Here I am. Wrist deep in pinata paste, as I prepare to host my son’s 7th birthday party next weekend, for him and a bunch of rambunctious little boys. I was going to make a traditional Cuban pinata, out of respect for his father’s culture and grandparents, but that required for me to use pull strings.
Since parenting a boy I realized that at any given point of their play time, they strangely like to hit inanimate objects…..and for fun. Quite honestly, these days I do to…….life will get you there, just live it a little longer😉. Pull strings were not going to work. So I opted for a traditional Mexican pinata that they can hit with a stick. I will not be taking a turn, as grown up issues might overflow into the fun, and I see parents picking up their jaws off of the ground. 😱
Thank God for WordPress.
I am that parent who “Susie” the neighbor tries to outshine with her overly zealous showy parenting skills. I just relax in my reality of imperfection , sipping my tea, while I watch Susie’s little Jr. roll around on the floor in a full blown tantrum while Susies tries so hard to keep a smile on her face and her calm demeanor in tact.
“Susie, I see your sweat beads from here. It’s okay. I know you cry at night. We all do. So, why don’t you take a load off, come sit down and sip some tea with me.”
But Susie is too proud. She must maintain and not look like she is a “bad mom”. We will never have that tea together. Jr. will keep throwing those tantrums, and this is why the “Ravens'” of this world will look 30, well into our 60’s and the “Susies” will be on blood pressure medications by 40……….
My mom always tells me that when you become older, it is less harder for you to speak up. I respect my mother…but I would not be my Mother’s daughter if I did not respectfully disagree. I have few in my corner now, because I chose not to conform.
People are so use to programmed living and if you walk against the wind and disrupt comfort zones, people will not be so pleased……even those who would love you to the end……the end that they choose. It is all conditional.
The personal acknowledgement of imperfect parenting is the best sort of parenting . When I was a little girl, around 7 ,whenever my mom would hear the dark words of Edgar Allan Poe’s; “Quote the Raven…never more…”, she would make me cover my ears. I would rebelliously listen, and then smirk at my interest in such strong usage of words. I was so pleased that my name was used in a poem, and even more pleased that “grown ups ” spoke in such ways.
Some would argue….well if you don’t want your child hearing certain things, why have them around it? Because she could do whatever she damn well pleased.
Her imperfect carefulness had me searching for culture. She put me on airplanes, crossed me over oceans, allowed me to hold sea urchins in my hands, share conversations with beautiful people in languages other than my own…..caused me to meet my Cuban lover, the one that I said ‘yes’ to, the one I gave my flower to, the father of my brilliant boy, the one that I left.
We strive for a perfection that will never exist and in doing so we shorten our lives. We relinquish our sanity and we lose ourselves for no reason.
These “Susies” do not realize that they are raising children with no substance, and no reason to appreciate the flight of a butterfly, the rising of the sun, the kind words of a stranger. Eventually they will grow up and fall in to the trenches of conformity.
MOTTO: The Langston Hughes Reader
“I play it cool
And dig all jive
That’s the reason
I stay alive.
As I live and learn,
Dig and be Dug