I love my kids, I just hate parenting
When I was a kid, my biggest fear was being kidnapped. I mean, who wouldn’t want this little heartthrob cooling up their house?
As I grew up and that terrifying two-part episode of Diff’rent Strokes faded from my memory, the whole kidnapping fear evaporated. Other anxieties emerged and receded through the years until I became quite fearless… provided I’d had ten beers and you agreed to no punches to the face or groin.
Then I had a kid. And I became fearmore.
As I discussed last week, Christmas is a double-edged sword.
The kid got way too many toys for Christmas and he had way too many toys already. But it’s not always the quantity of toys that is the problem. It’s the quality. Some toys are educational, some are musical, some are harmless and some are the devil.
Every kid has received a gift that immediately becomes the bane of their parents’ existence, for a variety of potential reasons. After a morning spent nursing a headache one of those gifts had given me, I reached out online and asked other parents what one gift they wished their child had never received, and why.
Here were the top three responses, plus one slightly more universal item:
Sometimes I worry that I love my son too much.
I was thinking about that this Christmas, when I saw the haul of toys he received from his parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles, and watched as he was indoctrinated into the Culture of More. It definitely made for a fun holiday – the joy of little kids can be contagious – but it also made me nervous.
There’s a reason we call it “spoiling.” Overindulgence breeds assholes.