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| Crash Test Mommy Driver's License Pic :) |
It’s almost 9PM as I plop down on the couch for the first
time that day without something I HAVE to do.
As I zone out looking at the ceiling, the only uncluttered space in the
house, a Acura commercial comes on. A
researcher is testing vehicle safety, placing dummies in a car, but this time
they look like him and his family. You
can see the concern on his face as they barrel toward the wall. A striking commercial for sure, but I was
struck by the “Mom”. I could relate to
her. How many times have I felt myself, metaphorically, racing toward a wall –
a crash test mommy.
My walls are a less obvious than the steely one in the
commercial, adorned with warning symbols and caution tape. Mine are the deadlines, events and
obligations that dot my calendar, or sometimes the pressure I impose on myself
to be the parent I think I’m supposed to be.
There is no formal training to be a mom. No Bachelors in Momology or Master in
Mommyhood. You can learn what you see from your parents, friends, and long
winded parenting self help books, but we’re all alone in applying that
knowledge and the results are sometimes less than desirable.
By some miracle, I’ve avoided an all out collision with one
of these walls. But I can’t count the
number of times the fenders have been bendered.
The whole purpose of being a crash test dummy, or mommy, is
to collect data to improve performance, right?
Or at the very least, find the lowest possible acceptable level you can
maintain without people wondering if they should call in professional
help. So far the crash test mommy data has uncovered some
interesting discoveries:
1. Laundry creates a soft landing.
If something has got to give, it’s going to be laundry. The kids can wear mismatched socks and “flood’s coming” jeans – although preferably not together, for obvious reasons. And no one will die if they have to wear the same PJs three days in a row.
2. Don’t work so hard on dinner.
Sure, occasionally I want to make a prep heavy, “nice” dinner – lasagna, meatloaf, roast with taters and gravy, baked chicken etc., but don’t do it for the sake of the children. They’ll always be more excited to see pizza, tacos or hamburgers on the table.
3. The little things are way more important than the big things.
If you mess up and disappoint your kid during a holiday or birthday, it’ll sting and you’ll feel the impact of it like that steel wall, but the kids will move on in a matter of moments. However, if you consistently fail on a small thing: bedtime snuggles, the note in the lunch box, or forgetting to get the granola bars they like in three consecutive visits to the store. You may think it’s a not big deal (or even notice the mistake) but the kid will feel forgotten.
4. Plans are for amateurs.
But old habits die hard, so I still waste time trying to control the uncontrollable with detailed, timed, list inspiring plans, only to have them run over by that car I’m trapped in. Plans are like the toddler’s security blanket clutched so tightly until he notices everyone else is off having a wildly fun time. So he leaves the blankey lying on the ground by his overturned sippy cup and joins in. The plans just need to be forgotten.
5. Work: But did you die?
Sure it’s embarrassing to perform below your abilities at work, especially when others notice, but usually (in most professions) even messing up a project in every way possible won’t result in your demise. Sometimes good enough is good enough. You can always try selling the mess up as “thinking outside the box”. Managers love that. Of course some professionals (doctors, pilots, cops etc) should ignore this completely and absolutely not mess up.
When it comes to those walls that keep appearing as I’m
flying through life at a 100MPH, I wonder who’s got it out for me. Then I
realize, I can only blame myself:
The person who would rather paint 210 Dalmatian spots on a
white sweat suit and sew a fleece headband with ears (finishing seconds before
he has to leave for school) to make my youngest’s Halloween costume, than shell
out $20 for the Disney version. The
person who likes to make pizza from scratch rather than buy the $3.99 frozen
version. Or write notes for every lunch
box, every day, or give into the begging child that wants to do one more after school
activity, or insist on going a bit nuts with the cake and décor for the kids
birthdays. It’s all on me.
This afternoon the kids and I were talking about what we
should make for Christmas cookies and treats – now I have a list of caramels,
two kinds of truffles, 4 kinds of cookies, and a handful of other must make
Christmas treats – all to be made in the next three weeks. I can feel the acceleration already.
It’s okay to want to try and be the best at work and
home. It’s okay to load up the calendar
and only get a chance to breathe at 9 o’clock in the evening… as long as you
get a chance to enjoy all the effort you put into all that you do.
Just over the horizon I can see the next wall being
built. In couple weeks the chaos of
Christmas, with its last minute shopping, baking and wrapping, will be in full
swing. At this point I can only hope to
avoid a full on crash into that festive wall, and instead, maybe land on a
nice, soft, heaping pile of dirty laundry.
The truffles will make it all worthwhile.
