I took a night off from kung fu last night, which always leaves me anxious to get back a little faster. My mind’s already in the guan. But there’s a lot besides kung fu going on in my head today; so I’m going to let things tumble as they may.
A third member of the family has begun black sash testing. Here’s Merle post sparring practice with me, sometime last week.
Our girl has decided that she’s not thrilled about being the only member of the family who’s not yet eligible for testing. All of a sudden, Ava’s stepping up her game and executing some of the better kicking combinations she’s ever put out. Today will tell the tale on whether she’s really pushing for eligibility. Today, she has the sparring practice that she dreads, and I want her to do well. I want her to be deemed eligible for testing if she wants to be.
In her favor is the absence of a brother who’s normally a thorn in her side whenever the sparring gear goes on. Tonight, he’s going to work.
This fact was a bone of contention of sorts last night, as I always seem to be the last to know when his plans change. Now that Merle is testing, that can be inconvenient, with one car in the family and three people who often have different places to be that are 10 to 40 miles apart or the same place to be at different times. I’m apparently supposed to “just chill” when a conflict arises, even if it could easily have been avoided by a sharing of information – and even though I’ve requested info sharing ad nauseum. Such is the plight of parenting a teenager who, by definition, thinks he should be in charge of all aspects of his life at all times, legal liability and severe financial restraints aside, among other things.
Every once and while I have to stop, take a breath and say aloud, “I’m sorry, Mom,” because what goes around truly does come back around. My son has become just as good at telling me what he thinks is wrong with me as I was at telling my mother. And that’s just the way it is. It’s his turn.
Here’s what I know about parenthood, regardless of how my children assess me, each other, themselves: “You’re only as happy as your unhappiest kid.”
I can’t remember where I first heard that, but I remember feeling socked in the gut with its undeniable truth. I was so moved by it when I first heard it a dozen years ago that I repeated it to half a dozen friends and co-workers, all of whom visibly had the same reaction that I’d felt. This fact is the reason my son probably hasn’t heard the word “no” from me more than a half dozen times in his 17-plus years (and my daughter’s heard it a lot less than she should, given behavioral issues not entirely in her control). It’s also the reason I make myself nuts getting them to where they want and/or need to be.
I am unhappy when they are. Period. The only variable is the extent. I can chill all day long if all I have to care about is me, but I doubt there’s a good (custodial) parent on the planet who lives that way.
I have children living near downtown Baltimore, going to underfunded public and parochial schools, with peer influences that haven’t always been good. But today, I’m not worried about drugs, sex, gangs or bullies – just whether my girl can get eligible for testing if she wants to and if my son can get into and afford the college of his choice. I’m still moving slowly at becoming a duck (explained here), but I’m surely doing something right!