Seventies Day

Yesterday was "Seventies Day" at our elementary school, which news brought a long sigh from me. Didn't we dress up for Halloween less than a week ago? Hello?

Unfortunately we didn't find much in our closets in the way of authentic seventies outfits, so we improvised. My girls didn't really care, so long as they got to wear their tie-dye shirts and their home-made "Peace" necklaces. They dragged me out of bed nearly an hour earlier than usual so that I could help them "part their hair in the middle" and bust out my glue gun to make daisy hair clips. By the time both girls were at school I was feeling quite proud of the enthusiasm I had mustered, not to mention ready for a quick nap.

Yet that self-satisfied mommy feeling was short-lived. Madeleine came home in a bad mood and by the time we'd slogged through homework, chores, and getting dressed for dance she was Done. Now I've got seven years under my belt of little girl temper tantrums, but yesterday was something entirely new. Instead of the usual whining and crying, she very logically explained all the ways I am failing her, and gave me an itemized list of things I ought to do differently. So convincing was her lecture that I sent her off to dance feeling completely bewildered. Since when is my not-yet seven year old disillusioned with her mother? And she told me twice this week that I was embarrassing her. All this, and I got up an hour early to do her hair for seventies day.

Horrible, ungrateful child of mine.

I had the chance to air my grievances to some friends last night, and so I woke up today feeling like I had my armor strapped on a little tighter. The thing about raising children is that we are not going to get it right all the time. Even when we wake up at unholy hours to make seventies day a success, we still might fail in small, or sometimes larger ways. What I'm taking from this experience is that if I'm bound to fail sometimes, I should expect it and not allow my child to rake me over the coals for it. Next time I will nod sympathetically and say, "Yes, it is terrible to be you somedays. I feel like that too. Now go get your ballet shoes."

Their criticism shouldn't weaken our resolve, or our enthusiasm. We parents are doing the best we can, and that is enough to allow us to move confidently. I believe my girls will eventually come to admire my resilience, even if I do occasionally embarass them!