As a parent, I sometimes experience a near-crippling fear
that I’m not doing enough for my children. It’s a nagging worry that creeps
into the pit of my stomach and coats my insides with a heavy blanket of dread.
And it’s always worse in the summer, when I know that their progress, or at
least the maintenance of their current milestones, falls squarely on my
shoulders—no teachers, no school support, just me and two sets of wide,
expectant eyes.
This evening, we tried for the 10 millionth and 475
thousandth time to teach Suttie to ride his bike without training wheels. It
did not go well. There was lots of crying, lots of under-the-breath swearing,
and lots of falling. And that was just his dad (ba-dum-tssst).
The whole experience made me realize that this is going to
take a lot of time and a lot of practice. But where does
that time come from? Last night, we spent nearly an hour signing him up for a
program meant to keep up his math progress over the summer…and then there’s
sight words…and reading…and science camps…and swim lessons…and baseball…and
basketball…and time to just wander around the house looking for something
to deconstruct because he’s 6 and that’s an essential part of your childhood:
taking things apart and feverishly putting them back together before your
parents realize what you’re doing.
And I know what you’re thinking: you shouldn’t worry about
this when he’s only 6. He has his whole life to learn this stuff. And you’re
right. Except that right now, this
moment is part of that whole life, and the longer that I let him sit staring at
an iPad, the longer I delay the important lessons that he needs to learn early:
- That you will fall off the bike, that it will hurt but you won’t be hurt, that you must get back on.
- That the things in life most worth doing are the things that are often the hardest to do.
- That your growth is at once physical and intellectual; cultivate them both.
And it’s not that I’m trying to overbook him, although I can
easily see how it happens. When your child has diverse interests, you want him
or her to be able to explore all of those; to live a fulfilled, happy life…even
at 6. We’ve had to say no to karate, soccer, Minecraft camp, and a thousand
others, and it wounds me a little each time I have to deny him an experience,
but I also know that there are only so many hours in the day, that our time as
a family will suffer if we are constantly on the go.
Suttie might pose more of a challenge than the average bear.
The intellectual stuff comes naturally to him. He’s a lego genius, great at
math, reading well, and self-composed. I shouldn’t ask
for more. But he likes baseball and basketball, and he’s scared he’ll be the
only first grader who can’t ride his bike. The physical stuff just doesn’t come
as easily for him. He’s still growing into his body, which is in a state of
serious change as he sheds his considerable baby weight and tries to gain
coordination. He’s timid about trying things that he fears will hurt him, and
like his poor, stream-of-consciousness blogging mother, he’s a worrier
extraordinaire with a penchant for an “I’ll do it when I know how” line of
thinking. These are the trials that take time; the areas where practice and
hard work pays off in small steps. I can see his frustration, and again I
ask, am I doing enough?
And poor, sweet, intractable Molly. I’m afraid she’s going to have to learn her
shapes through stolen moments at Suttie’s activities: “See the bases form a
diamond. Di-a-mond…This 4x2 lego makes a rectangle.” Yes, two children make it
exponentially harder, doubling the amount of guilt that is generated by that
silently asked question that hangs stale in the air, “Am I doing enough?” She
starts preschool in the fall, and I often wonder, is she ready? Will she be
behind because she’s been with me to this point? Am I failing her now by writing
a blog post instead of setting up some station for her to count macaroni and sort
pinto beans? Probably.
I feel like this dilemma is one that parents are constantly
facing, over and over again throughout their children’s youths. If you’re
there, you are certainly not alone. And I suspect the answer to that unwelcome
question is a lot of yes and a little no. You could always do more, but the
question suddenly morphs into its sister wife: “Should we?”
I have no succinct way to end this post, no
wise-beyond-my-years solution to creating the perfect mix of purposeful growth and
childhood frivolity. But I find comfort in the knowledge that we’re trying.
Even when we’re failing, we’re trying. And I hope that the kids see that and
know that we think they’re worth the investment.
