Monday, March 23, 2009
I like to watch the show "Jon and Kate Plus Eight" about a couple who had a set of twins. Then they decided to try for one more child and ended up with sextuplets. It's a reality show, where they follow the family a few days each week to see what they are up to. I like the show because it gives me hope that I can continue to handle the much smaller family I have and it inspires me with the relative calm the parents possess. I also find myself wondering what they would do if all the kids wanted to do sports, and they all chose different sports. I'd like to see them stay calm in the face of that scheduling. Yes, I'm inherently nasty when I get jealous.
Motherhood is all about choices. Some choices are easier than others: do I scrub the toilets or take the kids to the park? Other choices are more difficult: do I let my 12 year old watch an R rated movie that all his friends have seen? Most of our choices have adamant naysayers ready to judge the decisions we make. "You aren't breastfeeding?" "She's not potty trained yet?" "You let him have soda?" We all know the instant we broke down and bought the Barbie doll for our daughter despite our misgivings. We remember the watershed moment we gave in to that "rated T for Teens" video game. Eventually our best intentions can't withstand the outside pressure from TV ads, our kids' playmates, even other parents. We cave and feel guilty. But we also discover that our daughters and sons don't have bad body images and don't end up serial killers. We lament the loss of innocence and move on to the next round of choices that likely will involve body piercing and tattoos.
Some choices are inevitable and unavoidable. I hate the choice I have to make when Bryce has a game in one place and Robbie's at another. It requires some creativity to take some of the sting out of the experience. Cell phones have eased the separation dilemma appreciably. I can get and give regular updates on a game's progress. It's not the same as being there, but it does allow me to feel a part of the action in a small way. Video taping is out of the question. First of all, we barely have enough hours in the day to see games live and to get through all the EPL games we've TiVoed. Second, I'm terrible at filming. Every time I sense something good is going to happen, I have to see it with my own two eyes, so I lower the camera. We have an entire library of soccer tapes that I call anti-highlights. It's kind of like someone came in and cut out the best moments of the games leaving us the generic bits. We can watch Robbie darting towards the goal, and then it cuts to the ground while a cheering soundtrack plays over the jiggly shots of grass and feet. By the time I rotate the camera back, it's to see the team lined up for a kick-off. Or when the opponents get ready to fire, I drop the camera to watch Bryce's spectacular save, and then get the camera back in focus in time to see the team receiving his punt or throw. Any college coach who wants to see a highlight DVD of our boys will need to use his imagination.
Other choices have to be made in the quagmire of societal expectations. For example, the boys don't remember, but I used to make dinner every night. Once sports began to take a serious foothold in our lives, I had to decide what to do about supper. When practice ended, the boys wanted to eat immediately. I tried the Crock Pot route, but you can only eat so many meals cooked in a ceramic tub. Luckily we had a wonderful family restaurant on the way home from the fields. They had great, fresh food, which was reasonably priced. We ate there so often, that when we parked our car out front, the waitresses would see and have our drinks waiting for us at our favorite table! Despite the fact that we were eating out instead of at home, we were eating together, talking, and free of television. I admit to a bit of rationalizing the worthiness of that choice, but overall I still say it was a good one. Still, I had admitting to that choice because it involves me not living up to the mother code of behavior.
And I have paid for that choice which has led to what I call the "menu mentality." The boys think I should run a short order kitchen. If I make spaghetti I'm told "I don't want spaghetti. I want a burger." So I naturally tell the story of growing up with four brothers and sitting down for dinner every night. My dad would arrive home at 6:10 p.m., get a glass of milk and two cookies, sit on the couch and read the newspaper until 6:30 p.m. when we would all sit in the dining room (yes, the dining room) to cheerfully and gratefully eat whatever my mother cooked for us. We never ate out. The boys just look at me like I'm a dinosaur. Rather than battle "menu mentality" I've decided I'll cook regularly again when the boys are gone to college. My hope is that when they return they'll be so glad not to have dorm food that they will gobble up whatever I serve. I made the decision because I don't want to fight anymore. My decision is probably not your choice and you may judge me for it, but I'm doing what works, and I choose to save my battles for things like tattoos. What we ultimately choose in life is dictated by all the choices we have made before and less and less by what others will think of those choices. So I figure it's inevitable. Those perfect parents, Jon and Kate, will have eight kids running around with sleeve tattoos and nose rings. It will vindicate all my choices good or bad.