An Ugly Truth

I was (mostly) kidding about not wanting smart kids.  Here’s a stickier dilemma:

This weekend our city had a “touch a truck” event so that kids could see a firetruck, garbage truck, police car, etc. up close.  Raisin’s favorite was the firetruck, including a female firefighter who asked Raisin if she “wanted to be a big girl firefighter.”  Raisin did.

Now, when I was about Raisin’s age, I wanted to be a taxi driver, which I am not now and have never been, so I know it’s a little early to be worried about her career choices.  Still, the moment gave me cause to think: what will I do if she does want to become a firefighter?

Firefighters are noble and brave, which are characteristics I would love to nurture in my kids.  They also run into burning buildings and climb huge ladders and stand on roofs that collapse and send them plummeting to their deaths.  [Firefighter offspring + worrywart mother =  heart attack.]

When I was 22, I considered joining the Peace Corps.  My mother hated the idea.  My mom and I rarely fight, but that one was a doozy.  I was a grown up (kinda), and I was the one who decided not to go — I can’t “blame” it on my mom.  Nevertheless, the incident left me with the impression that she didn’t fully trust me to make a good choice.

Maybe a wise mother makes sure her kids are considering all the angles, and then she just has to shut up?  There’s a fine line between parental guidance and talking kids out of something you don’t want them to do, I suppose, once they are old enough to make their own decisions.  If I had to, I hope I could let Raisin fight fires, or go to Africa for a year.

But, then, what if Apple wants to be a police officer?  What if he will carry a gun, and possibly use it to take a life?

What if Orange comes home with an Army recruitment brochure?  What if she believes it’s her duty to fight for her country, even at the behest of a president like the one we have now?

How much maternal influence would I wield then?  Assuming my kids would be susceptible to my powers of persuasion, what weapons would I use to keep them from a decision I didn’t want to support?  I cannot imagine a circumstance in which I’d be willing to destroy my relationship with my kids, so how far would I go?

What would you do?

I Changed My Mind

… I don’t want my kids to be smart.*

Well, smart is OK, I guess.  Just not too smart.  Because, Lord have mercy, Raisin is making me nuts.

She notices EVERYTHING.  She questions EVERYTHING.  She remembers EVERYTHING.

I can’t keep up.  A few months ago, if I promised cheese crackers for a snack, then remembered I was out of cheese crackers, she’d content herself with a reasonable substitute.  Now, it’s, “Well, you better go to the store and get some more.”  And if I say we’ll go later, here’s some other crackers for now, she’ll say, “I don’t want those.  I’ll go to Target and buy cheese crackers when I grow up.”

Two minutes later, she considers herself grown up, and she’s on her way to Target.  She knows better than to go outside alone, but she also knows how to find Target from our house, so I’m not all that reassured.

*I know that my kids’ curiosity is something to be celebrated and nourished.  I’m just a little weary of being the Encylopedia Mommania.   Please tell me preschool in the fall will help me with this!

Father’s Day, Part 3 of 3 (and a rare glimpse)

(I’ll probably take down the picture in a few days, since I still prefer some measure of privacy when it comes to images of my kids. Still, aren’t they ridiculously cute? As always, I don’t mind sharing photos at Flickr if you seem like a real person who is also not creepy. Drop me a line if you’re interested.)Dear Jellyman,

Happy belated Father’s Day.

Before we got married, I never gave any conscious thought to whether you’d be a good dad. I guess I just wasn’t thinking that far ahead. I wish I had, though, because I think I would’ve loved you even more. Looking back, it’s clear that you always had it in you, and I should’ve known how well that boded for my future.

It’s certain that I do love you more now — now that I’ve seen you in fatherly action. Raisin giggles when you swing her upside-down, Apple grins when he catches sight of you across the room, and Orange snuggles in for a nap next to you on our bed. You pay bills and kiss owies, tell me to take a break when I get stressed out, AND you can cook. Some days it seems to me there’s nothing you can’t do, and I pray to God I’ll never have to find out what I’d do without you.

You are a Mensch. I am proud to be raising children with you, and I hope each of them grows into a hard-working, thoughtful adult just like their daddy.

Thank you for giving me the three most beautiful children in the world.

Narration

Scroll down for the Father’s Day post, if you’re interested.  I have to interrupt the series, though, for Raisin’s latest funny: she narrates her day.

“‘What should I play next?’ said Raisin.”

“‘Where is my spot?’ asked the leopard.”  (This as she was putting together her animal puzzle.)

Father’s Day, Part 2 of 3

Dear Dad,

I owe you.  I had no idea, until three years ago, how much work goes into just getting through each day.  The bare minimum of feeding, clothing, housing, and protecting a family is so daunting!

Yet you always managed to make time for the fun stuff, too: the bike rides, the swimming lessons, the trips to cut down our very own Christmas tree.  I am learning now how hard you worked to make all that happen.

I know you’ll probably say, “It was all worth it,” because I would say that too.  And I know you enjoyed us (mostly – there was that time I had to have a police officer break into your car because I locked the keys inside – water under the bridge, right?  right?) as kids, just like you enjoy your grandchildren now.

Still, even if you think it was all worth it, I want to stop for a minute to acknowledge that it was hard.  I want you to know that I understand you worked at a job you sometimes hated because you put our needs ahead of your own.  I want to thank you for correcting and lecturing, because I get it now — you didn’t love doing that, but you loved me, and you didn’t want to let anything go unsaid if it might save me some hurt or difficulty.

You did a good job, Dad.  My path in this world has been smooth because you were out there ahead of me with, um, one of those big road-smoothing machine thingys.  Thank you.

I love you.  Happy Father’s Day.

Father’s Day, Part 1 of 3

Dear Father-in-Law,

I wanted to say something here about how lucky Raisin, Orange, and Apple are to have a grandfather who grew up in a different country. They’ll get to grow up with easy access to two very different cultures, and I think that’s such a blessing.

But I realized that’s not really what I want to get across in this letter. The biggest blessing in having you for a grandfather to my children is you. I have met very few people in my life who have such incredible devotion to their faith, their family, and their work. Most people sacrifice everything in pursuit of one of the three; I think it’s amazing the way you’ve been able to balance them all — to unite them all.

In that, and in so many other ways, you are a wonderful example to me and to your grandchildren. They love you, and so do I.

Happy Father’s Day.

A Million Little Pieces

Lately, I spend what seems like hours every day cutting up food for Apple and Orange.  Then, when they’re done eating, I scrape the now-even-smaller remaining pieces off the high chair trays and seats and the floor.  This feeding themselves thing was supposed to be a time-saver.  Hmph.