I want to be very clear: I have no idea what I’m doing…
This parenting adventure which I began when I was 22 years old has proven to be the most difficult endeavor ever. This month alone I had 1 kid get viral meningitis, another kid stone-faced lied to me, and had another kid surprise me (and not in a good way). I’m exhausted all the time!
Parenting multiple children is a lot like a wrestling match. They kind of tag each other in… constantly. Sometimes you even get double teamed and it really does feel like the most painful clothesline EVER. All this to say, I have NO clue if we’re all going to survive this.
My 18 year-old new born (and I say “new born” because that poor kid has only been living with us for about 3 months) was thrust into a situation where he went from an only-child home to being 1 of 4 kiddos who is now held accountable for every action and/or inaction. Then, to sprinkle a little more feces into the equation I don’t think he ever counted on a Cuban mother who verifies information prior to even asking a question. So that I know the answer before I ask. Asking is more like a formality. El pobre.
The 16 year-old is slowly but surely turning into an alien. He denies it’s happening but I see the signs. The short-temper, rolling of the eyes, desire to answer back (but holding his tongue because unlike the new-born in the house, he’s well aware of the wrath a Cuban mother unleashes when she feels that she or her home is being disrespected)… all the signs are there. It’s a different alien takeover than what I experienced the horrific Junior year of my eldest child, but it’s still happening. And it scares the crap out of me.
See, the teenage years are like this short period of time in a young-adults life where their momentary lapse of judgement may result in a life-long sentence; it could literally be a prison sentence, or an educational one, or a career inhibiting one, or a relational one… etc. The possibilities are endless. Which makes this very short window of time feel like (to a parent) as a never-ending… holy-shit-we’re-never-going-to-make-it type experience. None of this is fun.
I look at my very messy house and mounting pile of laundry and think… one day I’ll miss this… and then I laugh and laugh and the tears run down my face because I remember… my youngest is 8. I still have another alien encounter ahead of me, and I’ll be menopausal then- so one of us may not make it.
What’s the point to this post? Oh nothing… just a reassurance that none of us REALLY know what we’re doing and this parenting thing is an utter dependence on God. It’s a daily exercise of looking to HIM for guidance and wisdom.
For real. Mom’s and Dad’s are different, thankfully. For me… it’s a genuine struggle to not “fix” everything, to not use my words to inflict too much pain, to not overthink every minuscule detail but to allow the kids to make mistakes and sometimes that requires watching from a distance. My husband, who is a godly man that demonstrates wisdom, lovingly reminds me (and yes, it’s constant) that we need to raise men, not little boys. And he’s right. Men who are held accountable and sometimes need to be allowed to figure things out for themselves.
But it’s so hard!
Ugh…
The day after I move my youngest out of my home I’m going to take a month-long nap.