I Don’t Live For My Children
In Anticipation of My “Forget These Kids” Weekend
I am a bad mother. I curse around my kids. I don’t force them to eat vegetables. I encourage showers, but if they don’t stink, I don’t care. I told them we would get a dog and they could pick it out. Turned out I lied. We got the dog, but I picked her out. Her name is Hope.
I buy ice cream and eat it in front of them without offering any. (Actually, I don’t. That would be pretty savage.)
Since the pandemic began, I’ve spent only three nights away from my children. For my 40th birthday, my husband took me on a short trip. We sent the littlest one to stay with friends, but the older two, we left them home. Alone. They are 15 and 13. Some parents think that is too young. I don’t because I know my kids, there are lots of adults around and folks to check on them. So mind your business, lady.
This year ….
…I appreciated getting closer with my children. I’ve learned more about them. I know more about their rhythms, their friends, their lives. As a parent of teenagers, you don’t often get this kind of access. I’ve learned from them. I’ve learned about painting and chess and Exploding Kittens and Wings of Fire and video game servers and Catan. It’s been precious.
But this year…
