It’s so easy for us moms to lose ourselves in parenting.  I don’t want to be sexist here, but truthfully it’s mostly the mommies whose lives turn upside down once baby makes three, or four, or ten (Kate Gosselin, you know I’m talking to you.)  That’s not to say that dads don’t make sacrifices or undergo changes when families expand, but it’s a rare day when you hear a dad say, “I just don’t know if I should quit my job and stay home—the idea of day care scares me.  Plus, I’m not sure my employer has a place where I can discreetly use my breast pump.”

I’ve always struggled with the work/care balance.  I’ve tried so many schedule variations—working part time, working full time, working and using a babysitter, working opposite the hub’s schedule so we don’t have to use a babysitter, working within my field for personal satisfaction and working outside of my field for a paycheck.  Trying to balance family life and work seemed so overwhelming to me with small children. I cried many times as I let opportunities pass me by because I just couldn’t give my kids and my house the attention they needed and support a successful career.  There were times when I was convinced that my path was forever going to be about parenting.

But recently, the death grip of parenting little children has begun to ease.  As my children get older, and more self-sufficient, I’ve begun to see glimmers of potential. I realize that I’m years closer to the Monkey leaving for college (please, God) than I am to the day he was born.  I have more time, more energy and more motivation to seek out my own rewards.   That’s not to say we don’t have the toughest years of parenting still to come, but as my children grow and become their own independent people, I’m beginning to re-claim my own individuality.

And it’s a delightful new world.

And 100 high school students.

Every couple of years the Hub—a high school choral teacher —and his colleagues gather up their pitch pipes and set off to spread music across the land.  And by “land” I mean touristy places like Orlando and Virginia Beach.  (If there’s an Old Country Buffet and amusement park within 30 miles of one another, you have all the makings of a music festival.)  Since this year’s trip was both close to home and coincided with spring break we decided to tag along.

One might think that time spent with so many kids would inspire a feeling of youth.  One might be wrong.  To my surprise, sometime within the last 20 years I have gotten, well, old. Like some character from a “Cocoon” reunion I found myself reminiscing about the old days and peppering my conversations with my own children with phrases like:

“When you’re in high school, please don’t push in front of old people to get the last two French fries in the warming dish.”

“When you’re in high school, please refrain from using the “F” word within ear shot of families with little children.”

“When you’re in high school, please do not sit around indoors with your sunglasses on because you think it makes you look cool.”

“When you’re in high school, please do not announce to everyone within ear shot what you just accomplished in the bathroom and what it smelled like.”

“When you’re in high school, please do not wear dresses that leave nothing to the imagination, and if you must, please wear underwear that actually covers your rear end.”

Of course, I know it’s all for naught because that’s what high school is about.  It’s about being silly and testing boundaries and making foolish decisions and having fun and not worrying so much about the consequences.  I went through it; the hub went through it, and soon enough my kids will go through it too.

“When you’re in high school—heaven help us.”

This morning I walked into her room, gently said good morning and waited for her to stir.  Slowly a hand emerged from the nest of blankets and stuffed animals that cover her bed.  As I reached for it, her fingers extended into a clear “Stop” signal and a little voice said “Talk to the hand.”

Bittersweet?  Yes.  But, more importantly, hilarious.

I couldn’t be prouder.

The Ladybug has always been a sort of quiet kid.  Her brother was an early thinker, talker, reader and writer, and humorist where as the Ladybug has taken some time to come into her own.   She is insightful and gentle and has a heart as big as the sun.  But the wit…well, the wit has been slower to come. As you can imagine I was eager for this characteristic to appear, as sass is the defining trait of the women in my family.  It’s like the basketball coach who gives birth to the child who ends up being a 4’9” tuba prodigy.   To be honest, I was getting a little worried.  Until this year, that is, when her humor window opened and out crawled Don Rickles.  One liners, jokes and the sarcasm, oh the sarcasm – perfectly times comebacks out of nowhere that crack us up.

Naturally, we would love her madly no matter what – shy, loud, introverted, extraverted – she’s our kid and we think she’s amazing.  But having this little part of me in her gives me a profound satisfaction.  That is, of course, until it turns on me.  As the old saying goes, “Be careful what you wish for

As long as she uses her sass for good and not evil, we’ll be fine.

Like many parents, I spend my time trying to dually cope with the present —“Mom, the dog just threw up something that looks like a Barbie”—and the future —“Mom, this is my boyfriend… we call him ‘Dog.’” Mostly I worry about the middle of the night phone calls. Not the ones bearing tragic news, God forbid. No, I worry mostly about the ones that begin with “Mom, I need bail money.”

Now, I have truly great children. Kind, generous, loving and honest…to a point. But as of late, the Ladybug has been bending the truth to suit her will. And by “bending,” I mean saying the complete opposite of what is true. It’s little things here and there, but non-truths roll so easily off her tongue it’s alarming.

“Ladybug, did you wash your hair in the shower?”

“Yep.”

This is the part where we give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Really? Because it’s really tangled.”

“Yep.”

Okay, you did not just tell me a lie when I gave you a second chance.

“I’m smelling your head and I can tell you definitely DID NOT wash your hair.”

Instant tears. “Well I didn’t want you to be maaaaad at me and you told me to tuuuuuuurn the waaaaaaater off and I diiiiiiiiiid and I didn’t have tiiiiiiiiiime”.

It is true that I told her to turn off the water. After 15 minutes in the shower. And two warnings that time was running out. But she pulls out the most trusted evasive maneuver well-loved by juvenile delinquents everywhere: “I didn’t want you to be mad at me.” Thereby making it whose fault? You guessed it. Mine. Of course it is. If only she could trust that when she informs me that she’s not washed her hair I am not going to send her and her skunky head of hair packing, then she wouldn’t be forced to take such drastic measures. Bad mommy.

Now I suppose I could use this moment to be introspective. Reflect on my ability to roll with the little unexpected surprises and disappointments that parenting brings us, and determine if my temper is appropriate in such cases. But I won’t. I am a mom. I have a limited amount of time, patience and wine and if I ask you to shower, I expect that means you will wash your hair. And if you have not washed your hair, I expect that you will tell me such.

Do I think I’ve seen the end of this?

Yep.

Now who’s lying?

No pressure.

I find it ironic that the world’s most important job has the world’s most indefinite job description.  There’s no handbook, no instructions, no boundaries and very little regulation.  Kids learning to work the fry machine at McDonald’s get more job training than parents.  Oh sure, plenty of people have opinions about how it should be done.  Millions of books filled with opinions, most of which contradict one another.  Every decision is subjective, there is never a clear cut set of actions and consequences and the outcome is never predictable. I’d prefer something concrete.  Like the owner’s manual that comes with your car, which, by the way, is a far less complicated machine than a living breathing child.

Something like:

Congratulations on becoming a parent!  Follow these simple steps and yours will be a happy, well-adjusted and successful child:

1.  Feed child a, b, and occasionally c.

2.  Instruct child to do x,y and z.

3.  Never under any circumstance do l,m,or n.

If you have any questions, please call 1-888-WTF KIDS for customer service.

I mean, can you imagine if other “important jobs” had the same ambiguity as parenting?

“Gee Doctor Bob, I’m a little nervous about performing surgery today.  This is my first heart transplant, you know.”

“Don’t worry about it Doctor Bill.  Just go with your instincts.  None of us are perfect; we’re all just doing the best we can.  Try one approach, and if that doesn’t work out, try something different.  It’s important to be flexible.  And if anything goes wrong, remember – it’s not your fault.”

“Phew, thanks Doctor Bob.  Just knowing that there’s someone that understands how I feel makes me feel much more confident.  Especially since there’s nothing I’ve ever done in my entire that has remotely prepared me for this.  Let’s scrub up.”

Good luck, Doctors.  If you need me, I’ll be working the fry machine at McDonalds.