Fear and Parenting in Las Vegas

This weekend you scrubbed a toilet for the first time and learned to use the vacuum cleaner.* You shepherded your little brother around and did your regular chores with barely a complaint.  You were happy to earn a later bedtime and some extra dessert. But your biggest reward is and always has been more independence and added responsibility.

You got to take the dog for a walk around the block…by yourself. And THAT was a REALLY BIG DEAL.

It meant I trusted you.

It meant that I knew you understood the rules, had a solid sense of your surroundings and believed that you could handle the dog on your own.

And you did it.

Yes, Steve was secretly watching you the whole time, but you did it…and you did it well.

Your little brother was waiting for you on the lawn as your blond ponytail bounced around the last turn. Your face beamed with pride and joy.

You did it, Boo.

_____________________

*The pieces of my plan are coming together…soon you will be a pint-sized cleaning machine driven to fight every stray dog hair and speck of dust so I can stay on the couch watching Deadliest Catch as I wash my Cool Ranch Doritos down with a frosty Diet Coke.

Climbing a volcano was a life list kind of thing for me.

Steve thought it was pretty cool, too.

So, he put aside his fear of heights and I nearly hyperventilated my way through tunnels* to the top of Diamond Head Crater on Oahu to get this view.

We took a friend’s advice and headed up as late in the day as possible, hoping to maximize shade on the arid, sunbeaten path with stairs and switchbacks. Steve powered through some tough foot pain** and even wiggled his way to the railing to look over the side.

The views were amazing. A full 360-degree panorama of Waikiki, Huanama Bay and beyond. The water was the most beautiful shade of turquoise that I had ever seen.

It reminded me of my son’s incredible blue eyes.

I had to call them to share this moment. They’ve seen volcanos on TV. THIS would surely impress my naturalists in training.

Hey Boo! You’ll never guess where I am?

You’re in Hawaii, Mommy.

I know that, Boo. But guess where I’m at in Hawaii?

[silence]

I’m on top of a volcano!! Isn’t that cool?

Mommy, I’ve got to ask you something.

Uh oh. What’s wrong, Boo? What happened?

Can I have a cell phone?

WHAT? You’re six, you don’t need a cell phone.

But Brandy has one. She let me use it today at daycamp.

Well, I’m not sure if it was Brandy’s phone or her mom’s or her sisters, but I doubt Brandy’s mom would give Brandy her own cell phone. You’re not even in first grade yet!

But Mooooooooom!

Boo, you don’t have anyone to call. You’re six.

But I can call Brandy.

Oh brother. I’ll talk to your dad, but as far as I’m concerned, you don’t need a phone and aren’t getting one until you are old enough and can pay for it yourself. Now, did I mention I’m on top of a volcano? It’s so cool! You can see everything!!

Why can’t I have a phone?

Ugh. Let me talk to your brother….

My volcano glory was usurped by a six year old with a cell phone.

Lovely.

____________________

*Yes, there are tunnels that you need to go through to make it to the top of Diamond Head. A fact that folks neglected to tell me until I got there. The military bored into the mountain to create lookouts and to haul gear to the top back in the day. Personally I think they were plotting to make claustrophobics like me have panic attacks and hyperventilate. Sick bastards.

**Steve and I attempted surfing earlier in the week. Note the emphasis on “attempting.” It wasn’t pretty, but it was fun. Oh and it was painful. Steve was thrown from his board, stepped on what the Hawaiians call “wana.” We call it a sea urchin who left spines in Steve’s heel and left him hobbling for most of the week. If that wasn’t bad enough, he tore up the tops of his toes on coral. I got it too, but I wasn’t nearly as bad as he was. He rarely complained and powered through the pain. My hero. Please send pedicure gift cards. STAT!

It’s amazing how children seem to find the right buttons to push with such little effort.

When a decision is made and he or she doesn’t like it, they clamor for a third party to come to his or her rescue.

They want whomever they don’t have at the moment.

Three years ago, I was able to shrug it off, knowing that my partner in parenting would usually concur with the decision.

In many cases, I couldn’t help but snicker when third and fourth stringers (e.g., grandparents and day care teachers) were whined for.

But now things are different.

The partners in parenting have shifted locations and the rift has led to new, positive influences on the child-rearing equation.

Now the first-string “bench” is deeper, but, with a shared custody arrangement, there’s less time on the field for each player.

Time is precious and we all work hard to make each play count.

We all worry and hope that….

…we’re doing it right
…we’re doing enough
…we’re not overcompensating or spoiling them
…we’re not being worked over
…we’re being consistent, fair and balanced

Sometimes, I think we get it right.

And then there are times that a child cries for someone who is not there…who won’t be there…who isn’t you.

And it cuts to the core of my being and makes me question every decision I’ve made.

In the end, I know made the right choices. I know they are just children lashing out in a temporary fit of desperate exasperation. They cannot physically overpower me and they cannot flee. So they use the only thing they have: words.

And, at times, they do it so well.

So, I don my teflon armor and work my way through the conflict, reminding them that their supposed savior would probably inflict the same judgment for the crime, if not worse.

I am their parent, not their friend, after all.

But God dammit. It still hurts.