Author name: Sandra Tayler

The grass had grown long over the past two weeks. The need for mowing was urgent, so I declared that Kiki and Link must do it today. Kiki mowed the back without complaint. She is practiced at mowing because it was her job all last summer. Link is in charge of the much smaller front lawn. Mowing is newer to him. He was ready and willing to get the work done, except for one major problem. There were multiple wasps buzzing around in the grass. Link is bee and wasp phobic. He isn’t allergic to them, but the very sight of them sends him into a panic. His preferred reaction is to flee for the house whenever he sees one. His fear is strong enough that there have been times when he wanted to play outside, but didn’t because there might be a wasp out there. Faced with wasps in the lawn that he was to mow, Link froze. He did not flee into the house, but neither did he start mowing. Instead he stood on the sidewalk and dithered in fear.

I am afraid that I did not react well to Link’s paralysis. His increasing size speaks to the instinctual part of my brain which says “we need to be preparing this one to jump from the nest and fly” The problem is that this proto-fledgling would dearly like to stay in the very center of the nest, cuddled in the downy feathers, and let me continue to drop food in his mouth when he squawks. The more logical parts of my brain are also urging me to prepare him for the things that are to come. I worry about him displaying his fears in front of peers who will not be kind. I worry about his ability to work through his emotions in healthy ways. I really want to help him learn the tools he needs so that his quirks will not turn into neuroses. I was also frustrated because the point of paying kids to mow the lawn is so that I don’t have to take the time to do it myself. And yet I ended up having to stand over Link to make sure the work got done. How exactly did that save me any time and stress? With all of those thoughts churning in my brain, I was unable to stay focused on the fact that this is a learning experience for Link. I did not remain encouraging and kind. I was angry and frustrated. Most of my words and actions expressed that frustration to Link. Having mom mad at him did not help poor Link manage his fears. It was not a particularly happy event, but the mowing did get done.

Link and I are in one of those phases where our natures are in conflict. It is his turn to be the child who is driving me to distraction. They’ve all had turns before. They’ll all have turns again. It gets especially interesting when multiple children take simultaneous turns at driving mom crazy. One of the most frustrating things about the conflicts with Link is that I can see that half the problem is in me, not him. I am very goal oriented. I always have been. I identify the things I want and then plow through all the obstacles even if they terrify me. Sometimes the fact that I’ll have to do scary things is part of the attraction of the goal. I like stretching myself and seeing what I am capable of accomplishing. I want to run with long strides into the future. Link is different. He is careful. He moves toward the future with small steps. He wants to assure himself of security and safety. Sometimes he laments the fact that he has to move forward at all, because he can see the wonderful things that are behind him and he does not want to move farther away from them. Logically I comprehend that Link’s approach to the world is as valid as mine. Logically I understand that Link must find his own way and that I should trust him. Emotionally, I keep trying to push him into answering his challenges as I would answer them, because my solutions feel so obviously correct. And they are. For me.

I don’t want to be the pushy mom, but I can’t help it. I can can see so clearly how if he’d only work on this, then it would solve that problem. We particularly come to trouble when I’m pushing him now, hoping to prevent problems that he doesn’t comprehend could even be problems for him. Cleanliness is a good example. I push now to teach him good hygiene habits because I know that someday he’ll want to impress a girl. But I can’t use that argument to get him to shower because he doesn’t currently believe that impressing girls could possibly be important. And yet, part of a mother’s job is to push. It is my job to take that middle-of-the-nest fledgling and teach him how to fly, how to find his own worms. The tricky bit is knowing when I’m nudging him enough for him to find his own way and when I’m pushing him to use my answers instead of finding his own. Even trickier is the fact that Link is a very trusting child. He can see that my ways look impossible to him, but instead of realizing that he needs to find his own solutions, he just feels like a failure for not being able to do what I want him to do in the ways that I’m pushing him to do them.

One comforting thing is remembering that Kiki and I had a couple of tumultuous years when she was in fifth and sixth grade. I think it is very natural for kids to go through a phase where they want increased independence, but only when it is convenient. They simultaneously want to retain all the perks of being little, and catered to. The expression of this emotional tangle is different for Link than it was for Kiki, but the landscape is familiar. I’ve covered this ground before. But just because I recognize where I’m at, does not make the hike any less weary. (Also, it exhausts me to realize that I’m going to have to hike this ground again with two more kids, and it will probably drive me crazy both times.) The really good news is that there is a lovely place at the end of this road. Kiki is now solidly in her teens and she is a joy to live with. We still have our frustrated moments, but I love the conversations and interactions that I have with her now. I love how responsible and thoughtful she frequently is. I love seeing her step forward and manage her own challenges. I have to believe that Link will get there too. I’ve seen glimpses of it. When he wants something he works very quietly and persistently to make it happen. He is a good kid. I need to remember to trust in that. I need to remember that his solutions are good ones even if they are not the solutions I would have picked. I need to remember that I said almost that exact same sentence when Kiki was this age.

Later, after the mowing was done and we’d both had a break, Link came to me and said “I forgive you for yelling.” His big blue eyes looked at me. He wanted to have an exchange of apologies. He needed to know that everything was all right between us. And it is. I gave him the hugs and apologies that he desired. I also told him a little bit about how we’re different and that being different is okay. I also told him that just because I get mad, does not mean that he is in the wrong. I’m not sure he’s ready yet to believe it, but at least he heard the words.

Gleek thrashed in the tub water as I tried to wash her hair. The water was too hot. Sitting up was too cold. Why did she need to wash anyway? Um… maybe because it has been three days and she was grubby, filthy, sweaty. But she did not want a bath. She wanted to be downstairs with her brothers watching Kirby over the internet. Part of the reason she was upstairs bathing was she had been squabbling with those same brothers for the prior 30 minutes. It had been a cranky day. Gleeks emotional space between happy and full-out tantrum was negligible.

In the midst of conditioner application (and complaints about water-in-the-eyes), Kiki shouted from the kitchen. It was a piteous cry for help. I quickly dunked Gleek to rinse her off, then hurried to the kitchen to see what the new emergency might be. Kiki was making brownies for her school class. She was doing it all by herself, her first foray into solo baking. She had added twice the necessary water to the mix. Kiki was emotionally devastated by this disaster. I was trying to wrap my head around the problem and formulate a solution. This was when Gleek wandered in and lit-up like a little spotlight at the bowl full of chocolate batter. Kiki snarled at Gleek to back off because these were for school. Gleek devolved into tears that the bowl full of chocolatey goodness would be completely denied to her. I attempted to placate Gleek. Kiki grumped at me about the still-unsolved too-much-water problem. Then there was the influx of boys drawn like little metal filings to the magnet of the chocolate filled bowl while Kiki growled territorially about her baking efforts. We added another mix to even out the water ratio, but then there was the crisis of the oil not mixing in. Kiki was not calmed by my assurance that continued stirring would solve the problem.

In the midst of all the chaos, with the kids squabbling and the fan humming, and the dishwasher running, I had strong desire just to flee. The kitchen was awash with conflicting needs. Kiki needed me to stand over her shoulder and help her bake. Gleek needed love and reassurance. The boys needed attention. I needed to just sleep, or hide, or something. Moments like that one are fairly common. It is unsurprising that the emotional needs of one child will conflict with those of another. On my good days I can anticipate and prevent conflicts before they occur. On my tired days, I am as bad as the kids about adding to the conflict. Strange how we’ve had so much more conflict and crankiness in the week after I stopped working 10-12 hour days. It is like the kids were waiting to ambush me once the XDM project was complete.

I look at myself and all that I manage. Then I remember back to the years when 90% of my creative energy was completely engaged by my children. I’m not sure what percentage they get now, 50% maybe. Some of that is the simple result that I’ve made many of the tasks of parenting into routine habit. Those tasks used to require creative energy, but they don’t anymore. And yet I still sometimes feel guilty for spending so much energy on things that do not directly benefit the kids. Part of me believes that 90% is the correct amount to spend on kids, and that if some tasks have become routine, I should then be ramping things up and stretching my parenting in a new direction. Then another part of me argues that children are not benefited by over-parenting.

I guess it comes down to concerns about usage of time. Right this minute I am blogging, trying to wrap words around the thoughts in my head and trying to do it well. This time could be spent preparing for tomorrow. I could be doing laundry so that Gleek will have clean shorts to wear. I could be cleaning the family room so the kids have space to play. I could be planning healthy meals for tomorrow. But I don’t want to do those things. They are boring. I’ve done them thousands of times over, and if I do them instead of blogging, I’ll still have to do them yet again. And yet these maintenance tasks make such a huge difference in how our family runs. If the kitchen had been clean, everyone would have been better able to manage the brownie incidents. On the other hand, if I blog there is the chance that I will say something profound, or funny, or useful. If I do, then the words are pinned to the page and they will always be there. But then I remember that during the course of writing this blog I have told two children “just a minute.” It has been 10 minutes since I said it and I still have not responded to the query. Am I teaching them that sometimes waiting is necessary? Or am I teaching them that Mom is always busy and pre-occupied, Unavailable when they need her? Just today I dashed to Patch’s class, a couple minutes late for his Kindergarten event. I never used to be late for that sort of thing. As we walked back to the car I was only half listening to Patch’s rambling talk until I heard him state that he knows I am always late because I am working.

When did I become the always-late working mom instead of being ready-and-waiting when my kids needed me? Was I too available before, or am I not available enough now? Or have the needs of my family shifted so that I was correct in both times and places? That last one is what I’d like to be true. I want to believe that I am sensing the needs and answering them. That my life is different now because the needs are different.

And this is when I remember Kiki’s brownies. The making of them was chaos. Kids were squabbling. The kitchen was a mess. And Kiki was convinced that they were ruined more than once. Like Kiki, I am in the middle of making something and it feels like I’m ruining it. But those brownies turned out delicious despite Kiki’s fears. Kiki shared them joyfully with those same siblings at whom she grouched while mixing. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been afraid that I’m ruining the family I’m trying to build. But somehow I don’t think I am. If I keep trying my best, it will all come out just fine.