What I Still Haven’t Figured Out as a Mom

My morning began with a text bomb from my 14-year-old upstairs…

“Can we leave early so I can get myself taco breakfast? I’ve been craving it for a few days”

(Me mentally groaning over my coffee downstairs.)

“Moooooooooooom”

(Me ignoring this plea, hoping my silence will suffice.)

“Please, please, please”

(Me maintaining radio silence, trying to get an article typed before the deadline.)

“I’m paying”

(Me encouraging her not to waste babysitting money on what is guaranteed breakfast diarrhea.)

“Mom, it’s not wasting. It’s energy for the school day.”

(Me with a literal eye roll)

“My stomach is begging for it.”

(Me irked and buckling under the pressure.)

I will spare the suspense. I took the kid to Taco Bell. I had no solid reason not to drive her to school via the drive-thru. Well, other than I just didn’t want to, I hate school traffic, and I love my slower mornings once everyone gets on the bus. But, the nagging mom guilt got the better of me. My inner mom just wouldn’t shut up, “It’s going so fast. She’ll be gone in a few years. Be present in the moment. Soak up time with your kid. Kids over self. Kids over work. It’s not that deep, Honey.”

I wasn’t even back in the driveway before my phone pinged with another text, this time from the 12-year-old.

“I decided to put on my fluffy Uggs, but I regret it…”

Me, “Why do you regret it?”

“Because they look stupid.”

Me letting that soak in, thinking stupid is awfully expensive these days.

“And they’re not very comfy.”

Me, “Are you asking me to bring you different shoes?”

“Not exactly…”

Me with a forehead slap, “So…”

“Maybe you can bring them… If you insist.”

Me, not recovered from my first spineless defeat, vowing to only succumb with a caveat, “I do not insist, and I will absolutely have you do an extra chore for payment.”

“Ok, sold.”

UGH! Seriously? I flew home, grabbed the darn shoes, saved my tween from social angst and wardrobe doom, and told myself this essentially qualified me for world’s greatest mom status. But then I questioned my sanity. Who was this soft, unrecognizable mom? Her older children certainly wouldn’t recognize her. After all, for the last 25 years, she has been the president, founder, and queen of the “Suck-it-Up, Buttercup” club. And, in less than an hour, she had gone and disgraced the title with lily-livered irresolution. I had caved.

All that to say, I still don’t have this mom thing figured out. I’ve been at it for two-and-a-half decades, and most days, I’m as wishy-washy as ever. With parent promotion comes wisdom, growth, and confidence, but is catering to my kids after years of implementing brutal natural consequences really an upgrade? Eh, maybe? Here’s what I do know. Childhood has evolved over the last twenty years. In the span of time my oldest, now 25, and my youngest, now six, have entered school, the world is drastically different. In fact, my children are a full generation apart. The transformation of society and youth culture has seriously impacted how our children perceive and interact with their environments. Some of that is good. Some not so much. Yep, kids are growing up too fast – bad. Yep, we are more aware of our social-emotional development, which is good. Ultimately, I have learned that as kids get older, there are so many… like so, so, so many things that are really big deals. “Bigger fish to fry?” All the fish are big. Therefore, if little fish, albeit Taco Bell cravings and Ugg drama, are easily “fried,” fine. I’ll solve those “problems” and save their emotional bandwidth for the tough stuff they handle daily. Because even if they don’t get waylaid by a jerk on social media, face a breakup, lose a friend, or fail an assignment today, there will be a day soon they’ll need that strength. 

So, I guess that’s where you’ll find most of my mom energy these days. Until the world is just a little softer, a little kinder, a little less fragile to negotiate, I’ll be here bolstering my kids with the easy stuff so we’re all a little less beat up by the time the big stuff rolls around. And trust me, even though I’m a bit of a spineless worm lately, my kids know I’m ready to crawl through the dirt whenever they need that, too. Call me a softy, but I think I’ll let the tough stuff make them tough. This little stuff? Let’s just go with the easy wins, my fellow mollycoddling mamas.