Love Them Like Crazy

“Mom….mom….mom….MOM!!!!!!”

 The lights on the small white receiver next to my bed flash green. I jerk up out of a sound sleep and stumble across the hallway into my kids’ room. I glance to the left and see my 5 year old snuggled up with her Peter Pan doll, blissfully lost in sleep. I continue to my 3 year old’s bed, where he is laying with heavy eyelids barely held open. I ask him what the problem is and he sleepily points at his stuffed monkey which is currently laying on the floor. I grab it and, less than gently, toss it back to him before heading back to my own bed and the scant few hours of sleep I have left.

I confess. I still use a baby monitor for my 5 and 3 year olds. Somewhere in the process of transitioning them from cribs to beds I must have insisted quite strongly that they not get out of their beds once they are in them. So, to this day, neither child has gotten up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Instead, they lay in bed and call me until I show up. And while I have since informed them that getting up to use their en suite bathroom is perfectly fine, they just won’t accept the idea. The problem is intensified by the fact that they also call me when they have a nightmare, or need a blanket straightened or have leg cramps (both kids get them). As a result, Mom is there to serve them, day or night. And I can hear them breathing, turning over and snoring all night long.

 Since this is the way I have always done things, I only had a vague idea that it was strange. I have been informed by numerous people that our continued use of the monitor is way outside the norm. I think every parent would admit to making some sort of categorically insane decision when it comes to their kids, whether it be spending a wild amount of money on a sought-after toy or taking them to the doctor after a single cough or feeding them Cheerios for dinner for the sixth night in a row when they refuse to eat anything else, sure of the fact that they are about to starve. And every parent has looked at their kid and felt the force of Parent Brain- a combo of sleep deprivation and the slow torture of a toddler’s unending “why?” questions. But add to that the crazy that comes with loving these little people more than life itself. Basically, we’re screwed.

It seems like a reasonable idea that a person would be able to make rational decisions when it comes to their children. Feed them well. Teach them things. Correct them when they misbehave. Sounds like a plan, right? So what happens when your three year old hits his sister, gets handed a firm timeout, but then crawls into your lap, throws his chubby little arms around your neck, presses his sweet little boy kisses to your face and asks why you don’t love him anymore? I am wildly guilty of hugging him back and assuring him that he is the sweetest little thing that ever lived. I’m pretty sure he walks away from that situation feeling like he won, even when I make him apologize. They are master minds of manipulation and, most often, I am the sucker.

So I make these and plenty of other parenting mistakes. Occasionally, people in my life who love me gently offer advice or point out that I may be slightly misguided in some of these choices. These kind people are well-intentioned and only offer constructive criticism meant to help the parenting effort (more or less). I know I’m not perfect and I tell myself all the time that I could be a better parent. But hearing it from someone else’s lips is like getting a good swift kick in the stomach. Ouch. So- deep breath- I listen, take it in, try to step back and process said advice. Like the baby monitor.

I informed the children (as they looked up at me with their huge, adorable, trusting eyes from their beds) that I would no longer be able to hear them if they chose to shout my name in the middle of the night- that if they needed something they either needed to get up and handle it or, if worse came to worse, come across the hall and get me. The way was solidly lit by nightlights and I felt confident that this new way of life would work. Cut to midnight when both children appeared at the side of my bed, simultaneously wailing their little heads off. 5 year old had a nightmare and decided to wake up 3 year old and take him along on her sad excursion across the hall. I put them back to bed with kisses and reassurance, but with a sick feeling in my stomach, knowing she probably cried out for me and I didn’t come to her. I went back to my room…and left the monitor on for the rest of the night. (What? I said I wasn’t perfect).

Several more nights have gone by and the monitor has since stayed off. Turns out I’m sleeping better and the kids have been fine. I know I don’t give them enough credit. They aren’t babies any more (my soul just cried a little!). I still have moments when I wake up during the night and listen for them. Maybe, just maybe, I am a little sad that they don’t need me…ok, definitely. I am certain that I suffer from single-parent-overcompensation syndrome. In response to knowing that they only have me when they are with me, I may just love them a little too much. Everything I do for them comes from wanting them to have the best life possible, which only makes the parenting mistakes harder to accept and correct because they are all well-intentioned.

Love will drive you nuts, much as young children will do. Loving young kids (and older kids as well, I assume) is complicated. They scrape their knee and I get nauseous. They struggle to do something and I reach out to help them. I hope to never be a smothering parent or a push-over parent, though I am aware that I have my moments of doing both, which is why I listen to those who love me enough to offer advice. I will work on accepting the fact that kids are like technology- once you figure out the latest thing, there is something new you have to learn. So I will keep trying. They will keep getting older. And we will all keep growing.

Ash

I touched a single leaf
with a matchstick fingertip,
and watched the whole tree
turn to ash,
burning down through the roots
and up,
singeing each blade of grass
to the very tip.
The ground grew blackened and grey
in an airless wave
around my feet and spread;
a ripple of ruin against
a pure green.
With one unguarded touch
I brought down a land
and left smoldering
something once so beautiful
and worthy,
tainted the air with
my own exhalation of smoke
and burned, without intent,
every living thing.