Monday, May 6, 2013

When it comes to parenting, I’m losing. X-Man is completely whooping me. Well, his antibiotic resistant double ear infection is certainly helping. It’s made for some super-duper fun times as he rails against life and the world. There’s been lots of angry screaming, throwing things and biting. And that’s just me. I kid…..mostly.

Baby had a soccer game Friday evening. I required the father figure to come, as I wrestled X-Man while he threw things and screeched at the little girls who wouldn’t let him run off with their soccer ball. He resorted to trying to bite me when I put the kibosh on his entering the field of play. Gestated Cinco heard the racket and realized that she was missing out on some sort of party. So there I was, wrestling a toddler, trying to get a newborn to stop crying and being very annoyed at Mac, who had traces of blood on his hand and therefore completely incapacitated.

 I have never been happier to see the father figure. He swooped in and took over X-Man and his rages.  Which quickly dissipated.  I was focused on the girls, Baba was off at tryouts, and the boys gravitated towards the father figure. After a little bit I heard the father figure say “Well, he did ask him to chase him.” And my ears perked up.

Apparently, a younger boy wanted to Mac to chase him. Well actually, four kids walked over to where Mac was sitting, contemplating the blood on his hand, and urged him to chase them. So Mac obliged. And then the boy ran to his mom. Mom, being the officious woman she is, turned to Mac and said “Don’t chase him.” Father figure to the rescue. The mom didn’t apologize for jumping on Mac without actually having a clue, but that would have been too much to wish for.

I was seriously irritated. A large part was due, I’m certain, to X-Man’s antics, that had started during an even that morning, followed into a trip to the doctor, my second in three day with all five kids, and had deteriorated. I wanted to snark about the boy who couldn’t handle being chased by a five year old and had to run to mommy, but then again my son had been wailing about a minor scrape on his hand so yeah, shouldn’t really go there.

But I did want to say, and most certainly thought, “Helicopter parenting….you’re doing it wrong!” Now, I’m not a helicopter parent, despite what the father figure might say. And I’m not one to jump on other people’s children. Sure there are cases where something needs to be said, usually when physical harm is imminent. But I dislike the hovering moms who are certain that their little angles are all perfect and victims. Maybe it’s just my own personality, but I’m always concerned that it’s my kid who’s responsible for any and all chaos. I’m good with that assumption, maybe because it rarely born out and I’m really not ok with other moms assuming anything about my kids.

It’s all ok for you to hover over your own children, but don’t go extending their magic boundaries to my kids. And that is all. Because apparently although I have spent the last three hours feeding Gestated Cinco, it’s just. not. enough.

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