I love my kids, I just hate parenting
The other day, some guy messaged me, all worried that my constant jokes about hating parenting aren’t jokes. He’s concerned that I truly hate being a dad.
And guess what? He’s right. I do hate it. It sucks!
It’s hard. It’s exhausting. It’s expensive. It’s stressful. It’s frustrating. It’s boring. It’s loud. It’s demanding. And I’m terrible at it.
What sane person enjoys an activity like that?
Last night, after we’d gotten the kids to bed, Mom and Buried and I sat down to talk.
It was the end of a long day and we had things to discuss. Adult things. We were in the middle of it when suddenly – it’s always suddenly – Detective Munch ran out of his bedroom to ask some innocuous question, for probably the 100th time that day.
And I lost my temper.
Last year, I shared a post about my son’s ADHD diagnosis, and the relief it brought.
Finally, we had confirmation that our 9yo wasn’t intentionally ignoring us, willfully misbehaving, or somehow a bad kid. His brain is just wired differently, and with his diagnosis, we’ve been able to view things from a different perspective; hopefully, a more patient and understanding one.
Of course, understanding the big picture is one thing and managing my everyday reactions to his behavior is another.
Read more about ADHD and Me …
Today, instead of putting my son on the bus and going straight to work, I took him to school so I could visit his class for “First Fridays.” First Fridays are a monthly occurrence on which parents are allowed – and encouraged – drop in on school and find out what our kids are working on.
Afterwards, on the train – in the middle of wondering WTF common core is all about – I suddenly realized I’d completely forgotten to do something I was supposed to have done first thing that morning.
Maybe it’s because I’m 42. Maybe it’s because I’m tired. But I think it might be because I’m spread too thin.
Parenting is frustrating. And sometimes it’s not even your kids’ fault! Sometimes, you’re your own worst enemy.
Detective Munch loves to swim. He’s had lessons almost every year since he was a baby, but he’s always been scared to dunk his head. Despite several summers spent at Grandma’s pool and on the beach, he still wouldn’t go under.
It bugged me. To a fault.
Read more about Just Keep Swimming …