There’s a refrain my kids often hear when I drop them off at school, summer camp or a play date: You’re a good kid. Make sure you remember your manners and behave yourself.
When it comes to driving, I was a late bloomer. As a teenager and throughout my twenties, I had zero interest in owning a vehicle or even getting my driver’s license. I did get it eventually, but it mainly served as identification to get into bars (classy, I know). The subway was my best friend – even when it smelled vaguely of pee – and I was content to walk anywhere within a few kilometres of my home.
Mom guilt is messed up. It’s useless, it’s detrimental to our happiness and well-being and unfortunately, it’s something most of us struggle with. Ask any woman with kids and she’s likely to agree: motherhood comes with a pressure to be ‘perfect’ and a sense that if we’re anything less than that, we’re failing.
Ahhh, Christmas: the most wonderful time of year. It’s a season of love, family, joy and peace; carols playing on the radio and twinkling lights aglow on house after house down the street. There’s fresh snow on the ground and magic in the air. Oh, and parents killing each other at the mall because there are only two LOL dolls left on the shelf.
That part is less magical.
No matter who you are or what you do, money is a part of your everyday life. It could be that you’re budget conscious, paying off student debt or weighing different investment options, or it may be that you struggle to make ends meet between pay cheques. It doesn’t matter if you’re rich, poor, or somewhere in between – we all think about money, and for a lot of us, it’s a huge source of stress.
My son has escaped the kindergarten pen at his school at least four times. The pen, perhaps harsh in name, is actually a lovely fenced-in play area with toys, a large sandbox and shade-giving trees. It exists to keep the smallest of our school-aged children safely contained until they’re mature enough to be let loose on the field at recess, and gives many parents peace of mind. Most of the kids seem to enjoy the pen, running around happily and taking turns on a few small bikes. It’s one of the nicest kindergarten areas I’ve seen, with large rocks and tree stumps for climbing on, and a raised garden bed where things can grow. It’s more than pleasant, but to my son, it represents absolute oppression (or at least a challenge). He is not staying in there without a fight. God help me, and his teachers.
Like so many parts of motherhood, the first day of school is bittersweet. Your heart melts at the sight of your child walking along with a backpack that’s half their size. You feel proud as they walk through the doors of the school – maybe timidly, or perhaps bravely forging ahead. You know you’ll miss them, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the return of structure and routine. It’s complicated, as all things parenting are, and we all feel it a little bit differently.
My six year old daughter is standing across the room, putting together a salad to go with the dinner I’m making. She’s put some mixed greens in a bowl, added dressing and croutons, and is gently tossing it with a pair of tongs. She’s being helpful, learning valuable cooking skills, and is more than happy to take on this role. It’s a very sweet scene, and as I watch her, I feel grateful to be her mom.