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| Dr. T. Berry Braselton's advice got me through teen parenting: "Do the best you can, then try to make up for it!" |
Yesterday, while waiting for news about my ankle unhappiness, known as PTTD, but better understood as the painful consequence of my "rubber band sagging" around that joint, I watched a bit o'TV in the doctor's office. I tried to swallow my scoffing, as a visibly affluent gentleman was interviewed about his new release regarding "Happy Parenting" but I was probably unsuccessful in disguising my mift-ness. Possibly I was confused for a patient in the middle of an allergy snurful.
Why was I scoffing? Do I fail to appreciate the need for guidance to make parenting effective and families happy? Quite the contrary! I'm a huge believer in parent guidance and child welfare and enrichment. What I scoffed about was the tone of complete command and confidence aired by the author, who is a father. A father of two girls. Adoring, young, playful girls who probably still view him on a pedestal. A pedestal that appeared mahogany, if not teak.
Why my low level fandom?
Because parenting insights are best given by veterans--not by rookies. Rookies don't believe Precious will ever slam the door with a shrill "I never loved you!" Rookies are sure that sullen silence is for the neighbors who "screwed up" by neglecting to have weekly family conference.
Granted, I'm about to finish writing my own book about parenting adolescents. And I have the scar tissue, kleenex tissue, and tissue-thick ego that remains after parenting, in my case, four teenagers at the same time.
Had I written a parenting book during that honeymoon phase of parenting (birth til "I'll do what I want to do" around age 13) I'm sure I'd look more zippy, sound more bold, and care about my socks matching.
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| Parenting this age is a cinch! |
As it is, I still have zip. I'm even more bold about certain things. And I don't have to worry about my socks matching, because I learned that the surgery to get my rubber band fixed would take 8 months on crutches with major risk of depression issues, explained my doc.
Which means... I can wear whatever color socks I want as I continue on the rocky path of parenthood and as I continue to thank God for the unimaginable gift of motherhood. I'll also be thanking him that I don't have to cringe when I walk past what would have been my rookie version of a parenting book on our book shelf.
