I wonder sometimes if one of the key differences Sandy and my parenting styles stems from a fundamental belief or disbelief in ourselves.
So often I find myself concerned about the boys. And by so often, I mean pretty much constantly, except maybe when I am at work or reading a good book, I worry. Do the meals we eat have too many carbs? Too much sugar? Too much soy? Enough protein? What supplements do they need? Is the little one eating enough magnesium to be regular? Do they have fresh snacks for school and after? Do they have nut-free snacks in the snack pantry? Have they added those meticulously selected and purchased nut-free, gluten-free, low sugar snacks to their backpack? I worry about school and whether them being in both morning and after care is bad for them? I compare them to other kids I know and worry at the comparisons. I consider which afterschool enrichment activities I should sign them up for and how to manage non-school days. What camps are we signed up for and do they meet at that perfect intersection of engaging the boys, having friends registered that same week, being proximate that I can escort them there on the bike, and fit into the other family travel plans? I make lists and spreadsheets and email a bazillion people and fill in the same medical history and release forms over and over again. I then think about their health and mental health. I research if there are techniques to help with sleep and stress and focus? what other parents do for nightmares? I read books on sibling relationships. I investigate what they watch, what they read, find music for them to listen to. I consider with whom should we encourage playdates and arrange how to make them happen. I think about the vehicles that they use, paying attention to whether their bikes need to be tuned, if they are appropriately visible when they are biking, if they using the right gear and helmets. I worry, do they have reflective raingear, do they have clothing that… well, mostly, do they have clothing? Are they shod? Do they have books in their reading range, what books are available to them in our library and whether I should pre-read them? I check books out for them, put them on hold, pick them up, drop them off before fines become and issue. At home I watch what they do in the morning and evening. Did they eat enough protein? Do they have enough yogurt and cheese to snack on? After they eat did they brush? Did they floss? Do they have floss? Do they need to do treatments (inhalers)? Do they have inhalers with meds in them? Do they have hair ties? Do they need haircuts (thankfully not as long as they are growing their hair out?) How about sunscreen? Which sunscreen rates best this year with the EWG, but is also one that they will wear if I nag them to put it on. I see more and more freckles on their faces and worry about the future of their skin.
It goes on and on like that every day. Maybe not the whole list – somedays may focus on summer camps and playdates while others worry about school supplies and the stock of crafting materials at home. Or whether we have gifts for birthday parties and wrapping paper and bags to put those gifts in.
I speculate that these worries are not simply an excuse for me to fully exercise my anxious tendencies, but rather that these concerns stem from raising boys in a world so dissimilar to the one I navigated as a girl. I wonder if for Sandy so much of it is just a repeat of how he grew up. Perhaps he assumes it will work out the same way for them as it did for him. Or it’s possible Sandy does not even consciously consider actively affecting their outcomes to be different from his own. I expect that at the end of a stressful work day or week, Sandy is eager to live the life he wants to live: watch what he wants to watch, play the games he wants to play, do the activities that he wants to do. So if the boys want to join him watching a movie or a videogame – Sandy does not need to deliberate over whether he’s picked the best movie to teach the boys an ethical lesson on privilege or the best activity to optimize their longterm health habits.
Is it so bad to accidentally create kids in your own image? Am I insulting Sandy with my anxieties and interventions to adjust their courses in life? If I do so, it’s not necessarily meant as a criticism of where Sandy or I are now as adults, but perhaps to acknowledge that they are children in this world and will be adults in an entirely different world with a different set of innate abilities and honed skills than we had.
Most likely there should be some middle ground. But I wouldn’t be writing this if I knew what it was.