I recently experienced a revelation concerning how my wife and I have altered our parenting approaches with our three children over the years. Specifically how lax we have gotten in some of the most basic areas as our hands-on experiences have accumulated over time. I chalk much of it up to experience, but there is also a small contribution from the relaxation factor. You know, since we didn’t break or maim the first one, we had the opportunity to streamline and relax parts of the child-rearing process for the next one.
Take, for example, the extreme precautions that most parents take with their first born. Here you find yourself as a new parent, entrusted with the care and well-being of this helpless little mini-me. Unfortunately, this also typically occurs at a time when you are still having a hard enough time figuring out just how to take care of yourself. Your parenting methodology at the onset is approached in a very deliberate and safely-organized environment. Strictly by the “Science of Parenting” book. My wife and I were no different.
Our first born was basically raised in bubble-wrap. Child locks on every cabinet, protective bumpers on every exposed corner, baby monitor systems that would have made NSA blush, electrical outlet covers, child-proof door locks, and baby gates galore. Honestly, you had to be an experienced international art thief to get into a kitchen cabinet and the den area of our house looked like the inmate stockyard at San Quentin. I fully expected to see the boy raking his bottle across a couple of those gates. “Attica! Attica!”
These gates weren’t merely confined to the den and stairway areas though. We even had them on his bedroom doorway. I found myself having nightmares of him crawling out of his “big boy bed” in the middle of the night, wandering out of his room, and accidentally falling down the darkened staircase while we slept. The bedroom gate might have seemed a bit overenthusiastic since we had a second gate on the staircase as well, but it wasn’t really “imprisonment” if we were really “protecting” him. Right? Safety in numbers. That was the theory that this warden went with anyway…
I will state for the record that we weren’t far off on his jailbreak capacities though. The boy apparently had a plan. We came out of our room one morning to find his door open and him sound asleep on his bedroom floor in front of the Evenflo baby gate prison wall. To our amusement, all of his little Home Depot play tools were lying around him and his stuffed animals were thrown over the gate and into the hallway. It looked like the first dawning moments of tranquility the morning after a mass jail break. Apparently, after realizing the invincibility of his baby gate penitentiary and futility of his attempted escape, he sent his stuffed comrades over the wall for a shot at freedom on the lam.
“I’m not gonna make it! Go on without me! Live free and avenge my memory!”
As time and life experiences progressed, we found that our by-the-book mentalities had relaxed a great deal. Although she too received the maximum security lockdown treatment on her bedroom door, our second child was able to get away with a lot more stuff than her older brother could ever dream at the same age.
“Cake and ice cream at 9 am? I don’t see why not.”
“Drive your grandparent’s golf cart? I have a better idea. Let’s race!”
All things considered though, she also got a more relaxed protocol on injuries from us.
“Come on. You’ll be fine. The tree isn’t even dented.”
“Seriously, it’s just a scrape. I can’t even see the bone!”
By the time we had our third, she basically supervised her own cell block. She ran with scissors, sat too close to the TV, jumped on the bed, talked with her mouth full, crossed her eyes for long periods of time, spoiled her appetite, and played outside without a jacket on. You get the idea.
Probably one of the best examples of this ever-evolving “parenting cycle“ is related to my own personal preparedness for our kids’ seasonal colds over the years. Those times in your car when your baby or toddler had a head cold and you hear that dreaded wet sneeze from the back seat. You turn around to witness what can best be described as mucus detonation and a very visible blast radius around the nose…and mouth…and eyes. My reaction is always the same. “Mother of all creatures! Someone call an exorcist!”
Back when my oldest was a baby, I had tissues in my car specifically for such occasions. As a new father, I really had no idea what I was doing. All that I knew was that I had to have tissues in my car for him and that those tissues had to be the best. Parents Magazine stamped and approved “Puffs Plus” infused with aloe. Baby’s nose was sensitive, after all, and regular tissues could possibly scrape, deface, or disfigure his delicate little sniffer.
As the years progressed, however, Puffs Plus became a distant afterthought. Our second child typically got the business from some extra Chick-Fil-A napkins jammed into my glove box. Although not infused with aloe, it apparently didn’t mangle her appearance in any way and it performed an outstanding job of exorcising the booger demons on short notice. Though I had conducted extensive research on the topic, I was never able to find anything in Parents Magazine concerning the pros and cons of wipes inadvertently infused with chicken grease. All the same though, with more than one kid in the car, it was a true triage moment and accomplished the job at hand.
More recently, running late to my daughter’s soccer game with her and our youngest in the back seat, I heard the horrific sound of a mucus detonation from our third child. I peered back only to witness a full, out-of-body facial possession. In fact, I had to do a double-take to make sure which child it was because I couldn’t even make out a recognizable face at that point.
I looked around the car for something to wipe her face with. Being that this was our third child, I obviously didn’t have any expert-approved tissues or wipes lying around. Madly scrambling to the car that morning, I’m lucky that I remembered both kids. I quickly turned my attention to the glove box. No napkins either. About that moment, my older daughter decided to join in the festivities by adding a shriek and a graphic play-by-play of the drippy proceedings. I quickly scanned the car again, yet saw nothing that could serve up that makeshift exorcism.
As panic set in, I started quizzing myself on the appropriateness and effectivity of some very unique and very desperate solutions that were popping into my twisted head at that particular moment.
“Hmmm, one of those floor mats might work.” “She doesn’t need both socks, does she?” “A couple of really big oak leaves might get the majority of it.”
As all appeared lost, I suddenly spotted something under the passenger seat. A neatly folded piece of paper. An auto repair receipt.
You know…in times of crises, the world looks to the innovators. The pioneers. The leaders. People that step up to the plate and physically will events to unfold in their favor. I am that leader. So yes…I wiped my child’s face with that auto repair receipt. And you know something? I’m not ashamed to admit that. As a matter of fact, I proudly wear that executive decision as a paternal badge of honor. I stepped up…and I delivered in that time of crisis!
Lotion infused tissues to auto repair receipts. This is what successful parenting has digressed into...
For a gratuitous visual though, let’s take a quick step back to allow you to entertain my immediate surroundings at the soccer field that morning. I’m standing in the parking lot with my daughters, surrounded on all sides by overly-attentive soccer moms. In one hand, I hold my youngest daughter’s delicate little hand. In the other, an auto receipt full of said child’s snot.
Judge not fair ladies, with your $6 lattes and neatly groomed children! Because this veteran protagonist prefers to operate wholly within his “adapt and overcome” mantra. That’s how this dad rolls.
Just kindly ignore the black printer ink streaks plastered across my daughter’s nose…and mouth…and eyes.
