There is No Parenting Rule Book- Or Is There?

As I am sure you’ve all heard, there is no formal rule book for parenting. Yet, when I really think about it, I am not sure that is entirely true. Perhaps no one calls their opinions, rules- yet, most advice, solicited or not, are acting out of some sort of opinion. Some predetermined ritual, or way of doing things, that another parent, or third-party has declared an unwritten rule. There are family traditions, societal expectations, the friend who had kids before you, your parents, a google search of thousands of mothers who blog (much like this one) and a million others. The opinions, while often well intended, are not always helpful. So, perhaps, while no formalized published title of Parenting 101 has ever been for sale at Barnes and Noble, there are, in fact- thousands of wrong titled parenting rule books. 

With most situations, parenting included, the circumstances, choices or opportunities that we find ourselves in are most likely not unique. Someone, somewhere, has experienced what you are experiencing. Most often, the variables may differ slightly, perhaps even significantly, yet, the underlying problem, or whatever it is that you are looking for a solution for, has happened to someone else. For me, this provides a lot of comfort. Of course, I’d be lying if I said that the over abundance of information, has- at times, also provided some sort of grief, or at the very least- annoyance. 

So often, as I scroll through social-media, mine included, we are overwhelmed with the best plays or rules in which people choose to display. Of course, this does not only pertain to parenting, but well- to any subject. I am not sure if this became a social habit because as humans we are trying to one-up another, to prove that we are accomplishing something, or if the selective posts are to provide a positive culture. In all truth, without intention, perhaps even with intention, I know I’ve participated in all three. However, what I’ve come to value are the posts that are emotionally raw. I participate in the endless scrolling, not only to waste time between to-do list items, but to find the sometimes rare, but incredibly powerful real moments that one of my friends has bravely shared. These moments come, not only during hardship and struggle, but also in moments of intense joy.  Vulnerability comes in a variety of shades, each one incredibly admirable and inspiring. 

I, of course, am not here to dictate or judge who or what you choose to post. I will, of course, continue to thumbs up your seemingly normal photos. In fact, I really enjoy seeing your first day of school outfits, the meal you managed not to burn, or the cute thing your sister’s boyfriend’s dog did. I love learning about people’s lives. Social outlets like Instagram, or Facebook, are a virtual park bench. A comfortable spot that provides me a front porch view into people’s lives. Ordinary people, doing both ordinary and extraordinary things. It all matters. Every post provides purpose- some sort of window into your life. Each update, intentionally or not, you are delivering a message to people you determined were worth sharing your bench with. Truly, whatever it is, your message matters. 

With intention, a recent goal I set for myself is to, on purpose, act within my values. Sure this sounds really easy. Yet, in practice, it is much harder to actually do the work- to show up, without excuse, even if it does not come naturally. For example, rather than wishing my weekends were for relaxation, or whatever it is that we used to do before children. I am working, every single Saturday to find the beauty in the present. I am without a doubt, intentionally working to purposefully enjoy my children, rather than to wallow in the change or difficulty of raising four small humans. You know, to not use my Facebook scroll to play a sad song for all of the trips I wish I was taking, the outfits I hoped to soon be wearing, or whatever else I can dream myself into wishing I had. For so long, I have had a crippling case of whoa is me. While I can always find justification in my resentment, it rarely (never) serves me well. Being upset that my husband is sleeping in, on the very morning that we agreed he could sleep in, because it happened to be a difficult morning, does not provide me with any joy. Really, it only gives me a poor attitude, causing the day to potentially be ruined far before it had the chance to be great. And, to be fair to him, it’s just plain rude of me. 

Self-sabotage is so incredibly real. I really believe that rarely would anyone intentionally sabotage themselves, or something they’ve worked so incredibly hard at. At least not without having your subconscious involved. You know, the little voice in the back of your head, constantly watching out for you, or at least, leaving you to believe that she’s looking out for you. Without intention, we so often have the ability to completely ruin a situation far before it actually happens. If you’re really lucky, like me, you also get the mighty privilege of having anxiety being sabotage’s best friend. These sneaky little bff’s come together, saying they are working to protect you, but in reality- they are likely preventing you from doing something really great. Like all toxic friends, they have the capacity to completely block your can do, growth-mindset character.

So many of my responses are innate. So often, without thinking, I provide action. Many times, I like who I am, the decisions I make and the way I treat people. Afterall, most days I don’t walk around with a gray cloud pouring rain on my head. Yet, in full transparency, there are specific things I struggle with, that cause me to later feel shame and guilt filled for the way I responded. 

For example, right now, while writing this blog, I have taken our three-year old, back to his bed, at least five times. I feel both annoyed and irritated that he has the audacity to take away my precious two-hour nap time. You know, the magical time where all of the children in the house sleep at the same time. The one-hundred and twenty minutes a day I get to practice the self-care we all so desperately long for. I feel frustrated that his adorable squeaky whisper voice is coming down the stairs, rather than resting peacefully in his bed. In my better moments, I take the chance to breathe, and really think about how I want to respond to this behavior. My subconscious, however, is programmed to tell me that kids should listen to their parents, without displaying emotions or desires of their own- or ya know, just do what they are told. Past experience acknowledges that without a nap, he will, in a few short hours, collapse from exhaustion screaming at each and every suggestion all the way until he meets his bedtime. My anxiety leads me to believe that this will make it difficult to make dinner, pick up his brothers, and attend the soccer practice that yes, he also has to attend. Without intention, and rather quickly, a seemingly simple situation- a three year old standing on the stairs, has the ability, if I allow it, to become a situation that I am not only embarrassed of, but also goes against my values of positive-parenting. Additionally, there is about a two-percent chance that my force-filled rage response will be effective. 

So, rather unperfectly, I work to calmly put Baerett back to bed, explaining his expectations, and reminding him of the importance of a nap. For so long, I would punish, use anger, and really just become incredibly upset during these situations. Yet, really- with four kids, these situations- the ones that aren’t planned, or don’t go as planned, are constant.Truly, they happen every day. Every. Single Day. Most often, more times than I have fingers for. I was becoming a basket case; I had to figure out another solution. 

It was a hard reality to digest, but these kids- the ones I brought into this world, need to be taught everything. Like every. single. thing. It is exhausting to think that, as their parents, we are provided with the responsibility to surround them with people, opportunities and experiences that guide their choices, belief systems and just over-all who they will be. We need to recognize their unique differences, and help them explore and educate themselves on how to manage their emotions and behaviors. All of that sounds great and wonderful, yet- this is all so incredibly difficult to do. The thing about parenting, is that it never ends. There will forever be someone needing you, learning from you, and looking at you. That is, of course, both amazing and depleting.

In my best moments, I know that Baerett, well really, all of our children, are looking at me to keep them safe and to provide them with positive role-modeling. I know that our kids are looking for both boundaries and comfort, and right now, our three year old is expecting me to keep it together. He is looking at me to embody the values that I count on him to learn. 

So much of how I parent goes against what comes natural to me. And to be very honest, I have no idea what I’m doing, or if in the end, it’ll be enough. So much of what I’ve discovered, so many of the ideals I hold, all come from a quick google search, a reflection from a discussion I had in graduate school, the one-on-one chats I had with fellow teachers, family members or colleagues. So much of what I want to become starts with the belief that I have it in me to raise exceptional humans. So much of what I’m doing comes from the rule book that I’ve decided to write, for no one other than myself, and our children. I choose what goes into the pages that become my book. I select the people who influence me, the parenting advice I’ll implement, and the opinions that matter.  I decide over and over to show up for myself, and our family, even when things are really hard or go against the grain of my natural response. I choose, everyday- with intention, the rule book I am going to follow.