously, all the way to the latest headline of paying off their SAT’s for a higher spot on the proverbial ladder rung. The latter is an example of extreme unchecked priorities, but we’re all trying to strike that balance. There’s a lot of projected societal expectations of perfection when it comes to parenting.
Here’s the thing about balance and perfection: It doesn’t exist.
That’s why therapists exist.
But homework, I think is where I see it all the most. It’s the heart of where it begins. I can see it escalating, the older they become. It’s like one big living metaphor for letting them sink or swim. Of struggling to strike that balance, somewhere in the middle of letting them learn on their own. It’s a showcase of what they’re learning, sent home by the school. And how we deliver on that showcase, how we return those packets daily to the teachers, reflects our family and our children.
Am I missing something?
Some older, wiser {and maybe smug-ger} moms would say, Let them fail. Let them do it on their own. And other things that sound good here. Usually, we do. But I’d like to argue that unless we want to eat dinner and move on with our lives before eleven p.m., our children require help. This is the workload with three children after school. This is how ridiculous homework expectations have become. I’d also like to argue that some of these assignments are so out of our child’s age range, they know that the parents will help. I’m quite certain they expect us to.
It also becomes this sick game we’ve all bought into, where if we don’t help them, their project will somehow look ‘lesser than’. God forbid, age appropriate. See: Robot juice boxes.
A mom of younger littles told me to go on strike. To refuse to do the homework, period. So my child can be ostracized? Because the truth of the matter is, not all teachers will be unbiased. They’re human, too and we’ve seen it happen. That’s cute that you haven’t started school with your kids yet, I wanted to tell her with a head pat. Get back to me in seven years. {See: more smugness}
The worst part is, I’m supposed to be supportive of said assignments, and have a good attitude. But it’s 2019. So no, Emerson, you probably won’t ever have to multiply triple digits in your head again. Yes, this is stupid. I agree. Here’s a phone with a built-in CALCULATOR. You know, that calculator we were told as children wouldn’t always be in our pocket, by math teachers everywhere. We sure showed them, AMIRITE?!
We consider life skills more important. You’re hurtling ahead of everyone on the learning curve.
I know you don’t know me. To you, I may be a helicopter/snowplow parent complaining about some good old fashioned homework. But I’m just an average mom who feeds her kids Lucky Charms, sitting in front of the laptop, saying she could just use a little less on the homework spectrum a-la the struggle bus to middle-class college success in my near future. We signed up for this. The trouble is, none of us knew what we were signing up for. They work all day and so do we. I need nights at my house to be a little more peaceful. It’s too much pressure.
Our children are 13, 11, and 9. Every time they were born, a different rule about letting them sleep existed. THOSE ARE THE RULES OR YOUR CHILD WILL DIE. Let your kid play sports, but don’t get too competitive. Or do, and get into a fist fight on the field suitable for CNN. Don’t let them play video games but also video games are good for brain development on different levels. My child is gluten free and vegan and attending your child’s birthday party… what will you be serving?
There’s a veil of silence around being authentic with parenthood, and we’re all drowning in Pinterest and articles from The New York Times, telling us how we’re doing it wrong. We’re all busy pointing fingers and not watering and weed-eating our own grass. We’re all just trying to survive. I’m here to say the only way to escape the madness is not buying into societal pressure and lies. I think the key is you doing you, and not projecting it on other people. And not letting other people project their insecurities on you. Stick to your gut and do your very best. It’s all you can do.
And also, see a therapist.
So spring break came at the perfect moment this year. Right after I helped my oldest construct Frank Lloyd Wright out of a bottle and foam ball, assisted in a sketch of a seahorse in a study of reproduction, {have you seen the dad give birth? Those are some serious contractions} and helped make twenty washi-tape maracas with a side of a marketing campaign to take down the entire third grade. Because these assignments are kind of ridiculous.
Awesomely ridiculous. Honestly, the artistic side of me is clearly torn.
And for the record, Frank Lloyd Wright will eat your soul.
Have kids, they said. It will be fun, they said.
So here’s to you, exhausted parents everywhere. May you work all day, then start the second shift in between organic homemade dinner and heavenforbidactivities, all so you can make a turn of the century marshmallow catapult to convey the common core standards of math tied in with a side of history and some other abstract concept that makes me look intelligent here. Oh, and don’t forget to fold all that clean laundry.
We’re with you. We’re all just trying our very best to survive.
May the homework gods be ever in your favor, and praise be for spring break.
Jenna says
This is funny but really very poignant and true. Homework is just a sign of the times. I lost my coffee when I saw Frank. Hilarious!
Cheryl says
As a former teacher, I totally agree with you! I tried to give my students as little homework as possible. It was frowned upon, but – rebel that I am – I still worked that way. I taught kindergarten most of the time and was astonished at the amount of homework some of my fellow teachers assigned. Kids need time to play (preferably not on the internet all of the time.) They need time with their parents. They need time to get enough rest. I won’t get on my soapbox about all of the sports schedules. I agree with you.
Jeanne says
OMG sister! Ain’t that the ever-loving TRUTH! I have three kids as well, all girls, ages 11, 8 and 5 (so that translates into 6th, 3rd and Kindergarten). Even the Kindergartener comes home with writing homework. There is one school system in our area that has banned homework, the kids do all their work in school, because they feel that kids should be kids and families shouldn’t be put through the ringer in the evenings. I wish our school system would follow suit. Here’s to parenting! LOL
Alexis says
Parenting is truly the hardest job ever. I couldn’t agree more with you. This came at the perfect time for me. Thank you for always being authentic. And yes to Lucky Charms!
MomofTwoPreciousGirls says
Here’s what I came to realize, homework ISN’T GRADED!!! At least in our schools.
Sooooo, my kids do their homework, however, I will shut it down if it’s taking too long or we won’t do it if we have other things going on (this is rare). I simply write a note “child worked on this for an hour and this is where she got. She needed time to spend with her family, eat dinner and play”. Sign it and I have never heard a word about it, my daughter is an honors student and it’s had no effect on her grades.
Obviously, projects are different bc they are graded, and I’m lucky the teachers send us email newsletters with due dates so I know with plenty of notice.
Toni says
PROJECTS! OMG! I think I homeschooled for 2 years simply to get out of the horrible arguments my adopted daughter (birth granddaughter) and I had over each and every project. I have a JD and don’t feel the “need” to do any other projects, and felt my daughter should do hers, with me supervising. Of course, her’s always looked like a kid did it and the other kids’ were obviously done by the parents. The WORST was the “family tree”…we had no info on her paternal side of the family, so since she is bi-racial, I got a lot of movie magazines and cut out pix, and made her granddad Denzel Washington, grandma Whoopie Goldberg, and so on. Actually, the teacher LOVED it and the 3rd graders actually thought it was true…best project ever!