From a distance, I watched them as they rode. I smiled. I
laughed. I watched, mesmerized in wonder. I recalled a similar scenario from twenty-two
months ago, when we first moved here, when the mood was not quite as joyous.
There was whining, crying, complaining, and accidents. We didn’t make it quite
as far that day. In fact, I was angry that I had taken them on a jog with me,
especially since they had begged and promised they would keep up and not
complain. Today, there I was, lagging behind, leisurely walking and watching
the three of them. Over two miles in, and they wanted to go on.
That moment, as have many in the last several weeks, has
made me realize just how quickly they grow. I’ve done more pondering and
reminiscing than I think I’ve ever done in my life. I’ve asked myself questions
that were never important to me before. I have sought my purpose in life. I
have wondered if I’m doing, or have done, enough. I’ve wondered if what I have
done will jeopardize their future, mess them up as adults, or help them be the
amazing people God has called them to be.
Since I was younger, my parents and siblings have been aware
of my strong leadership and my difficulty accepting mediocrity. I don’t take
nonsense and have great expectations of people I care about and love. I believe
everyone has amazing potential, as long as they self-evaluate. We all have
gifts. There is something that differentiates us, sets us apart from those
around us. So, when my children want to quit, say they can’t, don’t want to make
an attempt, say they’ll “try” rather than do their best, I’m not at all about
that. Our dad always says, “Na wa o, your reign is tough, Esther.” The thing he
knows though, as do those who know me well, is I’m extremely tough on myself.
The standards to which I hold others, I hold myself to even more, hence, my
concern that I could potentially be ruining my children.
I’m what my children consider “a mean mommy” on certain
days. Those days are the difficult ones. They are the days I have to make the
tough decision to stand by my word and not succumb to empty threats. Those are
the days I hold them accountable for their actions. Those are the days I remind
them that when they find money on the ground and spend it without attempting to
seek the owner, it is equivalent to stealing. Those are the days when one child
loses a game and receives what I tell him is a consolation prize and remind him
that’s not how things work in the real world. Those are the days that I hear
one of his siblings reply, “Stop being mean; at least they tried.” And the
child on the losing team replies, “No, it’s okay. We didn’t win. We didn’t earn
it. Mommy is right. We just have focus and play harder next time.” On those
days I wonder, ‘Am I wrong? Am I creating monsters or fostering insecurity in
them?’
I may be old school in my ways, or when it comes to my
thought process, but I try to be straight-forward with my children. I don’t
give cutesy names to body parts. My “yes” is “yes”; it takes a lot to change my
mind. I want them to trust that if I say I will do something, I intend to do
it. I want them to know if I say they cannot do something, I intend to stand by
that, regardless of how many times they beg and plead, especially when taking a
stand on a topic we have clearly discussed several times.
So, on days like today, Mother’s Day, when I am showered
with cards, pictures, sweet notes about how much I mean to them, I become
overwhelmed. To some degree, it helps validate that I’m not such a horrible
mom; they see that I really do just want the best for them. When I overhear
them consoling a scolded sibling: “Mommy
only said/did that because she doesn’t want us to go to jail when we’re bigger,” I feel sad but hope
they see my heart. I hope that in a few years they will appreciate what I was
really going for – helping them to become productive citizens of this Earth and
not liabilities. I want them to be a joy to those around them. I want them to
be reliable and respectful. I want them to use their manners. I want them to
greet people, even if they don’t receive responses. I want them to think little
of others’ opinions, especially when it makes them question whether they are
good, or pretty, enough. I want them to love who they are, so I rock a style I’m
not feeling with confidence, to prove that as long as we are secure in
ourselves, who cares what others think. I hope it shows them they are enough. They
should pursue their dreams. They should think outside the box. They should
challenge themselves to make one person’s day better on a daily basis. They
should never leave a person’s house worse than they met it.
Should I be less strict? Maybe. Should I scold less?
Possibly. Should I stop telling them they can do better when they come home
with Bs or Cs? Ehn. All I know is my drive and passion about life and the
things I hold dear and fight for are due to the fact that I had parents who believed
in me. They did not allow me to settle for less than my best. I was not
encouraged to do subpar work or be complacent. We may not have had a lot
growing up, but we knew that if we put our minds to it, we could conquer the
world.
As each day passes, each month goes by, and the years become
decades, I pray that as the story of my life is unfolding before my children’s
eyes, it is making some sense. I pray they see that despite my hard exterior, I
hold them dear and very close to my heart. I pray they don’t despise me. I hope
they see love. Their wings are growing, and before long, they will take flight.
I just want them to be ready for this crazy, evil world. I just want the best
for them. They deserve it, but e no easy o.
