I love my kids, I just hate parenting
Before I became a parent, I had a lot of fantasies about how I was going to influence my kids to like the stuff I like, and to teach them the stuff I wanted them to know.
I forgot how quickly other influences crop up. My kid is not even six and I’m already fighting a war on multiple fronts.
I think TV is winning.
There are a lot of things I don’t want my kids to become. Bullies, jerks, people who say “All Lives Matter”, Republicans, Jets fans… a lot of things.
Not all of them are within our control, but a few might be. Preventing him from being spoiled, teaching him to be kind and grateful are others. Those are things parents can influence. Right? Maybe? Please?
Help. I think I’m having a control freak-out.
If you’ve been following me on social media, you probably know that I’ve been on my own the past few days.
We were at my parents for the holiday weekend, and while I came back to NYC on Tuesday to go to work, Mom and Buried and the kids stuck around. The kids got to hang with Grandma (consequences be damned) and Mom and Buried was able to get some work done without paying for a babysitter. Or camp.
Meanwhile, I was living the high life, bachelor style! FREEDOM!
When I was a kid, we visited Disney World.
At some point we ended up on a breakfast cruise, and there are pictures of me there, cherub-faced and smiling wide, surrounded by Mickey and Minnie, Chip and Dale, Cinderella, and assorted other Disney characters. I don’t remember it, but I’ve seen pictures, and I have no doubt it was one of the happiest days of my life. (We visited Disneyland too, but come on. There’s a reason all the pictures from that trip are from Universal Studios.)
I worshiped Disney as a kid. My five-year-old has no idea what Disney is.
Parenting forces you out of your comfort zone.
I am constantly being pushed into things I don’t want to do, and sometimes I’m even the one doing the pushing. My kids’ happiness has become my first priority, and so suddenly I’m building a playhouse in the backyard, or I’m forced to host a sleepover. Or I find myself getting my son a complicated toy I know Detective Munch would enjoy but that I need to put together first.
After spending ten hours assembling the thing – during which he mostly just watched – he’d better enjoy it!