I'll be the first to admit it. I am impressionable. If someone I like and respect tells me something or points out something to me I hadn't seen before, the seed is well and truly planted.
My grip in my parenting is often wobbly. I am finding scores of really interesting blogs and reads about kinds of parenting, ways to be positive, be connected, stay calm, be an example, etc. It is just the kind of reading that hooks me and also frees me. Gives a bit of direction to point my sorry ass self in when I am stuck with my own temper or cluelessness about how to best help Lew.
(Here's just a few I am particularly obsessive about consulting)
And then we go to the playground. The playground in the park near our house is really designed for bigger kids, but tell that to sweet Lewis, who has been conquering the big steps and big slide since he was 1. It is fun it a little daunting to let him explore and play, albeit with a sharp eye, possible hovering and lots of "carefuls". He loves being around other kids and part of the "scene."
Here's where I go tense and want to leave:
... the big kids come. 3-5 year olds are HUGE. They are STRONG. And FAST. And truly are not yet wired to care about a toddler's feelings ("Go away" "Stop following us" or ignoring small Lew's wave hello) or well being as they zip by him or knock him over. So that gets me. I don't expect little kids to get it. I do expect their parents to be 1% watching though. And so often they just aren't paying a lick of attention.
... I also sometimes see parents treating their kids in a very different way than I want to treat mine. Not listening. Bullying. Not watching. Ignoring. My stomach knots. I know know know that I do not have the answers and everyone deals in their own way. My parenting instincts are mine -- I get that. It is just very hard to witness upset kids being ignored. Here I am full frontal faced with my fears of bad parenting. And. I. Must. Flee.
I sometimes think Lewis and I need this cocoon of time together for me to get better and clearer about what kind of parent I want to be. My impressionable side at this point simply cannot watch parenting behaviour that I do not want to copy.
I do not want to judge any parents. I don't WANT to be judged. It is a serious job and we are all in our own boat. And yet I find that my incredibly helpful resources (see above) direct me in such a different way.
Until I can start to look at other families with more compassion, and be more rooted in my own gentle parenting, and Lewis can get up those slide stairs on his own, I think you'll see us at the playground only during the quiet hours.
Hopefully I'll be listening to Lewis, letting him play without too much direction, helping when he needs it, watching him, giving lots of love and we'll be walking home holding hands.
Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom. -Marcel Proust
Friday, 10 June 2011
why the playground scares me
Posted by charming gardener at 14:02 1 comment:
Labels: learning curve, Lewis, parenting pitfalls
Friday, 3 June 2011
for my next act
Much of me thinks the next thing is another baby. Body= ready. Husband= ready. Brain= ready. Age=hurrythehellup.
But at 43 (gulp) things are not instant. And what to do with my few available waking energies and fleeting moments. I know I can make laundry obsess-er, meal planner, nap police and supply manager a near full-time job. While is it not entirely 'un' satisfying, the bloom is nearing its peak on household running.
I don't have much energy to do anything very time consuming or brain taxing.
Mostly, I find in the few spare minutes to myself, I want very much to read. And then very much to sleep. And possibly have some time to stare at the TV with sole control of the remote. The end. That feels almost enough right now. Yet, I judge.
Coach? Surely I could be using my nice coaching abilities to reach out, do more get more clients, learn more things.
Exercise? I see new-ish moms in the park, running in a pack with their prams all a jiggle, encouraged from a skinny guy wearing shorts and asking for "10 more" push ups. A real workout? (Besides the 54 stairs I carry a 26 pound boy up thrice daily.)
Clean? Well, that seems much more like home-making again. And really.
Write? My pal Lexie always has something new up her sleeve and has written a little book. I am envious of her enthusiasm and determination. I'd love to write something more substantial then the 5 items needed at Sainsburys on tiny scraps of paper.
It all seems a bit daunting. Just going into town on my own feels a little like I am visiting a foreign land. I am not sure I am really ready for any big changes. Except the kind that take 9 months to cook.
My next act.
I know there is one. I just don't know what it is. I hope it is something really interesting and compels me and calls me forward to be brave and stand tall and feel alive and do my best. I hope it involves a costume change or two. I hope it emerges slowly and when I am ready.
But in the meanwhile, this intermission feels important. Now I just wish they'd quit yelling at me to take my feet off the seats.
Posted by charming gardener at 14:39 1 comment:
Labels: intermission, sigh, this is your new thing now
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