The beginning of every year is a time in which goals, resolutions, our new ways of being—whatever you want to call it—have strong and resilient roots. Husband and I spend the last couple of weeks of every year goal-setting, because we believe it’s important to start the new year with a frame, even if that frame is dismantled within the first few days.
Which is generally what happens to our parenting goals.
This is mostly because children are so adept at taking our goals and shoving them. I’m convinced they make goals of their own, and this is what that process looks like:
We say: No more yelling.
They say: So much more yelling.
The first day of the new year is welcomed with such high hopes. We hope that we will be able to get through an entire day without yelling. This is our hope every year—mostly because we think the kids are another year older; surely they’ll be able to (a) tone down the noise and (b) stop making us so mad.
Nope. They try even harder. Not only that, but they’ve resolved to yell more themselves, which means when we’re having chicken (always a win) for dinner, but they don’t get seconds until they eat their spinach salad (never a win), they’ll yell about how unfair it is that they have to eat such disgusting stuff. When it’s time for baths, they’ll yell about how all their friends are still out playing. When their technology timer has clanged and they’re not finished with the game, they’ll yell about how we’re the worst parents ever because we put a limit on how much time they spend rotting their brains in front of a screen.
We say: This year we’ll eat fewer sweets.
They say: This year, we’ll sneak more sweets.
I’ve tried so hard to get rid of sugar in my diet. I’m not supposed to have it; it’s something that could cause heart disease for me, because I have a gene anomaly that prevents my digestive system from processing sugar anywhere but hips, thighs, belly (you can tell I have a hard time with this goal), and, more importantly, my (invisible) triglycerides.
Unlike me, my kids will find every opportunity they can to cram more sugar into their mouths. You’ll see evidence of this at holiday gatherings, when they hover around the dessert table hoping I don’t notice that a finger slid into the perfect lemon pie. You’ll see it at birthday parties, when they smuggle extra brownies while leaving a trail of crumbs on the floor that lead to their hiding place (at least they can find their way back out—if they can untangle themselves from the clothes mountain in their room). You’ll see it at school, where they’ll swipe an extra cupcake for their friend’s birthday—hey, it was free!
If we could all be so immune to sugar.
We say: More happy family moments.
They say: We’ll see about that.
So much of my life is about getting things done. Wash the dishes, fold the clothes, cram in a few hours of work. Husband and I both work from home, and it’s easy to let that work bleed into our every-day lives. So we always have this goal on our list: to soak up more happy family moments, without work-creep and rush, rush, rush.
The problem is that kids are kids. They’ll take three hours to tie their shoe, because they wanted to do it themselves. They’ll decide the tie they have, which they aren’t supposed to have, isn’t quite the right color and will spill all the ties (which, again, they aren’t supposed to have) all over the floor and think the Cleanup Fairy will take care of the mess. They’ll destroy the toilet and, by default, the bathroom walls, when we’re already half an hour late to church.
So much for New Year’s goals.
The other day, I walked into the kitchen, and one of my 5-year-olds was cramming a brownie into his mouth as fast as he could because he thought I was otherwise occupied. I almost said something, but, instead, I let him think he got away with it.
I may as well let someone in this house meet a goal this year. Because it’s certainly not going to be me.
(Photo by Jerry Kiesewetter on Unsplash)
