Special vs. Reality

Right now, I have all three kids in some form of school. The Monkey started kindergarten, the Noodle is in preschool and the Dude takes a community ed class for 1 and 2-year olds.

When the Monkey and Noodle were younger, they also took community ed classes. I like to say I took them to get a jump on their love of education, but truth be told, if I didn't get the three of us out of the house, I'm pretty sure the men in white coats and the special jackets were going to show up...and soon. I was new to the stay-at-home thing and not adjusting well. So, off to school we went.

Now it's the Dude's turn. And once again, I find myself spending time with parents, mostly moms, that I most likely would never meet if it weren't for this class. I'm not a Mom's Club gal and I don't think my kids are the reason the earth revolves. There's one dad in the class and I already know him, so we tend to chat and exchange grimaces when the "special" moms start in on how wonderfully perfect their kids are. Disclaimer: I use "moms" because those are the people in the class. I'm sure there are plenty of "special" dads out there too.

Here's the thing about the "special" moms:

I don't believe them.

Sure, I believe they love/adore/obsess about their kids. I also believe there's a slight chance their 18-month old is potty-trained. And the kid stealing toys from the other kids might be able to play a piano concerto and that one in the corner picking his nose is an incredible artist in the style of Monet.

Mostly, in a class of 1 and 2-year olds, I believe the kids are learning to speak (the Dude has very little interest in talking. He's got 2 older sisters and they yak enough for at least 8 people.) I believe that they can point to a cow when you ask him/her where the cow is. I believe they understand 90% of what you say to them. I believe they have opinions and feelings and likes and dislikes. I believe they can express all those things.

I don't believe your child is perfect. I don't believe your child never cries. I don't believe your child has never smacked another kid, taken another kid's toy, pooped on the floor, spit up, cried or could say the alphabet at 6 months. I believe you want your child to be perfect. And part of me gets that. There are a lot of people with perfection issues. I have some myself.

But once my kids showed up, a lot of that need for perfection went by the wayside. Sure, I'll tell you my kids are really smart and super cute and I do believe that. And if you tell me you're impressed by my kids' ability to do anything, I will smile, say "thank you" and agree with you wholeheartedly.

What I will not do is tell you my kids are fluent in Spanish, when they know a smattering of words care of that little explorer Dora. I will not tell you 4 and 5-olds don't ever fight or throw things or have meltdowns. I will not tell you that my son never cries because I won't let him.

I will tell you my middle one once crapped on the carpet and when we saw it, we were certain it was leprechaun poop. I will tell you my oldest is stubborn like me and we have showdowns. I will tell you my youngest threw a tantrum in Walmart and laid down in the middle of the soup aisle until I caved in and agreed to carry him.

I will tell you I make mistakes. I yell sometimes. I curse (mostly mentally). I hate having to come up with meals all the time. I'm a pretty bad housekeeper. Sometimes the kids go a little too long without baths. I've let them eat mac and cheese for breakfast. We've had popcorn for dinner. The children watch tv (gasp).

I will tell you I love my children and they drive me completely insane. I will tell you I adore my children and lots of days, my favorite time of day is bedtime. I will tell you even though I am a mom, that is not all of me. I will tell you being a parent is wonderful and also the most difficult thing I've ever experienced. The other day, a guy was complaining about working a 12-hour shift. I snorted and thought, "Dude, I've got a 5-year old. You know how many hours I've been at work?"

Everyone parents in their own style. I get that. And I think the "special" parents honestly want the best for their kids. As far as my own parenting style, I don't necessarily do it the way I assumed I would. I don't always do it the same way and I don't always do it well. But I hope what my children will learn, from my attempts at good parenting, is that they aren't perfect and neither am I.

And if we were, where's the fun in that? Because I'm 99% sure, there's no leprechaun poop in the "perfect" world.