We have seen the quote below "liked" and "shared" and passed around all over social media. And we get it, and we love it as we agree: some days all we really are is okay.
Does this apply to only us though?
This idea came to me recently, while at my daughter's softball practice. It was Friday night, we were exhausted from a busy week. It was cold, as the weather this spring has been more fickle than I am when I find myself hangry and pressed for time in the Burger King drive-thru. And my daughter had zero (let me reiterate ZERO) desire to be running plays on the dreary, windy field.
But she did...kind of...
I mean, she did take her place in the outfield, but she played in the dirt, not paying mind to the ground balls heading in her direction.
And she went up when it was her time to practice batting, only to do something that resembled a pirouette with each swing...
It was clear that she just wasn't having any of this practice.
And maybe it was just because, some days she could only be okay too.
And maybe it was just because, some days she could only be okay too.
Knowing that she doesn't have a single athletic bone in her body, I still wanted to be sure that she had the chance to be a part of a team and experience being involved. And when I asked, she brightly assured me that "YES!" she wanted to play softball this year! I was thrilled! There she was, about to get the team experience, establishing a strong sense of community early on - and who knew? Maybe she was a natural?
But she wasn't.
Much to my dismay, when I climbed out of a mini-van, clad with my new 31 utility bag loaded with the glove, the helmet, and the pink bat we had just bought, my daughter followed me moaning "UNNNGGGHHHHH! I hate practice, I don't want to do this!"
Where was the enthusiasm displayed when I presented this to her? When we picked out her pink bat...why didn't it match mine?! Internally, I was fuming!
But I couldn't let her see that. As mothers, we want what's best for our children, to be able to provide them with the best possible upbringing that we can provide. We want them to be involved, to make friends, to embrace all that youth has to offer.
But they don't get that.
They don't understand our efforts, and why we push so hard. We know that we don't want them to look back and not remember their childhood.
They don't.
I think that when we set the expectation for them to be understanding of us when we can't give 100%, we often forget that this should apply to them too. We say it all the time when we feel that we're not meeting our potential "We're only human." But so are they. And we have a lifetime of knowledge over them.
So we find ways to deal with the instances when they don't want to give 100%, without making them feel like there's "something wrong with them".This isn't an attempt to make excuses for lazy children, but to recognize in ourselves as parents when it's not about us. To develop talk so that we keep things grounded and remain firm, but we're not pushing at the same time.
We're not the only ones who get tired, and stressed. But we are the ones who better understand these feelings.
Upon hearing those protests, I didn't let her see the smoke that was billowing inside of me, and I decided that we would continue. As long as we got through the season, we'd be okay. I let her see me keep walking, and I said, "I know that you don't want to do this right now, but we need to get through. You wanted to sign up, and your team is depending on you to be out there. We finish what we start, and next year we'll do something else."
Which of course didn't stop the whining, but she kept moving.
I know that she doesn't want to do this, but we're still going. (It's going to be a loooonnnngggg month....) I can't let her know that it's acceptable to say you want to be a part of something, and then give up. So it's been a learning moment for both of us. Maybe if she wants to pirouette so much, we'll try dance. Or cross country, as she's always looking up at the track meets adjacent to the softball field. The point is, she knows that she can't bail, and I know better now that we need to find what gauges her interest. That maybe her sense of community isn't the same as mine. And that even though she doesn't want to finish, she will. She'll be "okay" though, because that's just all she has.
And that's okay with me.
But she wasn't.
Much to my dismay, when I climbed out of a mini-van, clad with my new 31 utility bag loaded with the glove, the helmet, and the pink bat we had just bought, my daughter followed me moaning "UNNNGGGHHHHH! I hate practice, I don't want to do this!"
Where was the enthusiasm displayed when I presented this to her? When we picked out her pink bat...why didn't it match mine?! Internally, I was fuming!
But I couldn't let her see that. As mothers, we want what's best for our children, to be able to provide them with the best possible upbringing that we can provide. We want them to be involved, to make friends, to embrace all that youth has to offer.
But they don't get that.
They don't understand our efforts, and why we push so hard. We know that we don't want them to look back and not remember their childhood.
They don't.
I think that when we set the expectation for them to be understanding of us when we can't give 100%, we often forget that this should apply to them too. We say it all the time when we feel that we're not meeting our potential "We're only human." But so are they. And we have a lifetime of knowledge over them.
So we find ways to deal with the instances when they don't want to give 100%, without making them feel like there's "something wrong with them".This isn't an attempt to make excuses for lazy children, but to recognize in ourselves as parents when it's not about us. To develop talk so that we keep things grounded and remain firm, but we're not pushing at the same time.
We're not the only ones who get tired, and stressed. But we are the ones who better understand these feelings.
Upon hearing those protests, I didn't let her see the smoke that was billowing inside of me, and I decided that we would continue. As long as we got through the season, we'd be okay. I let her see me keep walking, and I said, "I know that you don't want to do this right now, but we need to get through. You wanted to sign up, and your team is depending on you to be out there. We finish what we start, and next year we'll do something else."
Which of course didn't stop the whining, but she kept moving.
I know that she doesn't want to do this, but we're still going. (It's going to be a loooonnnngggg month....) I can't let her know that it's acceptable to say you want to be a part of something, and then give up. So it's been a learning moment for both of us. Maybe if she wants to pirouette so much, we'll try dance. Or cross country, as she's always looking up at the track meets adjacent to the softball field. The point is, she knows that she can't bail, and I know better now that we need to find what gauges her interest. That maybe her sense of community isn't the same as mine. And that even though she doesn't want to finish, she will. She'll be "okay" though, because that's just all she has.
And that's okay with me.
