S, T & no.3

Today's post is brought to you by the letters S and T and the number 3.

S is for swearing.

T is for tattling.

3 is for either the number of children I have or the number of serious discussions I've had with them in the past hour, take your pick.

I kept thinking, "I don't have time for this today!" But really I don't have time not to deal with this today either, because now is the time their tender little brains are developing and this is the only chance I get to teach and help them develop their personal moral code. Because I'm going to let you in on a little secret, which I may have mentioned here before. Control is an illusion. As a parent I ultimately have absolutely no control over my children and the choices they make. Especially once they get big enough that I can't pick them up and exert my will by force. So I have to teach them while I can the things I want them to learn, and then pray as hard as I can that they will use what I've taught them when they are out of my care.

Some other thoughts I've had today, "Seriously, you need a therapy licence to be a parent..." and, "I'm going to need therapy after this is all over... or they are." I'm wondering if it would be cheaper in the long run to pay for the therapy or go back to school myself and become a therapist, hmmm...

Why, oh why are these life lessons so hard to learn? And to teach! I always thought as a child that being on the receiving end of one of these lessons was hard and painful and I couldn't wait to grow up enough to have learned them all. (That last bit was sarcasm, just so you know.) Now I'm pretty sure that having to be the one teaching it is even worse. So, sorry Mom and Dad. And thank you for every last one of them, even the one where I didn't get to go to my ballet recital because I didn't come home from my friend's house on time, and I spent the next hour throwing a screaming fit in my bed. I'm finding that being the one responsible for teaching the lessons is even scarier than getting caught in a lie by my dad, and that was not something you wanted to have happen, I promise.

So here you go children (or rather your future selves, because that is hopefully when you'll be reading this...) proof positive that you weren't perfect, and neither was I. We all just muddled along together, trying to do our very best. That I loved you enough to teach you the hard lessons even when it would have been easier on all of us, in the moment, not to.