Michele Minehart

words & yoga

Category: parenting (page 1 of 12)

Imperfect Parenting and the River of Goodness

One of my greatest parenting successes has been convincing my children that a trip to IKEA’s “Smaland” is barely a step down from COSI. We treat it like a museum or McDonald’s PlayPlace – an event designed around their fun. (Little do they know, mama is accumulating a cart full of garlic presses and organizational bins.)

So on the Random Friday With No School, I decided a trip would be the best use of our time. JJ was off to other productive work, so all 4 kiddos and I headed to Canton. The lady working Smaland was less than excited to see me (she tried to exclude both my youngest and my oldest, but we easily fell within the height requirements on all fronts), probably because we take up 2/3 of the available kid allotment. They had fun not jumping in the balls, and I found the necessary non-brass light fixture. The kids opted for lunch in the Ikea cafe, so we headed upstairs.

Prior to walking through the line, we had a team meeting to clarify expectations: once food was ordered and on a plate, there was no changing of the minds. Everyone executed.  The line was a tad tricky, and we made it through without tears until we sat down and the youngest discovered that french fries had not come with the meatballs he requested. Mama was going to share, but there was no convincing him of anything. Trading plates of meatballs didn’t work. I couldn’t just take the other kids’ food – I’ve learned this the hard way. You just end up with more tears. The other kids were looking at me, waiting as patiently as possible for ketchup while the baby of the family melted into a puddle on the chair. And in my arms.

It was clear there was nothing I could do to save the day. I was powerless until he actually put some food in his belly and overcame the Hangry. I couldn’t leave him to get the ketchup. I couldn’t get him to settle down.

And then, the oldest took a handful of his fries and laid them on his brother’s plate. The other two kids followed suit. They dished off food until the tears stopped. We were finally able to fetch the condiments without nasty looks.

While I had maintained most of my composure during The Episode, I know my Bigs felt the energy of my defeat and frustration. For the rest of the meal, my oldest was beyond helpful, refilling water and ketchup without being asked. He hugged me no less than 4 times.

In the midst of their mama’s powerlessness, my kids stepped up. They realized that to make the best of the situation, they would all have to come together and help one another. This is a lesson they could never learn if I were to continually make the problems go away.

I can preach to them that we belong to one another or tell them to serve and love using more than their words. These will be quotes on a printable until I give them opportunity to put on shoes and take the ideas for a run. Without the chance to do it, they may never know what it feels like to live their values, which we all know is a whole lot different than simply believing something.

I’ve never felt like a perfect parent, and I’m confident my kids are aware of my flaws, so “imperfect parenting” isn’t just about me and my shortcomings. I’ve heard other parents talk about how in our mistakes we can show our kids grace and the need for forgiveness. But I think accepting our imperfections has wider implications.

To parent imperfectly means to stop filling 100% of the holes for my kids and let them learn how to clean up a leak. I think we should give them a chance to let their heart whisper “hey, go get a towel!” and then allow them to feel the sense of goodness that comes from doing a good thing that has grown from their own place in the world.

What if kids learned to trust their ability to do what is right and good?  What if they learned they actually have the capacity to change a situation, even if it’s only in the enjoyment of a meal as a family? Isn’t that still something worth doing?

Goodness is like a stream running throughout the universe. Sometimes we’re swimming in it, and sometimes we’re not. But I’m not sure the Goodness River is something that you can toss your kids into; they have to learn to jump. As a parent, the best thing I can do is to dive in as often as I can, and assure them that they’ll float when I see them standing on the banks, contemplating a swim. And, as they come up from under the waters, greet them with a smile that shows them how proud you are that they’ve decided to take the plunge.

Visit me elsewhere:

On Sibling Unity

Dearest Children,

I have many hopes for your life. That you find a deep and satisfying love for another person, a partner in life, to hold and hold up, who reveals the best parts of you. That you discover a vocation that resonates with your soul, a means for you to partner with God in the work of redeeming this world. That you cultivate friendships that honor and carry you, a family outside the bounds of bloodlines.

And that you hold on to one another.

I hope you become one another’s loudest cheerleader and biggest challenger. I hope you support without forgetting honesty and love without holding judgment. Please, please, please remember: in this thing of life, you are on the same team. 

May you find that none of you are perfect, yet all of you are good. And when you face the world together, you are complete.

My best gift, my only gift, I can offer you – outside of my attempts to reflect the presence of God and my sluggish struggle to demonstrate the importance of these wishes with my own life example – is one another. With each and every child I gave you, it was my best step toward being a better mother. My own love never feels enough, so I’ve offered you each a team of other humans who love, protect, guide and challenge you.

You will compete. You will be frustrated. You might not talk to one another for a period of time. The idiosyncrasies of each personality will eventually drive you toward an appreciation for solitude, but may it guide you toward compassion, an understanding that God’s image comes in many containers, often that look nothing like your own.

Each of you has a gift to offer the world, and it begins in your love for one another. May it be so.

Visit me elsewhere:

I nearly forgot

For over 5 years, I slept in three-hour increments, waking for hungry babies, lost pacifiers or wet sheets. Now that “the baby” is nearly 3, my nights have grown longer. But then the dog turned diabetic and we hosted a round of sickness, I relived my newborn years and realized I had forgotten the feeling of Mama Exhaustion.

That bone-tired, bleary-eyed attempt of making breakfast. The deep breath of attempted compassion before approaching a child, instead of with frustration. The sense of being needed, right. now. The inability to fix anything, but offering a touch, a kiss, a few words of “I know” and “me too” and “I’m right here.”

Our kids always need us, that is evident. I’m 35 and call my own parents when I need something. A child never outgrows the peace that comes with a parent knowing your stress, your pain, your needs. The first time I was sick while away at college, I called my mom immediately. Of course, I didn’t expect her to show up with soup – growing up, I would regularly heat up my own can of Campbell’s – but I needed her to know.

As my own children grow, they need me in different ways. They need me less to get them dressed, but rather to make sure a favorite sweater is clean. I don’t have to entertain them, but they need me to throw a ball around for practice, to buy ballet shoes or take goofy pictures. Now I don’t physically  feed them by breast or spoon, but they need me to teach them about food and how to care for our bodies. Sometimes, they need me to bring their forgotten lunchbox to school.

In the thick of it, I never believed the fatigue of teeny-tinies would ever end. More than once, in the early hours of the day I wept of exhaustion. And then, nearly suddenly, I slept. Every night. And the season of tinies was over.

My wake-up call didn’t make me miss the season of sleeplessness. It did, however, give me a moment to pause and recognize our progress. To see where we’ve come and remember how we got there. And for certain, this too shall pass. We’ll move on to new struggles one day, probably right as we find ways to live harmoniously within the old ones. Parenting is a beautiful lesson in the myth of certainty. Surely when you come to know something, you realize you know nothing. It keeps us humble and curious. And, on some days, exhausted.

Visit me elsewhere:
Older posts

© 2017 Michele Minehart

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑