I love my kids, I just hate parenting
I’ve been turning into my father for years now, probably since I was born, actually.
But nothing accelerates the transformation into your parents like becoming a parent yourself.
The best evidence that I’m becoming my dad, besides increasing back pain and deepening bags under my eyes, are the things I yell at my kids about. Like money.
Bored kids are the worst.
Kids hate being bored so much it makes them blind. Blind to the hundreds of toys staring them in the face, blind to the dozens of books within arms reach, blind to the open space and fresh air in the backyard.
They hate it so much it makes them deaf, too. Deaf to their parents reminders of all those toys and books. Deaf to their parents’ threats that if they don’t stop complaining about being bored, all those toys and books will be given to someone who will actually use them!
About the only thing it doesn’t make them is mute, because bored kids literally never stop telling you about it.
Over the summer, Meredith Ethington of Perfection Pending shared a list of the anxieties that plague her – and moms in general – every day, like having enough food in the house, cleaning messes, making it to appointments on time, etc. I stumbled across “Thoughts Moms Have After A Long Day of Work” again recently, and have some thoughts of my own.
The punch line to her post is that dads aren’t troubled by such things, and only think about naps. It’s all in good fun -in the comments she included a disclaimer that her husband is great and that the list was merely meant to showcase “the mental load” women have that men often don’t – but she’s not alone.
The idea that moms are the only ones who deal with this kind of anxiety is pretty common. I beg to differ.
The primary challenges I face in raising my almost-7-year-old can be broken down into two major categories:
Confession: I can’t always recognize the things he does because he’s a normal kid!
This weekend marks the unofficial end of summer, and, the return of back to school season. You’re probably knee-deep in it already, as New York is kind of late. Detective Munch doesn’t start until next week.
It’s finally time to say goodbye to leisurely mornings in which I don’t have to scream at my son to put his shoes on and then sprint to the bus stop. Of course, as my son enters the second (!!) grade, I have much bigger concerns than getting out of the house on time.
What are they? I’m glad you asked!