Confessions of an imperfect parent

Some people say they occasionally wake up on the wrong side of the bed. This morning, I wouldn’t say so much that I woke up on the wrong side of the bed as I woke up dripping with homeless anger. The kind of anger that doesn’t have an assignment yet, that is eagerly looking for something to validate its existence. I felt like Clint Eastwood. To anything and anybody, I silently scowled, Go ahead. Make my day. Go ahead. Give me a good excuse to mow you down.

Hailey had some school photos to be ordered. Knowing Hailey, I figured she hadn’t thought a thing about it, but come picture hand-out day, she would be happy if she got one and sad if she didn’t. After some deliberation, I figured it would be nice to let her have that happy moment of taking something home with her face on it when everyone else was getting one, too.

So I filled out the order form and handed it to Hailey. ‘Put it in your backpack,’ I told her. She said okay. And I went off to finish getting ready.

Five minutes into our drive to her school, I said, ‘You put that form in your backpack, right?’

‘No, I forgot.’

This is where homeless anger found a home. Go ahead, make my day.

‘What?!’

I was on an empty residential street, so I felt okay in venting some of my anger by slamming on the brakes. All the clutter in the van slid forward and clumped together in the front passenger side. I grabbed her backpack and opened it, rifled through the contents, and saw that indeed, the order form was not there.

‘Why didn’t you put it in there when I asked you?’

‘I forgot.’

‘Forgetting doesn't apply if you do it right away.' If you are a mom (or if you have a mom), you can probably imagine the tone of testiness in my voice at this point. 'Why didn’t you do it right away?’

‘I don’t know.’

It was a deer-in-the-headlights kind of I don't know. The tone of the comment snapped me out of the moment. It made me think of Bill Cosby’s hilarious rendition of his own kids whining I don’t know to any and every cornering-type question. He did a perfect deer-in-the-headlights kind of I don't know.

Then, of course, I remembered what I thought when I saw the comedy skit. I thought that a good parent doesn’t ask cornering questions, that those kind of questions do not promote healthy accountability and sense of boundaries in children, but rather they induce guilt and fear and pressure to lie. I don't want to pressure my kids to lie when they don't have to, and I don't want to motivate them by guilt or fear when love is so much better.

So I had to, at that point, ask myself why I was asking her a cornering question. And then I had to admit it was because, at that moment, I wanted a home for my anger more than I wanted to be a good parent.

It was a hypocritical moment. This was the most obvious of parenting faux pas I had warned my fellow moms about (if you know me, you know I have a compulsive need to give unwanted parenting advice). I was committing the big mistakes in the most obvious ways.

I was using my anger as a consequence.
I was ignoring boundaries and not seeing clearly whose problem this really was.
I was not focused on my daughter's feelings, or her well being in any way.
I was taking it personally. I was easily offended by my own five-year-old.

It took about thirty seconds for all these wheels to turn in my head. And during those thirty seconds, I had been wheeling through my initial pattern of rage. I had turned the wheel of my car around and was driving back home to get the picture order, ranting the whole way to Hailey about how she was going to be late because of this and that was just too bad for her. Oooh, I was so mad. Oooh, I wanted her to feel miserable. It felt good to be mad at something finally, and pin all that homeless anger on something.

But of course those other, more responsible, more accountable, thoughts caught up with me. I stopped the car again. This time more gently. Nothing slid around on the floor.

Who owns this problem?
Who owns this problem?

I had to ask myself this over and over for a few seconds.

Did I want these pictures? If so, then handing off the responsibility of getting them into the backpack was a poor choice on my part. I love Hailey, but she is only five, not to mention that she is an impulsively sweet and creative kid, not a super organized and serious one. It is not fair for her to get the brunt of my anger because I chose poorly, knowing her shortcomings and yet still expecting she would meet my needs of following through.

Did Hailey want these pictures? If she did, then she just shot herself in the foot by her own failure to follow through and put them in her backpack. And that would be sad for her. And I could empathize with her quandry...if I could get over my own personal investment in the situation. If I couldn't, then everything I did or said would be tainted by what I wanted for those pictures, and not what Hailey wanted.

Whose problem was this?

So. Time to be a grown up. I didn't want to own this problem, which meant it wasn't mine.

And since it wasn't my problem, it wasn't my decision. It was Hailey's. And since it wasn't my problem nor my decision, I was okay with whichever choice she settled on. I gave her two perfectly acceptable options.

'Hailey,’ I said with a new sense of calm and indifference, ‘Do you want to go back home and get the order and be late, or do you want to be on time and not get your pictures? Today is the deadline for the order.’

‘I don’t want to be late.’ Hailey said. She was a little sad and nervous, but I was relieved to sense she was quickly overcoming her previous fear and guilt. Maybe it was because I was no longer angry. Or maybe it was because she was making another tiny baby step towards growing up by owning a choice and it's well-explained consequence.

‘Okay,’ I said. I took some big, deep, calming breaths, and turned the car again for the second time.

Thank goodness it was one of those really wide residential streets. And one entirely devoid of traffic. I drove her to school and dropped her off.

After dropping her off, I felt a little pang of sadness while I filled up the car with gas. I dug around in my feelings and unearthed the fact that I really did want those photos after all. They had photo magnet options, and I love photo magnets. So it was my problem. I felt silly for making my five year old responsible for something that was important to me, and pretending the whole time that it was her priority and therefore her responsibility.

I will turn in the order form myself at pick up time. I will not feel resentful that Hailey got to be at school on time and get her pictures. That she gets to have her cake and eat it, too. Because she made her choice. And I am making my choice, too. And I am owning up to the fact that it is my choice to make and my consequences to experience.

I am not the perfect mother. But I am a good mother when I remember these principles.
I don’t use my anger as a consequence for how my child chooses to handle their problem.
I pay attention to boundaries and make sure the right person owns the problem.
I focus on my daughter's needs, not her behavior.
And I don’t take it personally. I want to be the kind of self-assured grown up who is not easily offended, especially by a well meaning and very sweet five-year-old little girl.

I'd like to think that in the end, I was a good mother this morning. I sure felt like one by the time Hailey got out of the car for school.