Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Do you want a piece of me?
Do you ever find that you are stretched so many ways something's gotta give? Do you feel that you're like an aid worker giving out food rations in a refugee camp, and the rations are never quite enough to go around. They just give those in need, a taster and leave them wanting more?
I am a mum to three boys. Three unique individuals with unique and individual needs. Needs that need time, individuals that need me. I have found over the years that there seems to be an informal "turn about" for who gets my primary focus. But when this happens, the boys that are out of range a bit (ie, I feel that they're good and under control), aren't as under control as I imagine and need me to refocus on them. I'm always playing catchup.
My youngest started school this year, and while I thought he'd been learning his letters and colouring in farm animals, I was trying to help my oldest settle into his senior years and get into good work habits. Shocked, I suddenly realised my youngest was starting to fall behind. Brakes screeched on, I readjusted direction, and went off on a new reenergised focus on the youngest (I like to call it Mummy Boot Camp). My middle child popped into my vision, with a realisation that urgent focus, love, attention needs to be thrown at him quickly and seriously. So once again I am off again on the charge. This has made me realise I can't exist like this, this is simply not a successful parenting model. Someone will always fall under the radar, balls will be dropped.
I'm going to reinvent my model. I am going to become Elastigirl from The Incredibles. I will be jack of all trades and master of them all too. I will be everything that my children need, there will be no radar, they are all in my line of vision. Because we only have our children for a handful of heart beats before they say, "thanks Mum, I'm sorted, call you later". I want my children to know that they are each my most important customer, that I am their biggest fan, that I am their wingman, and that I won't let them take a bullet, or step on ice that is too thin.
In fact, I don't care if they don't know this. But I will care if I forget this.
Labels: My Stuff