I Don't Want My Kids to be Happy

If you ask most parents what they want most for their kids when they grow up, you will probably hear something like,
“I want my child to...

• get into a good college.”
• have a job that pays well and fulfills them.”
• get married.”
• have a family.”
• be a good member of society.”
• live close to me.”
• move out of the house.”

And ultimately, you will hear that parents want all of these things for their offspring when they are fully grown because, “I just want my child to be happy.”

I get it. Oh boy, do I get it.

You hold this tiny infant in your hands and they NEED you for everything.
For food.
For changing their diapers.
For warmth.
For burping.
For peek-a-boo marathons.

Then this baby grows into a toddler who NEEDS you for many of the same things, but also to learn how to walk, speak, sleep, play, apologize, laugh, and listen.

You know the rest. Your kid grows up and their NEED for you lessens for the physical stuff, but their NEED for the emotional stuff increases.
In understanding.
In patience.
In listening.
In refraining from screaming as you sit in the passenger seat when they are learning how to drive.

This once baby is turning into a real-life human adult and BOY HOWDY, you sure wish you did everything you could to prepare them for the “real world.” You pray that they won’t get mixed up in all of the crappy things that ruin lives. You hope they STAY AWAY from drugs.
From negative people.
From addictive substances.
From dating jerks.
From internet predators.
From vaping.
From using too much Axe body spray.

You just want them to have happy lives. You want these humans you have raised to take all that energy, time, money you have spent with them and turn it into something great. You want them to be happy.

What makes a human happy, though?

Are people who went to amazing universities and got killer jobs with the spouse and three kids the only happy ones on earth?

I don’t think so.

Because, if so, that sucks.

I know enough people to know that those things do not make one happy. That there are happy people who have all or some of those things and there are miserable people who have all of those things. I am sure that you, too, may know someone who has NONE of those things and is one of the kindest, happiest of humans you have met.

Back to my four kids. Yes, I have FOUR!

In some circles and societies, that is a crap-ton of little humans to raise. And in other circles, it’s a quaint little number. “Ahh, how cute that you only have four kids. I remember when my first ten kids were all married with at least three kids of their own and I had four children at home left to raise.”

Regardless, I look at all four of my kids and think, “Well, what can we do? How can I help you become the best version of ADULT YOU as possible?”

Here’s what I DO know after only sixteen years of this parenting gig:

Happy is not a thing.

Happiness is a byproduct and result of other things.
Of actions.
Of choices.
Of decisions.

If I want my kids to be happy, then they need MORE than a few random items that MY experiences have helped make me happy.

I went to college. It was great. I have gotten some good jobs and some bad jobs. I married a really rad man who luckily is more my best friend now than he was almost 19 years ago. I have four kids who are pretty freakin’ awesome.

Is that why I am happy? If my kids have the same things I have, will they then share my level of happiness?

Nah.

I don’t buy it.

I want my kids to become the greatest humans they can be. And not college nor jobs nor family can make them “happy.”

(So… what can? Get to the point, already, Anna)

There are FOUR things I want for my kids when they become adults to know, be, and do. They are, in no particular order:

1. Know how to work hard.

2. Be kind. To everyone.

3. Love and take care of their body.

4. Believe in something greater than them.

That’s it. Granted each one is a pretty big ask and hope in itself.

For example, if I teach my kids to work, they will expect to add to society and not be a taker. There is nothing less attractive than entitlement and laziness. If my kids can WORK, then they will know that if they apply themselves, they will be able to provide.

If they are kind, they will treat everyone with respect. They will not post photos of strangers on “People of Walmart” or laugh at someone who is mentally ill. They will give people the benefit of the doubt and not bully or demean others who are different (or better or worse or equal). Kind people know that when they serve others, that everyone wins/everyone feels happiness. Kindness is a practice and a habit.

I could go on and on (even more than I already have). Someday I may expound on the details of each of the four things I hope to help my children learn.

So I guess I do want them to be happy. Of course, I do. But I don’t wish any prescribed future for my kids. I have NO idea what life has in store for them. I do know that if I help prepare them with tools they can control, that there will be happiness.

And I hope they live close to me. That would definitely add to my happiness.

Random Acts of Kindness

Today is National Random Act of Kindness Day, or so the National Day Alert account that I follow on Instagram tells me. It seems a bit more worthwhile of a day than celebrating National Cabbage Day, which is also today. Then again, those Cabbage Patch Kids didn't fall from the sky.

Because I like to stress myself out, I started thinking of all of the grand things I could do to celebrate Random Acts of Kindness today. I could make large poster signs and hang them all over the city. I could bake up a bunch of cookies and deliver them to all of my neighbors. Maybe I should stand at a busy street corner and hand out free hugs and suckers.

Then I remembered, I'm busy. Not in the "I'm too busy for kindness" way, but more in the "I'm busy giving random kindness to my kids and spouse in between all of the other things I do every day" way.  Maybe as a parent, we don't give ourselves enough credit for all of the times we were exceptionally kind when we could have been exceptionally justified in exasperation. Today I am going to give myself some kindness--quite randomly, since I didn't think about it until now--by realizing that I am doing a decent, maybe even a good, job at this child-raising business.

Why, just this week, I:

• Didn't lose my cool when the kids asked what was for dinner, and when I told them, they loudly moaned and said, "Not again!"
• Let my kids keep the pillow and blanket fort up in the family room one day longer than we agreed, even though it looks like a disaster.
• Took my kids skiing, and didn't yell "LIKEWISE" when the little ones berated me from their frustration by yelling (quite often), "I hate you, Mom!" I even kept my voice calm, knowing that they didn't mean it, but they don't quite possess the language skills to express frustration yet. (We had a talk about it later, don't you worry.)
• Picked up the kids' towels after the shower instead of yelling outside for them to come do it.
• Told an extra story at bedtime, even though the call of my own bed was so enticing.
• Laughed at their jokes, gave hugs when they were overreacting, expressed how much I love them, encouraged their schoolwork, patted their bums on the way to school.
• Let them make their own breakfasts. I'm also randomly teaching self-reliance!
• Shared my Valentine's candy with them. (This is huge, by the way.)
• Listened to their school stories.
• Made banana muffins.
• Said I was sorry when I did lose my cool.

I still might go and pay for someone's soda--randomly, of course--when I go get my own fill of caffeine today. But for the most part, I know random acts of kindness are happening every day. They aren't huge or celebrated or Instagram-photo-worthy, but hopefully they are helping to create better humans out of my children and a better human of me.

a

Complaining about the Holiday Complainers

I can handle the strangers’ scoffs at holiday decorations at the mall and the Facebook status updates with an angry turkey threatening Santa Claus with a musket and the degrading words, “Back off, Fatty. Wait your turn.” (Which irks me only because the turkey is fat. Stop calling names, oh ye fowl ones!) I don’t even mind when my friends say the clichéd “every year the holidays start sooner and sooner!” (Which, of course they don’t, unless we are talking minutes sooner every year. Then, perhaps you’re right. I’m not that great at math, so I won't fight you.)

But, what I cannot handle, what I refuse to tolerate, is when my own flesh and blood start in on the chorus of decrying the commercialization and timing of Christmas. I blame social media. It’s an easy target people often use (SOCIAL MEDIA IS THE DEVIL!) and one I cringe at often because it is how I make a living. But, dude, put kids on social media even a little and they see that cynical and loathsome humor is celebrated. Kids who hate Mondays, hate school, hate preps, hate jocks, hate goths, hate commercialization, hate anything rather than showing the things that they actually like. These kids often have popular accounts and are showing similar sentiments to some of those feelings your own kids are having. Whatever, I get it. I try to tell my older kids that it is easy to be cynical, anyone can find something they don’t like and talk about it (oh, is that what I am doing in this article? nah.), but it is more difficult and wonderful if you can find things to revel in and enjoy.

My kids and I walked into Target before Halloween and saw that there were a few Christmas items already displayed. “Oh sick,” said one kid. Another joined in with, “Can’t they wait until after Thanksgiving? Why do they have to shove Christmas down our throats so early?” Oh man, who are these people I have raised from my very womb? So I said the kind of thing that I always say, “Don’t sweat it. If you don’t want to buy anything before Thanksgiving, then don’t. If it bothers you, walk away. Some of us like having it available this early.”

Here’s the truth of it all: I used to start listening to Christmas music on September 1st as a child. I am not exaggerating one bit. My birthday is the 31st of August. As soon as my birthday was over, it was the holidays, as far as I was concerned. And I loved Christmas music. My mother had old records of Johnny Mathis and Andy Williams and The Carpenters and I played those for months. The music made me happy and excited. I grew up near Phoenix, so it’s not like it got cold enough to justify a few songs here and there. Nope. I just loved the music. 

I would also start making Christmas gifts for my family and friends in September as well. I would make lists of ideas for gifts and start buying the supplies with my babysitting money. I freakin’ loved Christmas. I loved going to the mall just to see the windows and hear the music playing over the loud speakers. And I still do. Except now I am all about Halloween the day after my birthday and I start the Christmas music the first of November. Because I still love it. It makes me happy and dance-y and just a friendlier chick. I am listening to acoustic Christmas as I type and I feel amazing about it. Oh, and the made-for-television Christmas movies? They are so horrible and yet I love them so much. I watch about one a week starting in November. Watched one yesterday, as a matter of fact, while I folded laundry. It was heavenly, even though I figured out the entire plot line and ending in the first five minutes. There were also a massive amount of birds chirping during a few of the winter snow scenes, which only made me love the show more. 

So say what you will about Thanksgiving not getting it’s own month. I mean, who cares? I am always baffled that there has to be one or the other. I love Thanksgiving. I even decorate for it. I have one box of Thanksgiving decorations. And about fourteen boxes for Christmas. (Trees and ornaments take up a lot of storage, people!) The two holidays (and Hannukah and Kwanza and all the other end-of-year celebrations) can co-exist. As can we, the early Christmas revelers and the wait-until-after-Thanksgiving folks. If you don’t want to shop for Christmas items, walk away. If you do want to walk the aisles of ornaments and holiday cheer, come with me. Apparently I’m not teaching my kids to want to shop with me this early, anyway!

Anna

Five crazy kid alarm clocks

We start school in two weeks. Over the summer some of the kids shifted into different bedrooms and how we managed school mornings last year isn't going to work this year. While we were discussing our new wake-up routines, I told the kids about the alarm clock that I had as a kid. It was a rooster playing the guitar and it sang the most annoying song over and over again until you pushed on its head. And like any millennial parent, I thought I'd see if it was on youtube to show my kids. Ten seconds later we were watching the terror of my childhood mornings:

Can you feel the emotion?

My brother had the alarm clock with a gorilla playing the drums. And my mom had a clock where a wino clown whistled at the top of the hour. That one freaked out my friends during high school movie nights. 

Apparently I don't own enough whacky clocks as an adult. But watching all of these clocks from my childhood caused my children to want a crazy alarm clock for their school mornings this year. We did a little internet searching and here are some of the whackiest and most amazing alarm clocks we found right now:

A dancing, rapping bacon alarm clock. What is not to love? (LINK)

This gun alarm clock has my little boys the most excited. You have to shoot the target to get the alarm to stop, which sounds fun to them and painful to me. (LINK)

If your kids like cars and racing, imagine how revved they would be to wake up every morning to "start your engines" and the intense sounds of race cars. I might have a heart attack, but if you've got a deep sleeper, this could be your/their answer. (LINK)

Star projection at night and eight different sound options to wake your child. I love this one, but my boys aren't buying it. I love ceiling projections. (LINK)

A cuckoo alarm clock perfect for kids. It's vintage and current and I want one for my room. (LINK)

A new alarm clock might be just what we need to get everyone up on the first day of school. And every day of school thereafter. Let's hope so, at least.

Do your kids wake up with an alarm clock or do you wake them up?

Summer POINTS

I don't know about you, but I am getting a bit anxious for the upcoming summer break. Kids are home, days are long, and the television and personal devices are getting ready for their big season of usage. When I am "easygoing" during the summer, the kids watch and play on too many screens, eat too much junk food, and then inevitably they get cranky and fight. It's a freakin' broken record.

We have done summer fun calendars where each day we choose something fun to do together as a family after their chores are done. It works for the first few days, even a couple of weeks. But then... everyone gets tired and there's a campout or a short trip and we get off track. 

I have finally decided to take a page out of my mom's old playbook. I kinda swore I would never do it, but here I am, finally ready to do THE POINT SYSTEM. Even writing it makes me cringe a bit. Ha! But, I am determined to make it work for our family, because it was a great way to learn how to budget time, responsibility and "earn" your allowance.

What is THE POINT SYSTEM? (Sorry, but it is so legendary in our family that it feels imperative to be in all caps.) Simply, chores and work are given values (points) and you record your points when you've completed the assigned chores. OK, that didn't read so simply, so let me show you this summer's POINT SYSTEM chart for my 13yo daughter:

I then added up the amount of points that are the WEEKLY GOAL (not 100%, every job every day). For example, I don't expect my daughter to do a math sheet seven days a week during the summer, but the goal is for five days a week. Brushing her teeth, however, the goal is that she does it twice every day (shocker!). If she meets or exceeds the goal number, she gets the full amount (which we have decided is $20). And then you can see how it breaks down after that. 

Letting them "earn" their money will help in so many ways, I hope. No longer will I feel guilty when they go to the Shiver Shack to get a snow cone with some friends and I don't have a few spare dollars. If they want to go, they can use the money they earn(ed). Plus, they will have earned enough money to buy me a great birthday gift at the end of the summer. BooYAH!

I'll let you know how it goes this summer. I'm super hopeful. And I've done a lot of the work already making the POINT SYSTEM charts for each kid (my 5yo's list is a bit easier and less $ earning potential).

Wanna try it in your home? I've made a blank template that you can print out and fill out for your kid(s). If you do, let me know how it goes. Let's POINT SYSTEM all over this summer.

Right click and save the photo to print! TaDah!

It's like I always say, "Stick with what your Momma taught ya!" Sorry I doubted you, Mom. 

Best of luck this summer, parents! WE CAN DO THIS!

anna

Hospital Room Mother's Day

I rarely feel guilt as a mother. I’m confident that I am not totally screwing up in helping these four humans become self-sufficient members of society. But when Mother’s Day rolls around, all of the guilt I could have felt during the rest of the year hits me in one gigantic ball of “you’re not good enough” guilt. I also feel guilt for not loving Mother’s Day when there are so many women who would like to be mothers, miss their mothers, or miss the children who made them mothers. It’s a complicated day. 

Today, though, I sit in a hospital room waiting for my child to return from surgery. It’s nothing too serious; he broke his femur last year and they want to take the plate and 12 screws out so his bone can continue to grow and reduce his risk of breakage at the growth plates. But its a weird thing, sitting in a hospital room doing nothing but writing on your laptop while your child is being cut open and worked on. 

I can hear the cries of children in neighboring rooms. Some cries sound awfully young and others sound like they are in awful pain. I wonder what they’re here for, and my heart aches for them, but also for their parents. Watching your kids go through pain (physical and emotional) is so much more difficult than going through your own pain. That’s what you cannot understand until you have had children. Until you have raised little human beings, you think that you know empathy, but it is so much heavier than you knew possible. 

When my son first broke his femur, I had just returned home from a long trip with the youth from my church and was unpacking WHILE trying to pack for our family summer vacation we were to be leaving for the next day. I heard cries coming from the backyard and when I saw him clutching his leg on the trampoline, I said the same thing that I had said every other time someone got hurt on the trampoline, “You’re fine. Just hop off and go chill out somewhere.” At this point, you might be thinking what a wonderful mother I am. Where is my Mother of the Year trophy?

It gets worse. 

He was still crying and clutching at his quad—he was not going to move on his own. So, I grabbed him and carried him over to a patio chair. Are you cringing yet? Yeah, I know. This is one of those “maybe you should feel more guilt on days other than Mother’s Day” moments. “Dude, you’re fine. Just breathe,” I said. He tries, but the deep breath sends a shock of pain to his leg.

My husband and I look at each other and know that we have to take him to the hospital. Every slight bump or turn in the car and my little boy lets out a small shriek. I am realizing the severity of the situation every minute that we get closer to the hospital. His cries are now sending little jabs into my mothering heart. After we are admitted to the ER (and I get the first few of many disapproving head shakes reserved for those who own a trampoline), my son lies on the hospital bed and lets out the most pathetic sounds. I try to give him kisses and hold his hand, but he pleads that I don’t touch him. “Can someone give him something for the pain?” I ask anyone who walks by our room. 

I have turned into the Mama Bear. Just one hour before I was questioning his pain level and now I am demanding to get some professional attention to my poor baby. He’s a little guy and fairly quiet, so to hear him crying in such agony was wrenching my heart. Finally we are told that he has broken his femur and will be admitted. The break will require surgery. Because he had eaten dinner shortly before jumping on the trampoline, they wouldn’t be able to begin his surgery for hours, which turned into the following morning. All evening, they gave him doses of medicine, but he continued to feel a lot of discomfort. As soon as he would start drifting to sleep, his muscle would spasm and he would shriek at the pain. This went on all night. He went into surgery in the morning and the surgeon told us that it was significantly worse than the single fracture they had thought. He had three separate fractures going every which way on his femur, and she could not say enough about how much pain he must have felt. 

My small eight-year-old boy got smaller in the following months as he wasn’t able to play, swim, or participate in most of the summer activities. The first two weeks of the third grade, he pushed around a walker and wore a big brace that we called his “bionic leg.” He smiled when people brought him treats, but silent tears rolled down his face when we went to family and neighborhood parties. 

The subsequent doctor and physical therapy visits were taxing, but mostly because we saw so many children with issues MUCH more difficult than my son’s. My heart broke for these kids and their parents, grateful for the patient nurses and doctors, for the hospital and all those who contributed to it. Life can be sincerely difficult, and a messy room, a broken tv, or a ruined tube of lipstick all seem wonderful and fun when you put them on the scale of human experience. 

Today the anesthesiologist asked my son what flavor of sleep gas he wanted. After considering it for a few seconds, he asked if they had “glazed donut” flavor. The doctors and nurses all laughed and mused about such a great idea for a flavor of medicine. One of the residents, looking over the medical chart, said, “It’s so nice to have a healthy kid,” mostly to himself, but I couldn’t agree more. 

It is SO nice to have a healthy kid. Being a parent can be frustrating and trying and exhausting, but it is the best thing I have ever done. Mind you, I have done a lot of amazing and fantastic things in my life. I have travelled, worked, created, taught, accomplished, and continue to do these things. But having a kid (four of them!) has by far been the best thing I have chosen to do. I understand that some people do not wish to have children and I don’t think anyone SHOULD have kids if they don’t want them (plug for the gift of ADOPTION). But if they don’t want to have children because they don’t want anyone accidentally breaking the television, waking them up early Saturday morning or spilling cereal on the carpet, then they are MISSING OUT! 

Mother’s Day is a tricky day, to be sure, but somehow it’s got to stop being about comparing what kind of mother you are, were, or want to be and what kind of mother you had. It’s got to stop being about the brunch and what presents you give and get. This year, Mother’s Day for me is right now, sitting in this empty hospital room, realizing the gratitude I have for the chance at being a mother. It is thinking about the hugs my children give me that sincerely feel like they are filled with healing powers. It is reminiscing about my mother sitting in her chair with her needlepoint project and grateful that she made the choice to have me. 

My kids may never say cheesy sentiments about me being their angel mother (I’m looking at you, Abraham Lincoln) or send me to a spa while they clean the house and make my favorite dessert. That’s okay by me. I’m just glad I get to be an imperfect mother of imperfect kids in an imperfect life that I love. 

Happy Mother’s Day, imperfect people.

A note to our kids

I've mentioned before that I have four kids, who are all brilliant and funny and good. Of course sometimes they are super stinkers, because they are kids... because they are HUMANS. The first few months after I created the @kidsaretheworst accounts, my kids seemed fairly offended when I mentioned it.

"You think we are the worst?" they would ask. 

And I would respond with, "Of course. Once in a while. But you're also the best a lot of the time, so I wouldn't sweat it." Sometimes I would even explain how hyperbole works and they seemed to be temporarily placated. 

Now they laugh at all of the pictures and the whole idea of KATW. Chalk it up to maturity, time, or boredom, they don't even really care anymore that I refer to their peers as "the worst" on a daily. My 5yo will look at some of my papers or work and say, "Oh is this for 'kids are the worst'?" Sometimes he looks through my pictures and tells me exactly WHO should be on the account. It's really kind of funny. He has become unfazed. Which is true to most of my antics, really. My kids think all mothers sing and dance ridiculously in the middle of Trader Joe's when Whitney Houston's "I Wanna Dance With Somebody" comes on. I mean, "I wanna feel the heat with somebody" are some majorly under-appreciated lyrics.

I digress. Like always. What I wanted to post is a little letter to those kids who might be struggling with the idea of an account called "KIDS are the WORST" that their parents follow, submit to and laugh with.

Dear Children,

Laughing with you is so much more fun than crying. Someday you will understand when your kids throw the same tantrums, make similar messes, and unintentionally offend that stranger in the grocery store, too. We will be their grandparents who will continue to laugh at the maniacal situation that is parenthood and at them. Hopefully, you will laugh at your kids, too. Because, kids are the worst. Once in a while.

Love,

Your Parents