I am empty. Of words. Of energy. Almost of hope. Motherhood sometimes does this to me. Makes me believe that I am far less than perfect. I think I’m doing all the right things, then bam, out of nowhere, I suck.
When I was 9, I owned one pair of tennis shoes, a single jacket that always seemed too small, as my mom tried to convince me in February that summer was almost here and that a new coat was excessive, not to mention unaffordable, a couple pairs of hand me down jeans that never failed to give me wedgies, provoking the necessary butt-picking when I thought no one was looking, and several second hand shirts and tops from my cousin. Anything new was hand-made by my mom. Books were objects that one didn’t own but, rather, borrowed religiously every two weeks at the county library. Birthdays were welcomed with a single lovely dinner and one gift, but not always. My dad’s full-time graveyard shift shinying up locks and my mom’s job at a sweatshop in L.A.’s garment district afforded them money for rent, a $25 budget for weekly groceries, and not much else in terms of extras. I don’t recall them ever complaining. Not about the hour long bus ride to and from downtown L.A. Not about the lack of family to help take care of their three children. And now that I think about it, nor do I recall any of the children complaining. We quietly ate our respective rations of 4 Twinkies or raspberry Zingers or whatever treat we collectively picked out for the week, and, when finished, patiently and hopefully waited until the next paycheck. Asking for more wasn’t even on our radar.
Which brings me to today. How can I find a balance between giving my own children material things without instilling a sense of entitlement? How do I hold back giving them these same things without making them feel they are not as worthy as their peers who seem to get everything? I am so torn. For Zoe’s 9th birthday, she received a sewing machine, a coveted guitar, concert tickets, a party-in-a-box at the bowling alley with her friends, an extended family birthday celebration, and a dinner out at her favorite noodle restaurant. And this was just from her parents. I don’t even want to mention how much we spent.
I am not writing this to woo tears of sympathy. Instead, this is a shame on me moment to rudely wake me up from my auto-pilot parenting of just giving my children what they want, or at least what I think they want. Through the years, the boundaries that I once created as a new mom have become blurred. I was the mom who let the kids explore with paints, glitter, dirt, what have you, with the philosophy that floors can be mopped, carpets vacuumed, and tables wiped down because creative exploration was worth the 15 minute clean up time I’d have to endure. Refined sugar was okay every now and then because I felt deprivation wasn’t necessary for overall good health. Moderation ruled much of my decision making, or so I thought until very recently. If what I gifted Zoe for her birthday is any indication of how I parent these days, excess seems to have taken over. Now comes the difficult part. Throwing instant gratifications is easy. Building character is so much harder.
I just needed to call myself out on this.
I think there are quite a few of us who would call ourselves out on this, T. We gave Ari an ipod for his birthday, and I cannot help but feel a continually discomfort about it. The thing is, stuff means wanting more stuff. It is self-perpetuating, but somehow we got into this trap.
ReplyDeleteI appreciate your honesty, and want to talk more about this.
Wow- we could talk about this all day, I think. The second paragraph, the description of your childhood, was so beautifully written and so familiar. I also don't remember complaining or asking for things. Christmas was often 4 kids at the dollar store buying presents for each other and the thrill was the element of surprise rather than the object itself. I remember aching for Vans in jr high but never telling my parents because I just knew better. I think this is all a good thing. Psycho-minimalist that I am, I still feed into the consumerism. If not quantity and excess, then quality. I want her to have the best of the best. I recently returned a $4 jump rope gift because I had a $10 dollar jump rope in mind for her. And is $35 expensive for a pair of shoes for a 6 year old? You and I are blessed, actually, by a past that keeps us accountable and the memory of having less. We're completely immersed in a kid-centric consumerist culture and it's hard not to get distracted sometimes, esp. now as they are in school and there is the impulse to keep up with the Joneses. Anyway, now that I've used your prompt to write a novel, I just want to say- I don't think you suck. I think you are thoughtful and self-aware and human... and an awesome mom.
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