PARENT OR CHILD?

When did our parents become our children? How is it we find ourselves talking to them as though we are the parent and we know what’s best for them?

Sadly, this is the situation many of us are finding ourselves in. We don’t want it. We never asked for it. But here we are. And we’re suddenly making life decisions for our parents that we don’t want to make.

Who among us wants to see our parents as weak, child-like individuals? We want to remember them as the strong people we looked up to, even feared sometimes. Back when we were kids, we didn’t even think about talking back to our mom or dad, or punishment would be quick and severe. The words “Just wait until your dad comes home from work” would send us crying to our rooms in anticipation.

But now, we see our parents needing us as we once needed them. They need us to make the decisions for them that they cannot. To know what’s best for them, while preserving their dignity.

It’s hard for us and it’s hard for them. It sometimes can seem like an impossible situation. But we do the best we can. There are many, many resources out there: websites, groups, books, companies, etc. One just needs to look; the help is there.

(I often post articles about this very subject on our Facebook page if you want to “like” it!)

Here’s to being the parent and the child. It’s not easy, I know.

Karen

You Never Think It Will Be You

It's Monday, and you know what that means- Monday Madness! I should probably rename it The Monday Marathon. The good news- only 3 more classes to go after tonight, and one of those classes is the final exam. Yee-ha!

Here in the B house, one of the Z kids is dealing with a situation at school. With all the talk in the news about bullying, you would think that we're all over it and it should be a non-issue, right? Not so for one of my Zs. It has not gotten to a point of being physical or that I'm ready to pull my kids from the school, but it is to the point where it has been turned over to the school counselor.

My question is: As a parent, how little or how much do I get involved?

I've been raising the flag a few times this fall. And I did it again on Thursday morning with the teacher. And wouldn't you know it, another incident took place at lunch on Friday. When I found out, I was just boiling. You know, that protective mama bear thing comes out and I'm ready to start telling people exactly how I feel and how they need to be acting. I'm not saying everyone has to be a great big happy family. I know that's not possible. But at least can we treat each other with respect?

So today, I decided to do a little investigating of my own. I simply showed up at lunch, with lunch for my Z. I sat myself right down at Z's table. I think the classmates may have knew- the one instigating the bullying in particular- that something was up. I just chatted away with each of them as if we were having a party at the house. But I hope that kid got my message- that my eyes are open and I'm watching.....

Is that wrong? How involved would you get if it was YOUR child?

Yours, hoping for some sound advice from faithful readers,

Melissa

Here, Honey, Let Me Help You With That. . .

     For the last few weeks my husband has been between jobs.  He was let go from his last position on New Year's Eve.  Needless to say, that night was a little more red wine than champagne. The good news is, he accepted a position with a new company today and will begin work this coming Monday.

     Now, before we go any further, I feel that I must reassure you that I DO love my husband.  However, three weeks of complete togetherness is like getting a third child without the preparation of pregnancy, or the two complete years it takes the infant to learn how to voice their opinions. (Breathing in . . . . breathing out. . . .)  Such togetherness can sometimes be, how shall I put it politely, challenging. (Read: He's lucky to have his limbs left).  Granted, I am no angel and come complete with my own set of flaws, idiosyncrasies and boundaries. But here is where I draw the line. . . .

     For the last almost eight years, I have been the primary bather/feeder/nose and bottom wiper/ discipliner/homework guide/kids carting/house keeper/launderer/still working three part time jobs outside the home parent. It's my job. I'm perfectly fine with it.  We agreed when we decided to join the parenting club that one of us would need to have this position.  To be fair, he does help some, but this particular workload falls to me most of the time.  More often than not, I do a pretty fair job.  But the last three weeks have been filled with little comments such as. . . 

     "You know honey, if you would just . . . ."

"You really should do it like this. . . ."

"What in the world are you trying to do over there. . . ?"

"Oh my- what happened here?"

"See- nothing to it!"

About sometime this weekend, I looked at him after one of those insightful remarks were made and simply said,"My love, I know you want to help. But indulge me a moment. Allow me to offer you a little insight. You are an IT Project Manager, yes? And I am a musician, correct? As a musician, I would never, EVER presume to walk into your office and start offering you copious amounts of unsolicited advice because, well, I just don't know that much about your job.  And to be frank, it is getting on my last nerve and I'm not sure that even that last one is whole."

He looked in my eyes, took my hand and said,"You are an amazing wife and mother. I'm going to go into the other room now."

Smart, smart, man. The kind of man that knows how to keep all his body parts.

Yours, looking forward to a little bit of my own space in the coming days,

Melissa

Yeah, It's In the Book

   "Melissa, any moron can have a baby. YOU will make a fine mother," said my doctor.  I was late in my seventh month of my first pregnancy.  He had just asked me how I was feeling- emotionally. At that moment I began, much to my husband's horror, weeping uncontrollably. If you ever want to freak a man out, just begin weeping uncontrollably. Gets them every time. My husband and doctor looked at each other with the infamous "Dare We Tread Here" Look and The Doc asked me,"What's wrong, dear?"

"Doc, I just don't think I can do this. I've been thinking about it for three days now and I have decided that I am going to have to give the baby up for adoption," I stated with resignation.

"ADOPTION!?!?!" shrieked the men in unison. In a split second my husband was at my side and The Doc asked,"What do you mean? Don't think you can do what?"

Sniff-gasp-sniff-gasp-"Take care of this-sniff-gasp- baby," I replied between sobs. "There's just too-sniff-gasp-much to remember. What if I miss something? -sniff-gasp- I just know I'm going to do something wrong and screw up my child for the rest of his or her life!"  Mwaaaaaaahhhhhh!

"Okay, okay, wait a minute," said The Doc. "Melissaaaa. . . . .have you been reading that book I told you to throw away?"

Silence. Sniff-gasp. Guilty face. Sniff-gasp. Head hung low, I whispered a sheepish,"Yes." 

The Doc slapped his hand to his forehead."Honey, that's why I told you to throw it away. It's a horrible book. Melissa, any moron can have a baby. YOU will make a fine mother."

That was over seven years ago. I don't know how fine a mother I am, but I do know I've read countless books, watched more TV programs, scanned innumerable magazine articles and discussed ad nauseum this adventure of motherhood.  I've even written a manual for my OWN children with a friend of mine. And not a day goes by that I don't think,"Hhmph. Never read about THAT in the books!"

If you're a mom, parent, caregiver, aunt, uncle, grandparent, teacher, day care provider, anyone who cares for children in any capacity, then you know what I say is true. And at some point, you've probably experienced those same emotions that have told you," I canNOT do this! I am totally incapable!" Yet something happens and you reach a little deeper, pick up the child, hold them for a moment (or, depending on the situation, send them to their room for their own safety) and we travel on.  But one thing's for sure, there's no book that covers everything caring for a child means, requires and gives back.

Yours, unable to believe it's been over seven years already!

Melissa