Unconditional

The one thing quarantine has given me is the space and time to work on myself. I've been reading some books and working with my therapist and it is hard to express it all succinctly, but one recurring theme is how much I need to let go. Four pages of things, to be exact. So, I have been trying to consciously not let things bother me like they used to, to just let it go. This past weekend we went to the farm for the Fourth of July picnic. Usually, my kids are the only kids in attendance. Sometimes my cousin brings his daughter but she is only a toddler. This past weekend an old friend of mine was there with her son, who just turned 10. I have known this friend of mine all my life. Her parents (also at the picnic) are friends with my parents; our mom's have been friends since they were in the seventh grade. As a child she was much like me - quiet, respectful, not one to cause a ruckus. It seems her son is cut from the same cloth. If the adults hadn't spoken to him, you would have hardly known he was there. My kids, not so much. The difference was so stark it bordered on comical. My kids did not sit down, did not stop moving, and got into trouble more than once. At one point, after admonishing Love Bug to not rock the porch swing too hard for the eleventy-seventh time, my mom yelled at me to make him stop. "Did you not hear me tell him multiple times?" I retorted. My cousin (not the mother of the toddler) mumbled, "Time out?" Listen, if you want to parent my kids by all means. I guarantee you will not have them towing the line anymore than I have. But, please tell me again how I'm not doing good enough because my children are clearly hellions. At another point my uncle was trying to convince my mom and dad to vacation with them in Myrtle Beach next year. When my mom said they couldn't leave the farm my uncle offered me to take care of things. I good-naturedly agreed with the stipulation we stay at their house. "Oh my God no! Not with those kids. There wouldn't be a house left until we got home." So, there is my village folks. I am trying to let it go, I am trying to not dwell on it, to not let it hurt. But, it does hurt. My children are not the demure little boy like my son's child because they have not lived the same sheltered life he has lived. And, to be honest, I'd rather have my wild fierce little hellions than a quiet, boring child who never makes life interesting. Would it be nice if my kids would sit quietly while I talk to grown-ups? Sure. But, that is just not our reality. My kids are energetic, full of life, and they don't always follow directions but they are not bad kids. And I am tired of always feeling like I have to explain them to people or defend them to people who should just love them, crazy antics and all.  

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