This Motherhood Thing is Hard

When our children are young, we teach them to listen to their parents, grandparents, babysitters, teachers, etc. We tell them to follow directions and stay inside the lines. When our children grow up, we want them to question authority.

If our children are mean or bully others, we tell them that it's not OK because it isn't nice and it can hurt others' feelings. But when our children are the ones being picked on, we tell them that words can't hurt them.

When a child is young, we call them "independent" and bull headed as if it is a bad thing. When they grow up, we expect them to never back down from a fight or take no for an answer and relish in their persistence.

If we don't keep score, then we are raising "wimps" that have no sense of healthy competition yet if we do, we are clearly defining the roles of winners and losers, creating self involved, egotistical maniacs and self loathing nerds.

With these contradictions (and this is the tip of the iceberg), how are we supposed to know how to raise our kids? What is the correct answer to all of their tough questions? In the last month Hudson has asked me why people that aren't white live in America, if he will go to Hell for breaking a pinkie promise, and "why are all these Chinese people in here" (we were in a nail salon.) I did my best to explain the answers to these ridiculously mature (and ill informed) questions to my 5 year old. I have no idea if I did a good job or not.

Of course, I want my children to share my views of the world (I obviously believe I am correct) but I don't want them to have my views because I told them it was true. I want more than anything for them to think for themselves and draw their own conclusions of the world. I am painfully aware that when Hudson starts kindergarten, the value of my opinion is going to plummet and the opinions of his friends, his friends parents, his teachers, and even his favorite bands will be soaring. The only way I can do this is to arm them with knowledge, listen to them with acceptance and live my life filled with love.

I refuse to lie to my children, even (or most importantly) when it is regarding an uncomfortable topic. I have already explained what tampons are, how babies come out (both ways), and about adoption. My parents never lied to me and instilled in me the importance of telling the truth. I can't even lie to telemarketers. My parents censored my world with a very liberal hand. I wasn't allowed to watch Dirty Dancing even though I knew what an abortion was in kindergarten) but my father forced us to watch Tommy (FYI, Rick - this is not an appropriate movie for a 6 year old, no matter how important to their musical education.) I read Kurt Vonnegut in the eighth grade - I didn't understand most of it but I could definitely tell that dude was crazy. I may put an age requirement on Kurt Vonnegut and John Irving. (Also, no matter how it is marketed, Labyrinth is not a kids movie. No one under the age of 17 should be exposed to David Bowie is gold spandex.)

This past winter, as well as celebrating Christmas, we read books on Hanukkah and Kwanzaa. When answering questions about God, I am careful to begin with "Some people believe..." When asked about the future, I try to keep it as generic as possible so not to impose any of my expectations on my children. That being said, this is so much harder than I thought it would be.

I remember very vividly taking Paige and Hudson to the ball field to watch Travis play. It was August. It was hot, so very hot. Paige was 3 months old and Hudson had turned 2 in June. I had Paige in the sling sleeping and Hudson was playing in the dirt. We were having a good time until Hudson said he had to go potty. Potty training was something that we were toying with, but not necessarily actively pursuing. (I thought Hudson was too young to start worrying about it - I was wrong.) So there I was, trying to keep Paige from waking up - if she was awake, she was screaming, and taking off Hudson's diaper and trying to get him to hover over the potty in a disgustingly dirty bathroom, telling him "Don't touch anything!" while covered in sweat and dirt. I remember thinking "I can't do this." That was a piece of cake to what I have on my hands now. Sure, that was physically demanding, but what am I supposed to say when my son tells me that only white people are from America? How do I teach them to know the difference between the truth and a lie? How do I keep from screwing my kids up?

This world is full of bad news. It is full of double standards and contradictions. I need to figure out how to filter (not censor) the bad while exposing all of the good. I would rather my children be wise than smart. I would rather them be loving and accepting than "important." I want them to be able to respect other's opinions without buying into them and I want them to believe in themselves and humanity always.