MotherBraggers

I do too much for my child. I know it’s not good, and I don’t think I’m alone.

In fact, some of the results of modern parenting are already in, and experts are saying that on the whole, today’s children grow up lacking motivation and creativity, feeling entitled, dependent and unsatisfied. And those are just a few of the unflattering adjectives that regardless of how many youth sports trophies they earn, predict a not-so-bright future, thanks to parents like me.

Who is “me?”

I’m part of the overly involved generation of older mothers who, even as I juggled breast feeding, homemade baby food, a career, yoga, volunteer work and snowboarding lessons, somehow found plenty of extra time to try and control every aspect of my child’s life — maybe in the name of doing it differently (better) than my own parents.

I’ve been the confidant, advisor, motivator and playdate-maker. I’ve made sure no shin guard or mitt is missing, socks are always clean and matched, thank you notes are always written. I’ve checked grades online, sometimes hourly, to track missing assignments and test results. And I’ve talked to my son in gory detail about subjects that would have literally shocked my parents unconcious.

Yet even as I’ve built this new-style, open relationship and pushed my son forward, I am filled with anxiety about all I’ve done that will hold him back.

Inconsistently I’ve turned various life responsibilities over to him, but my actions are usually viewed as punishment, not as an attempt (and my responsibility!) to teach him to do things for himself — because that’s what he must do to feel competent and confident out in the world beyond my evil mommy powers.

So that he doesn’t end up living in his childhood room-with-the-alphabet-rug forever, protected and paralyzed by a mother who knew better but didn’t do better, I’m trying.

This year, a full six months before he will go away to college, I’ve quit packing him a school lunch!

Baby steps.

Every so often, when I’m feeling really confident, I shop among the health and planet hugging elite at Whole Foods. I don’t have enough authentic looking cloth bags to go there for a major grocery expedition — or enough money. Plus I don’t like feeling conspicuous for wanting my tortilla chips salted and my lips glossed.

I am not comfortable among mothers who load dangerously vitamin engorged vegetables right on top of their babies in their strollers because even food carts are a waste of resources — and then say to other members of the Smug Shopping Club, “Oh, look, my six-month old is eating kale!”
Hell, yes, since a giant leaf is laying over her face.

But there’s something that drives me to put my hair in a low pony tail, scrub my cheeks too hard for a fake wind burned effect, and wear flat brown shoes. It’s a specialty food item I can only find at ye olde health food store: yummy, creamy, tangy, high calorie, proudly-packaged-in-molded-plastic Just Desserts LEMON CAKE! (with no trans fats, of course.)

And the uglier truth is, there are lots of inappropriate, unhealthy, irresponsibly wrapped treats at Whole Foods, right next to those expensive organic apples with the dark bruises all over them. Borrow some khakis and see for yourself.

Once upon a time, my children were only allowed to watch videos — no TV — about construction equipment and wild animals, plus occasional animated Disney cartoon classics.

I think that explains why they prematurely began waging a gang war against me for the right to watch their own definition of classics, like Scar Face, The Godfather and Departed, to name a few of the exceptionally violent, explicit movies that good mothers don’t let their kids watch, right?

But with so many and more important battles to fight, I pretty much waved a white flag over the cinematic ones, especially when it came to my second child. Because as moms of more than one know, it’s impossible to protect your younger children from the older sibling’s lifestyle. (A big fear about having a second child was how I would keep the baby away from the four-year-old’s wall-to-wall lego carpet. A choking accident should have been the least of my worries).

So it’s been really adorable to see my kids renting Pixar and Sony computer animated movies, like Bolt and Up and Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs, and then insisting that I watch along because… because they’re so cute!

Of course I know that illegal substances have been giving teenagers a reason to want to giggle their way through movies like Where the Wild Things Are for years. But my kids’ current love of sweet, heart-warming, sex-and-violent-free movies is legit, I swear.

This phenomenon is not only related to the high quality CGI and storytelling in many of today’s “family movies.” I believe for my oldest in particular, there’s a little voice in the back of his big, dumb, confused head that’s telling him his childhood is wrapping up. And he’s sad and scared to Scarface-death.

We’d both like to hang onto his cartoon years a little longer. Soon I won’t be there to say ‘no’ about movies or anything else. He’ll be fine in college, though, because I didn’t let him watch Animal House, right?

This was edited only to spare you the entire two pages of single-spaced shameless drivel:

Hello our dear friends! I could write for days and days, but nobody wants that so here you go, simple and sweet…
We are so proud of Amanda, her academic accomplishments, her incredible happy personality. She lights up any place her big smile enters! She attends the big Outdoor Retailer show with us every August in Salt Lake City and I guarantee you the interest in our booth triples when she is there.
Liz is at Penn State. If I had her brains I would be a zillionaire. She is so pretty and has a great sense of humor, but most of all she is a friend magnet. People love her and we love her friends. She breezes through her accelerated classes like I ski powder. Her eyes melt my heart, she is so stunning.
Sally is without a doubt the best athlete in the family, had a great year in sports. Field hockey ‘most improved player’ and track she went to state! I cannot wait to ski with her in Aspen this year, last time I was blown away how little she skis and how awesome she is. Sally is so darn beautiful it is amazing.
And last but surely not least, is Rock…I could, and just might write a book on Rock, I think he is that cool. If Rock has his way he would have you doing things with him 18 hours a day, and I kid you not, Stratego or any games like that, pool, ping pong, cards, movies, video games, throwing any kind of balls, boomerangs, soft bullet guns, bb guns, any kind of shopping what so ever, skiing, ice skating, hiking, biking, golf, food of just about any kind, you name it, Rock loves it.
Business wise, the main thing I will say is we are truly blessed to have created, worked hard, and continue on with such a fantastic, interesting, totally fun, and full of so much opportunity it can be mind boggling business. Honestly, we have only just begun, the world is our oyster if we stay focused, grounded, (and humble!) and on track.
As for me, the Giant D… just loving life, keeping the dream alive and doing my thing on my bikes or skis every chance I can. There is so much going on with me I wouldn’t know where to begin.
We love all of you and ask you to pray for our armed forces safety, and thank every one of them for allowing us to live our lives the way we do.

Now, can you say “irony” even though you’ve thrown up in your mouth a little?

The year is almost over, but that’s not all.

For those of us who haven’t already penned the best-selling book that came to us in a dream, or created our hilariously irreverent, ad-soaked blog site, or given birth to a child who will grow up to cure a disease – the pressure is really on!

You see, some people believe the world will end when the Mayan Calendar does, Dec. 21, 2012.
I think most of us think that’s ridiculous.

We know the world will actually end much sooner, when The Oprah Winfrey Show goes off the air, Sept, 9, 2011. And not because we worship her, fear her, or won’t know what to do with that particular hour every day.

We know that after that date, we’ll never reach our own goals of personal fame. Not in the way that really matters: a seat next to a bedazzled-by-us Oprah. So who cares if our kindergartner sends hand-knitted socks to the troops or our husbands do all the housework.

And the motivation that has driven every person who can type to write a book, launch a website and wax philosophical on Twitter, will be lost. (As we sit here, new mommy bloggers racing to beat the end of Oprah Calendar may alone cause the internet to blow.)

When that dreaded day arrives, we might just stop writing, and probably stop bathing — or even bothering to have children. What’s the point if no accomplishment, no matter how remarkable, can ever get the ultimate level of recognition it so richly deserves?

In the fall of 2011, it’s ‘As you were!’ for everybody. We can go back to living normal, average, unremarkable lives. What a relief.

I have many terrible confessions to make. Here’s one: when I was eight years old I forged my mother’s initials by at least a dozen Girl Scout badge requirements so I could get more of those little round fabric swatches than any of my troop-mates.

There was plenty wrong with that, including the fact that I hadn’t made the connection between performance and recognition – I just wanted the rewards!

I wanted to hear my name called over and over and take home the biggest stack of badges in troop history. I didn’t care which skills hadn’t been learned or what good deeds had gone undone in the name of my deceitful, impossible achievement.

I assume the other girls knew better or were taught better, and therefore, no one came close to my impressive badge total. But no one in the room seemed particularly impressed with my accomplishment — or suspicious. (My mother was a bit curious, but as with all her fears about any of my questionable behavior, she let it go.) So I was chagrined and relieved at the same time.

And for now, I’m only offering a piece of an excuse. Back then, the big lesson about the true value of helping others hadn’t made its way much beyond Sunday School.

Fast-forward a few decades, and I somehow grew up to know better. Now I am the mother at awards ceremonies watching children collect piles of certficates recognizing impossible numbers of service hours, and trying not to wonder, due to my own crime-ridden past, how they had time to complete that many selfless tasks for their parents to initial.

Don’t get me wrong. The gradual growth of society’s emphasis on the value of service has been an awesome trend to be part of.

But volunteering is right up there with the poetry, sports, music and academic categories at every school awards presentation these days. It can earn your kids college scholarships, features on TV, even help them start a small business before they’re out of junior high – stuff the Ivy League just loves.

Through volunteerism, today’s children are learning about another road to success. And while they are doing a lot of good along the way, has community service become just another method for our kids to compete?

As two mothers leaned across me at a recent school awards night, I got my answer: “Do you know how many volunteer hours it takes to win that plaque? My Eric worked on projects all year and didn’t win anything. There’s no way that girl really did all that…no way.”

Ed O’Neill, Grandpa: You know I used to go to the houses of my friends, I’d see their kids trophies, and it used to bug me, you know, because there was never a trophy in my house… I know you’re not supposed to care, but it’s kinda cool to have a kid in your house who’s the best at something, you know what I mean?

Ty Burrell, Dad: Yeah, our kids are great…

Julie Bowen, Mom: They’re the greatest.

Dad: Gosh were blessed.

Mom: We are, but ahmm, are they the best at something? I’d have to think about that…

Dad: Well, Alex is great at every single thing she tries, so you know… she’ll find her specialty.

Mom: And Haley is… (flash back to daughter Haley rubbing a cell phone battery on her head after her geeky sister Alex has told her she can recharge it with the static electricity from her hair).
Dad: … Haley is so pretty!
Mom: Gorgeous!
Dad: Oh, gosh, I mean…
Mom: Gorgeous, gorgeous girl!
Dad: So she can meet someone who’s the best at something!
Mom: That’s right.

Dad: And then, uh, I guess that leaves Luke…We dropped the ball a little bit on that one.
Mom: Yeah, a little.

We are not a sports family. We’re more than halfway through raising boys and we don’t follow football on TV, attend the local NBA franchise games, or even cheer for our college team which I think made it all the way to the Fiesta Bowl in recent years.

That doesn’t mean my boys haven’t played a team sport or three. Or watched an occasional game of some sort. But certainly not with the interest or devotion of most of their peers. I worry the absence of a deep enthusiasm for athletics has deprived us of infinite bonding opportunities and denied our kids the sports savvy they need to be successful.

Once I dropped by a friend’s house with my son, still in his little league uniform. Her husband asked, “Who do you want to win the World Series?” Aside from not having an opinion or knowing which teams were playing, he’d never even seen a pro game at that point in his life. My friend’s husband already realized this and was actually mocking my son, but maybe rightly so.

It’s probably considered un-American, or at least unmanly to let boys grow up rarely throwing balls in the backyard, shooting hoops in the driveway, or memorizing stats in front of the TV.

My older, big-for-his-age son’s lack of dedication to his various grade school teams certainly disturbed the other parents, I know that. One basketball parent/coach commented, “He’s just here for the treats.” It was true. He was there to have fun. And no matter how often adults say that having fun is the point of childhood sports, they don’t mean it.

Kids must play sports with passion or at least watch sports with passion, preferably both. Anything less is, well, just the way it is in our family, heaven help us.

Brian: Quagmire hates me?
Peter: Hates you.
Brian: I don’t get it, why wouldn’t Quagmire like me?
Peter: Because he thinks you’re annoying.
Like people who never shut up about their kids.

I ran into a MotherBragger from my past today, one I hadn’t sparred with in a good six years or more. She opened the conversation with a familiar MB move, asking me about my kid. The question was classically constructed, giving her a running-start at launching into specific details about her own child’s future plans. (“Is your son going away to college and playing a sport?”) But something was different about this déjà vu grocery store encounter: it didn’t bug me that much.

Right on the spot I was able to recognize how much happier and less anxious I have become since my kids have gotten older and my required hours spent mired in mothers-with-all-the-answers have been mostly eliminated.

This is good news I want to share with all you moms still spending a disproportionate amount of time putting up with daily bragging sessions while trying to hide some ugly truths from those mother superiors in your life — like you gladly let your kids quit piano lessons, or they don’t have weekly chores or a passion for anything except Xbox, or even more shameful, you don’t go to most their hockey games because it’s wicked uncomfortable at the rink — and boring, especially any time your child isn’t on the ice. Just to name a few generic examples…

This too shall pass! Some day before you know it, you will only have to be nice to mothers you actually like, and you can ignore the rest without fear your child will be blackballed from their birthday party lists.

The fact is, by the time your kids are in junior high, you won’t even know most their friends. Or who’s having the parties. And you’ll be grateful for every party your child does NOT attend! I realize these are scary thoughts, but remember, it also means that you’ll no longer have to pretend you enjoy decorating for school fundraisers with all those braggedy-ass mothers.