I recently came to the realization that being a parent is very much like being a particle of matter under a microscope. No matter what you try to hide, the kids see it. They are watching. They are listening. They
I recently came to the realization that being a parent is very much like being a particle of matter under a microscope.
No matter what you try to hide, the kids see it. They are watching. They are listening. They repeat what you say. They do what you do.
Sometimes this is a good thing. Other times it can be humiliating.
A few weeks ago our family, except for our 10-year-old, went out to dinner. Our oldest son was at a birthday party across town. Instead of driving home during the party, my husband and I took our younger children to eat.
On the drive our kids pointed out the political signs that people have posted on their front lawns. Since my husband and I are on opposite sides of the political spectrum, the subject of the recall elections sparked a debate.
I didn’t even think the kids were listening to us.
At the restaurant, after we had eaten, my 4-year-old started yelling about Scott Walker and banging her fist on the table.
“Shush,” we told her. “That’s not polite.”
Then we quickly ushered her and her brother out, our heads hung in shame. (And if I’m being totally honest, a few giggles.)
Usually the mirror to our behavior – good or bad – is not so public. But it often makes me pause.
“Oh s#*&,” my youngest said rather quietly the other day in the backseat.
“What did you say?” I asked.
She repeated the curse and told me she dropped her toy out of her lap.
“Please don’t say that,” I said. “That’s not nice.”
I didn’t need to ask where she heard it.
My children remind me nearly every day that I’m under surveillance and I make an effort to live up to that responsibility. Sometimes I fail. Other times I feel like I’m succeeding.
With fairly big families – I’m one of four children and my husband is one of five – big family dinner conversations are usually filled with interruptions and talking over each other. The loudest voice typically wins attention.
Guess whose children holler to be heard?
And holler when they are frustrated.
And are rather impatient.
On the other hand, I love that my daughter pretends to read books and uses a bookmark, just like her mom and brothers. She even takes books to bed with her, just to look at the pictures.
It thrills me that my children will eat wheat bread and most vegetables, with very few exceptions.
It makes me proud when I hear them use “please” and “thank you” in a variety of situations.
I laugh when they tease each other, echoing the barbs often traded between my husband and his brothers.
Each of my children is their own special person, but I can see so much of myself and husband reflected in them. I can only hope that as they grow, they will recognize our mistakes as mistakes, and continue mimicking the positive.
This includes, of course, voting like their mother.
