Little Failures

It wouldn't be honest if I didn't record my own failures as a parent alongside the good stories and Mazin's triumphs. Last night was a great example. As parents, we've been riding the bribery wave for quite some time. (Won't eat your peas? How about if I offer you a cookie when you're finished? Don't want to get in the car? I'll give you a bag of bunnies if you do...) It's worked out splendidly for the most part--cut down on the tantrums and lowered our parenting stress levels significantly. Everybody's happy. But last night I realized that bribery isn't always going to work, and that its shelf-life as a parenting tool has probably expired. Mazin happily ate a few bites of venison lasagna, after declaring, "I don't 'member this dinner" (which means it's a new taste). But then he stopped eating. I wanted him to finish his dinner. After all, I had only given him a tiny plate of food. So I told him about the awesome organic lollipops I had bought for him and said he could have one if he ate all of his lasagne. Well, of course the news of a lollipop (his favorite treat in the world) was just way too distracting, and he could no longer focus on the food in front of him. He whined and worked himself up into a tizzy over this lollipop that I had (essentially) teased him with. I realized as soon as I did it that it had been a mistake. Finally I put the lollipop on the table where he could see it but not reach it, hoping that would motivate him to eat one last bite of his lasagne (that was my compromise). Of course that only made things worse. He doesn't understand my seemingly insane rules and ultimatums. He only knows that a lollipop tastes better than lasagne and his mean mommy wasn't letting him have it. It must have been completely maddening for him. So dinner ended with me settling for him eating a slice of toast with peanut butter in order to earn his treat, and Mazin finishing off the lollipop in a few gluttonous bites. (I tried to convince him to slowly lick it, but no way.)

It's so hard, this parenting thing. It really is. How are you supposed to be your best self all of the time? You know that if you're not, your kids are just going to mimic your behavior and have flaws like you. But you don't want to ruin them that way. You want them to be better. Parenting makes you confront your own shortcomings on a daily, hourly, minute-by-minute basis. It is profoundly humbling. Incredibly frustrating. Intensely challenging. It's often a drag; it's always a pleasure. It's a duty; it's a privilege. I often see myself if Mazin's toddler behavior--I see the immaturity and the impatience and the selfishness. I feel as if I should know better, be better. But in the end, I'm just another mom doing her best and falling short much of the time. In the end, I'm okay with being imperfect, because it means I have room to grow alongside my son.