Parenting Fail #2,098

I know I've mentioned it before, but I grew up with quirky parents as evidenced here, here, and potentially coming soon in book form.

Every Saturday when I was growing up, my brothers and I would have to wash the family cars. Rain, snow, sleet, hail, my brothers and I would be out washing the cars on Saturday morning. It wasn't as though we were washing Lamborghinis, my dad, an engineer by trade, doesn't believe in buying "depreciating assets".  Our cars were always American made and nothing fancy.   I hated washing the car, loathed the chore, and still vividly remember having chilled, purple fingers that tingled when I washed the car in the winter months. (We lived in Southern California, so no need to cue the violins, I had a pretty posh childhood.)   While I am a big fan of giving kids regular chores, as soon as I moved out, I vowed to never wash a car again. 

 I really have no idea what I am doing when it comes to raising my children.  Truth be told, sometimes most of the time, I'm just guessing at what the right thing is to do.   I'm trying really hard to raise good and humble citizens with a work ethic. In today's world of instant gratification, this is not an easy task.   

Somewhere along the line, I got the idea if my kids aren't going to be responsible for washing the cars, they had to at least put in the time by sitting at the car wash.  So, they come with me and we sit and watch the car get washed.  Over the years, it has became a tradition to walk across the street and get Slurpees while we wait.   

Last week we waited until AK got home from dance to go, because it was "important everyone put in their time at the car wash."   While we sat waiting for our car to be done, Mr. Boy asked me, "Mom, why did we wait all day to bring AK with us to the car wash? Why didn't we just go while she was at dance? Why does everyone have to go to the car wash?"  

I stammered.... because I wanted to say, "This was my chore when I was little, and you have to at least put in the time we would have spent."  But then I realized, my thinking was not quite right.  What was I really teaching my kids?   "Hey Kids, your job is to sit and watch someone else do a chore you could easily do!"  or "Hey Kids, when you grow up pay someone else to do the things you don't like to do!" 

Truth is, once I thought about it, I really didn't know what lesson I was trying to teach or if there was actually a lesson to teach.   So, I made something up, because that is what I do best.  

"Mr. Boy, when I was little I hated washing the car, we had to do it every Saturday instead of watching cartoons.  It made my fingers numb in the winter, and since I was the youngest, my pesky older brothers always sprayed me with water.   If I wasn't careful, they would dump a bucket of water on my head.   So, I got good grades, stayed away from drugs, went to college, and have a successful career.  All my hard work has paid of because instead of doing something I hate, I can afford to use a service to do it.   The best part of all this, I get to drink Slurpees and hang out with two of my favorite human beings."  

That seemed to satisfy Mr. Boy until he asked, "Mom, if I pay the car wash man $5 will he dump a bucket of water on your head?"  

My Mama Bear

This is hard. I don't want to do this.  Those are the phrases that cross my mind daily when thinking about my mom's cancer.  Her breast cancer returned after 3 years and now she has Stage 4 Metastatic Breast Cancer. The cancer is everywhere, bones, brain, lung, liver.  My vibrant mom is withering away and this week she just looks so....  so... so very beaten down.  That is not the mother I know.  Cancer is a thief, robbing my mother of her spunk. I don't want to do this. This is so hard.


Growing up, my mom was ALWAYS in our corner.  She was the ultimate "Mama Bear." Today was a Yellow Day at our house.  Both of the kids got in trouble in school and got their colors changed and moved down from Green (good) to Yellow (warning).  It reminded me of when I was in 2nd grade, and got my color changed.

Second grade was a tough year for me.  After an awesome summer with an amazing trip to Ixtapa, Mexico and watching the Olympics live in person, I got sick.  Really sick. So sick, that I wanted to stay home instead of attending the Ice Capades, even though we had front row seats!  Long story short, I nearly died from a rare medical condition and I ended up missing the first few weeks of 2nd grade.


When I finally got well enough to go back to school, I was excited to be out of the hospital, back with my friends.  Even better my older brother had my second grade teacher before and loved her. Mrs. Kuss (rhymes with goose) made no big deal of my arrival back in school.  I found my desk, sat down, and started in with the day.  At some point she asked the class to 'quietly pull out our Compucat Charts and prepare for a test."  I had no clue what a Compucat Chart was and so after a quick glance around the class, I turned to ask my neighbor.

Suddenly, I heard, "Wendy, No TALKING, pull out your chart."
Moi: Whaa....
Mrs. Kuss interupting: I said NO talking.  Go change your color.
I sat silent as I have no idea what a Compucat Chart is or how to change my color.
Mrs. .Kuss:  Change your color TWICE for not being obedient.
The kids behind me are hissing, "Go to the wall in the corner"
Mrs. Kuss yells and points to a wall:  Go do it now or else you will be in the prinicpals office.

At this point, I think hanging out in the principals office would be a vacation. Who knew my second grade teacher would be such an ogre, my brother totally lied.  I go over to a wall of blue smiling faces, find my name and quickly realize behind it are frowny faces with other colors.  I guessed what changing your colors twice would be, and sat down.  The kid next to me had pulled out my Compucat Chart and put it on my desk in an act of compassion.  I carried on with my day, biting my lip, trying to hold back the tears.

During recess, I had to lie down in the nurses office so she could check my temperature and give me a once over.  I cried to the nurse and told her  all about how my teacher was terrible, and she said, "Don't worry, I know your mom, she'll fix it."

As soon as I got home, I told my mom all about my day and the colored happy faces.  I wailed that I had an orange frowny face above my name.  Her smile faded and I could see fire in her eyes.  She looked at the big clock in the family room and said, "She's probably still there. Go get a drink and lie down, let me make a phone call."

I stood outside my parent's door listening to my mother talk to Mrs. Kuss.  She was livid and used phrases like, "How dare you.... The child misses the first few weeks of school and you can't take 2 minutes to explain the classroom procedures?   I expect this will be fixed tomorrow...   Wendy will be awaiting your apology. "

I heard her hang up the phone and I sprinted to my bed and acted like I wasn't eavesdropping.  She walked in, calmly pulled the blanket up to my chin, and said, "Don't worry, Mrs. Kuss made a mistake.  She will apologize and fix it."

The next day, during recess Mrs. Kuss pulls me aside and apologizes.  She then takes me on a tour of the classroom and the goes over the daily schedule.  At the end, she looks at me and says, "I'm really sorry about yesterday, your mother was very upset with me."  With the confidence that my mom was on my side, I looked at her and said, "Yeah, if you mess with me, your gonna have to deal with mom, so you better watch it."

Unfortunately, Mrs. Kuss would have to deal with my mother's wrath again, but she totally deserved it and it wasn't like I didn't warn her. That's another story for another day.

Now, my Mama Bear is in the fight of her life, and I'm all grown up.  I feel like I'm the Mama Bear, pacing around my wounded cub.  I just don't know what I can do to help her fight.  I don't want to lose her, but I don't want her to suffer.  This is so hard.