I think that there's lots of common wisdom parenting guidance for when our kids are little. As they become teens, there's more advice available too: how to keep them safe, responsible, drug-free, how to help them find their identity and sense of being in the world.
I'm missing the emotional parenting guidebook to the eight-year-old set. There's some stuff out there, but it seems defensive: how to keep them little, how to keep at bay the forces of evil that foist terrible teen stuff onto the preteen set.
That doesn't help me. I want a positive guidebook, with pages that tell you about the rites of passage you don't expect, that hold the keys to delight. I'm realizing over and again that what I want to be expressing is the happiness of parenting, that amid the tedium, the frustrations, the worries about their health, and the boredom of reminding them a million times that tossing their dirty clothes on the floor next to their bed is not as good as using a laundry hamper, there are moments, slivers of seconds, even, that bring exquisite joy.
That's the book I'm looking for: a straightforward attempt to note the joy in our lives.
The rite of passage I experienced: reuniting with my daughter Samira after she was away for 2 1/2 days. I walked into the music room where she and all the kids were gathered with their sleeping bags and gear and I soaked in the aura of happiness. I saw an eight-year-old girl who looked three inches taller and a year older. Her light brown hair was down and it flowed over her shoulders, and she had that I've-been-on-a-camping-trip-haven't-brushed-my-hair-for-two-weeks look of total calm, of really living in her body. She ran over to hug me. She hugged one of the teachers goodbye, the teacher grinned and told me everyone had had an awesome time. We left the building, forged our way through the sleety rain back to the car, and when she got in, transferring back to the world of family, I saw in her that pull: when you're really living in a social world that's different from home, for the first time, and you know that you can get by without your parents.
I remember that rite of passage so well; how incredible to experience it as a parent, to feel your child's confidence, and to know you had a part in letting that confidence build.
The book I want has a checklist of moments like these, and empty space to write them in when they happen. It's the elementary years version of the baby book, isn't it.
Later, when I asked Samira which of the kids she thought enjoyed the trip the most, she grinned and said, "Me." And then she conked out, and was fast asleep by 6 pm, dreaming, no doubt, of climbing 11-foot walls, and wading in late winter streams, and feeling the warmth of after dinner bonfires, surrounded by friends.
I'm missing the emotional parenting guidebook to the eight-year-old set. There's some stuff out there, but it seems defensive: how to keep them little, how to keep at bay the forces of evil that foist terrible teen stuff onto the preteen set.
That doesn't help me. I want a positive guidebook, with pages that tell you about the rites of passage you don't expect, that hold the keys to delight. I'm realizing over and again that what I want to be expressing is the happiness of parenting, that amid the tedium, the frustrations, the worries about their health, and the boredom of reminding them a million times that tossing their dirty clothes on the floor next to their bed is not as good as using a laundry hamper, there are moments, slivers of seconds, even, that bring exquisite joy.
That's the book I'm looking for: a straightforward attempt to note the joy in our lives.
The rite of passage I experienced: reuniting with my daughter Samira after she was away for 2 1/2 days. I walked into the music room where she and all the kids were gathered with their sleeping bags and gear and I soaked in the aura of happiness. I saw an eight-year-old girl who looked three inches taller and a year older. Her light brown hair was down and it flowed over her shoulders, and she had that I've-been-on-a-camping-trip-haven't-brushed-my-hair-for-two-weeks look of total calm, of really living in her body. She ran over to hug me. She hugged one of the teachers goodbye, the teacher grinned and told me everyone had had an awesome time. We left the building, forged our way through the sleety rain back to the car, and when she got in, transferring back to the world of family, I saw in her that pull: when you're really living in a social world that's different from home, for the first time, and you know that you can get by without your parents.
I remember that rite of passage so well; how incredible to experience it as a parent, to feel your child's confidence, and to know you had a part in letting that confidence build.
The book I want has a checklist of moments like these, and empty space to write them in when they happen. It's the elementary years version of the baby book, isn't it.
Later, when I asked Samira which of the kids she thought enjoyed the trip the most, she grinned and said, "Me." And then she conked out, and was fast asleep by 6 pm, dreaming, no doubt, of climbing 11-foot walls, and wading in late winter streams, and feeling the warmth of after dinner bonfires, surrounded by friends.
on March 21, 2007, 11:06 pm
This is a *beautiful* post Miriam. I particularly liked this statement: "All this focus on hip parenting lately has the side effect of making it harder to live with the happiness."
If what you say about sentimentality and being a hip parent is true then I'll never ever be a hip parent! (or a hip blogger, for that matter
As for that parenting book, it's a great idea! Someone should write it, that's for sure!
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