Love, Learn, and Eat Crow

We both agreed. We were not going to be those parents who had our kids enrolled in so many activities that we spent our evenings driving from one place to the next, eating take-out in the car, unable to sit down together for family dinner and with little time to spare for getting the homework done.

No siree.

Well folks, for family dinner tonight, we’re eating crow, and my husband and I are both having a plate-full.

This last week of summer break, my daughter finished her first season of golf and began her first season of soccer. Practices were stacked back-to-back. Simultaneously, she is working towards her black belt in karate, and shortly after school resumes, Girls on the Run will begin. This Fall, she’ll likely be at a game or practice of some sort six days of the week.

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We have no one to blame but ourselves. We are the ones who completed online registrations and took her to buy cleats. We are the ones who dropped her off at the golf course and we are the ones who remind her to practice her Heian Shodan and her Pal Gue 2. It is I who will be her running buddy for her 5k in November and her father who will cheer her on as she crosses the finish line.

The little girl who only ever wanted to come home from school and play with her baby sister is growing. Her interests are expanding, and we are eating crow.

One evening, on a trip to Target, my daughter mentioned that she’d like to give soccer a try. She found a pink ball in the sporting aisle and carried it all around the store, so I bought it for her. In the following weeks, she’d kick it around the back yard with my husband and take it to the park. I watched her long, tanned legs dribble the ball and her ponytail swing as she ran after it. She was already signed up for her running program and already involved in karate, but she wanted this experience too. After much discussion and deliberation, we signed her up.

Perhaps it was the what-if that made me agree to a three-sport season. What if this is what she gets really passionate about? What if she goes on to play soccer in high school? What if it earns her a college scholarship? What if I said no?    

So I said Yes. I said Yes despite all the times I hollered from the hilltops that I would never.

One of the many things I have learned as a parent is that anything is possible, so it’s probably best if we stopped speaking in absolutes.

It’s like that State Farm commercial where this couple gets engaged after the man swears to his buddy that he’s never getting married. Then, as they are flying on an airplane with a screaming child behind them, they both agree that they are never having kids. The scene cuts to the woman giving birth, after which the now family of three sits around their dinner table in their swanky apartment insisting that they’ll never move to the suburbs…which they do, along with purchasing a mini-van and having yet another baby, both things they said a firm “no” to in the previous scenes.

Women everywhere are guilty of claiming that they are never going to be that mom, whatever that mom is for them: the mom who is 100% organic or the chicken-nugget-mac-and-cheese-hot-dog-mom. The mom who vaccinates or the one who doesn’t. The mom who hasn’t made it to a single back-to-school night or the president of the PTO.

We’ve all shook our heads and tsk-tsk-tsked at that which becomes our own reflection in the mirror.

Even if I never proclaimed it out loud, I probably thought that I was never going to feed my children Goldfish crackers for breakfast, but that went down on more than one occassion.

We definitely weren’t going to let our children sleep in our bed, and so when we bought new furniture, we stuck with a queen-sized mattress.


In hindsight, we should have gotten that king.

I was never going to make my children a separate meal from what we were eating for dinner, but after one taste of my Cajun crab chowder, I was back in the kitchen slapping together two grilled cheese sandwiches.

Likewise, I thought there would never come a day when we would be putting golf clubs in the trunk while taking shin guards out, yet here we are, and really, it’s okay.

As moms, we have all reneged on parenting choices we once said we would never do.

There’s no one-size-fits-all. What you thought might work failed. Situations and priorities change. People change. Maybe, as in the case of “I’m Not a ‘Crunchy’ Mom Anymore,” life threw something into your well-oiled machine, and as a result, you realize: This is who I am now. You accept it, or you forgive yourself, but either way, you let that shit go because, quite frankly, in the end, it doesn’t really matter whether you used cloth diapers on only one of your children, so long as you loved and you learned.






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