Somewhere Between Laissez-Faire and Boot Camp

I had this History teacher in high school who loved to say laissez-faire all the time. I believe we originally learned the term in a lesson concerning U.S. foreign policy in Europe in the 19th century. Although I became a History major in college, I did not enjoy U.S. history in the least in high school. Mrs. Green had been teaching it for countless years and did nothing to make her lessons interesting. And her overuse of the term laissez-faire, which she defined as let it be, didn't do much to make me like her. But I never forgot that term, now did I?

I thought about this post the other day while I was frying cauliflower. I often cook up posts in my head while cooking actual food. Let me mention that frying cauliflower is the worst thing you can ever do to it and I do wholeheartedly blame the Arabs for this gross perversion of one of the most nutritious veggies; however, there is something about a deep-fried, dark brown cauliflower floret that cannot be resisted. Anyway, the last few weeks some very dear friends of mine and I have discussed on several occasions our number one topic: the raising of our children. We dive into all sorts of sub-topics when talking about this super broad and ever-complicated matter. Most of the time, at least one of us will break into a cold sweat, or tears, or both. You see, we moms just never stop beating ourselves up about our faults or our tempers or our inabilities to choose our battles with our children wisely. We worry about their happiness, their security, their places in our homes and in the world. We fret over grades, over lost opportunities to bond with them, over the challenges we face trying to be disciplinarians and friends simultaneously. At least one of us moms, at some point, will feel like a complete failure. But getting together and gabbing about these peaks and valleys of parenthood does succeed in helping us to understand that we are not alone, and that these issues transcend religion or race or culture.

In one of our recent chats, a fellow mom told us to do this: Go home and ask each child to describe you (the mom) in three words.

For those of us with pre-schoolers, this can be kind of fun. You never know what a four year-old will say, so mine might say something like "warm," or "jiggly" or "funny." If she's moody, which is a common state of being for her, she might tell me I'm "mean" or "silly." I can roll with the punches when it comes to her. She's small.

It's my older ones who I'm apprehensive about asking to describe me. Three adjectives. When I think of my typical days, I might prepare myself to hear "impatient" or "grumpy" or "frowny." With four very busy kids whose schedules I cannot always keep up with, I might hear "forgetful." On the days when I'm asking them to really step up and help me in the house, "bossy" or "demanding" come to mind. Basically, I'm prepared to hear a lot of negative.

I might, however, be pleasantly surprised. I have not done this exercise in adjectives yet; I am waiting for a really good day.

Another question posed by a fellow mom to ask our kids was, "When you come home from school in the afternoon, how do you want to see me?" This particular mom had already asked her four boys this question, and the answers varied. Some said they wanted to see mom putting lunch on the table, others said they wanted to find her smiling, sitting, and relaxed. My son, I know, wants to see me in the house. Because of work in the past or different commitments, my son came home from school to find someone in the home to greet him besides his mother, more times than I would like to mention. He hated it, and he let me know, and I was thankful that he did. I make it a point to be here when he walks in.

My parenting philosophy, I find, is evolving and revolving. Some of the things that worked for my friends and their children will not work with mine. For right now, I raise my kids with a policy that falls somewhere between let it be and boot camp. Middle ground is shaky at best. But I am ever thankful for having these other moms to bounce these ideas around with, to provide solidarity and solace, and to praise me for a job well done, even if the kids could tend to disagree.