Wasted Space

I attended a dear friend's baby shower a few years back. One of the things she requested of her guests was to write parenting advice down on a 3x5 index card, for those of us who had children. She handed me the card and said, motioning toward my daughter, "Just write down how to do that. Like, I want to have one of her when it's all said and done."

I without hesitation wrote the following:

"I have learned that no matter where or from whom we come, there are some things best left in the previous generation. We have much to learn and much to unlearn from our predecessors. We decide if and where the cycle stops: good, bad, or indifferent. Just know that you are this precious creatures's first experience and example of God. You will be his or her's first personification of His love."

Because that has been my experience. There are some things I was taught, that while I'm sure was grounded in logic and reasoning, did not serve me well as an emotional being. There are things I was taught that do not serve me as a female in today's society. There are things I was taught that do not serve me well spiritually.

I learned very well to avoid, to apologize for having natural desires, to put a man's needs before my own, to read between the lines, and for the love of all that is holy, to NOT talk about the pink, purple polka-dotted huge elephant in the room. To dismiss and be dismissed. To "never let 'em see you sweat" and to deny my God-given right and privilege to feel. Because at the end of the day, who cares to see and hear all of that? To minimize, conceal, and deny.

Society taught me that love is always enough, to look for the knight on the white horse, that as long as I have a partner to complete me, all would be well. The Cinderella syndrome is a ploy. The knight never existed, and I have kissed enough frogs to know that Prince Charming is a fallacy.

Nature versus nurture, that is the question. Was it my environment or society selling me a fantasy?

In writing, or expressing myself in any form for that matter, I shy away from broad, sweeping generalizations. If my experience differs from yours, if you had a childhood that could be the plot for a warm and fuzzy Hallmark movie, please accept my apologies. And please, forward me your contact info, as I have yet to meet a person who comes from such.

The good news is, as a mother of an infant, there is a clean slate. Unpainted canvas. A brand-spanking new mound of fresh, moldable clay before us. That's the bad news, too. It's exciting, exhilarating, and refreshing. It is also frightening. Very frightening, as the responsibility seems overwhelming and the task insurmountable.

This is what I have learned:

I am enough.
My feelings matter, I cannot control them, but I can absolutely control how I react to them.
Your opinion of me is none of my business.
I teach people how to treat me, by what I allow and what I reinforce.
God's love is not dependent on my self-worth, self-acceptance, or any other conditions.
I am worthy.
To say what I mean and mean what I say-there is a lot of grief born out of not doing so.
To stop apologizing. For the love, stop apologizing.

I used to apologize for taking up space. For asking a question. For not getting it right the first time. For feeling. For not knowing. For being in the way. For you not being in a good space. For sucking air.

I hope and pray I did not pass these tendencies on to my children. I have worked diligently to not pass on the defective means by which I used to navigate through life. I have been purposeful in teaching them that they matter, they are enough, and not to apologize for taking up space. My prayer is they heard me.

If you have churen, daughters in particular, do yourself and them a favor and watch this video. It stepped on my toes. I am not moving my foot, just trying to figure out why it hurts.

The Ghost of Teenagers Past

I have learned a lot during my journey as a mother. I got a crash-course in parenting when Morgan became a teenager. Oh.My. She was a tricky one, but for the most part was way more saintly than me in my teenage years. She was still abducted by aliens and replaced by a sarcastic, "it's not my fault!" procrastinating clone. They brought her back, eventually. Damn aliens.

There is one thing that sticks out when I reflect back on her early teens: giving her keys to a car changed her personality.

I don't know when this tendency starts in parenting, but I am guilty of it. The tendency to assume one child is going to follow in the other's footsteps exactly. Particularly where there is a sense of freedom involved.

I have written before about my mom's strategy by the time I hit my eye-rollin', talkin'-back, rebellious phase. Her strategy didn't work. At all. So my approach with my two teens has been different. They have my trust until they give me a reason not to trust them. I at least give them the opportunity to meet my reasonable expectations. In general, it has worked out. There are mistakes made, by them and by me, but we all learn from them.

So, Chucker got his license about a month ago, and after a cluster of car issues, he now has some wheels. And I have been assuming the worst of him ever since. Strictly based on my experience with his sister. John is equally as guilty. I cannot tell you how many times he has let "You just got Morganed" fall out of his mouth in the last couple of weeks. That's right, Morgan's legacy is such that she has become a verb in our household. When there is manipulation of people, time, money, "well, see what had happened was", etc. that's when you've been "Morganed".

My mother assumed that I would do everything that my older two siblings tried as teenagers. I get it. We recognize our shortcomings as parents and we learn from them. And that's fine, but my experience with "cookie-cutter" parenting has never been positive. Don't get me wrong, I believe there are some developmental phases which few humans can escape. There are going to be similarities in certain aspects, but what works for one isn't necessarily going to work for another. Just because Morgan was a logistical nightmare doesn't necessarily mean that Chucker's fate has already been written in that area. Matter of fact, his pendulum swings in the opposite direction. He's punctual to a fault. Morgan hasn't seen punctual in almost a decade. Maybe ever. I dunno.

Maybe I'm giving us (parents) a bad rap here. Maybe it's human nature. John had zero experience as a parent when we got married. He automatically assumed the worst of Beba because of his teenage experience. Mind you when he was 16 Reagan was president, gas was 89 cents a gallon, and Teddy Ruxpin was the best-selling toy. Yet somehow Morgan was supposed to be held to the same standards he was charged with living up to.  As I type this, I can see how senseless that sounds. In the moment, though, all of that escapes me as my anxiety level increases exponentially knowing that I am getting "Morganed" by either of my churen.

Becoming aware of this tendency has given me pause to stop and breathe. Both of my teenagers are good kids. They're different as night and day, though. So for now I'm strappin' myself in for this roller coaster ride that is gonna be Chucker with a car. That's inevitable. He's a teenager with a sense of freedom and independence. Whether it's the "Afterburn" or the "Kiddie Coaster" is yet to be determined.

Have I mentioned how much I love roller coasters?