“Hurry up, where are your shoes? Get your shoes on. We’re walking
out the door…now. Jesus Christ, where is your backpack? You walked out of the
house without your backpack? C’mon, why are you walking so slow? Did you even
brush your hair? It’s too late now. Hurry up.”
It is Wednesday morning. We must leave our house early to get
flowers for school.
“Stop yelling or no one
will get to help. This doesn’t require crying. Why are you crying? We do this
every week. If she does it this week, then you get to next week. I don’t care
whose turn it is or whose turn it was last week, just figure it out. Damn it, where
the fuck am I gonna park?”
“Unbuckle now. Get out of the car. Fast, fast. Go, go. C’mon. Jesus Christ, shut the door.”
After some deliberation, middle daughter concedes to younger
sister. Pixie sticks may have been involved.
Meanwhile, youngest is planning. Each week we receive a large
bucket of flower bouquets for school use. The girls like to give individual
flowers to school staff; what they vied for in the car. I deposit the bucket on
the table in the teachers’ lounge. My arms practically exhale with relief. Youngest is leisurely deciding which color the librarian would like best, contemplating
what type of flower the custodian would enjoy. Would the music teacher mind if
she and the art teacher both got Gerbera daisies, because they-the Gerberas and
teachers-are favorites right now? She is scrutinizing petals for flaws. I see
us circumnavigating the entire building delivering flowers and wonder when I
will get to work.
“C’mon. You done? Let’s go. No, no. Four is enough. No, don’t grab
it like that-it’ll break the head off. You just wasted that flower. What were
you thinking? No, next time you can pick other teachers. I gotta get to work.”
As we walk down the hall, the computer teacher comments about the
flowers. I sense my daughter hesitate. She feels compelled to share but
computer teacher wasn’t on the list. At least today. We walk on. Youngest finds the teachers she is seeking and gives them each their
thoughtfully selected flower. They respond kindly, warmly, with gratitude. She
beams. It occurs to me she feels pride in sharing these flowers. When we get to
her classroom she gives me a tremendous hug, her taut little body expressing
what words do not.
I realize I’ve been a jackass.
I have been uneasy since my last post. Without suggesting
alternatives, I was critical of the environmental and perhaps psychological
ramifications of enrichment opportunities parents provide children. And here I
had a morning of enrichment opportunities with my daughters.
Did rushing through the flower distribution dampen youngest
daughter’s delight? By my impatience, did I give the message that her
experiences matter less than Mom’s schedule? I feel remorse at the quick ‘I
love you’ I gave middle daughter before she headed to class alone. I wonder if those
three little words seemed hollow after what she’d heard from me for the last 10
minutes. I had even forgotten to thank her for compromising. How could I be so foul with them but smiling and polite to others?
Through how I interacted with my daughters, I had the chance to
teach planning, patience, grace, compromise, reciprocity, gratitude, trust.
Instead I was so preoccupied with my agenda I modeled angst and impatience over
minor things.
Life with children is nothing but these sort of minor details. All
day. It is something to be grateful for; parenting is a constant
enrichment opportunity. Daily I am
tasked with learning to respond to minor details graciously, in ways that
enrich my children.
As much as I’d like to, for environmental reasons, I’m not
recommending we all stop shuttling our kids to soccer or choir or pottery class.
I’m suggesting that in our effort to provide what we think we’re supposed to be
providing, we consider the meta-learning (or teaching) that will shape how they
engage their world.
