My parenting style was atypical this past week.
I not only sent my children off to school, I welcomed them home. I picked up my daughter at school. I took my son to his trombone lesson. I had the pleasure (pain) of reminding them to do their homework.
A few years ago I found these tasks laborious. Better to delegate them. Partly because they were stressful: wrangling children into doing homework and chores isn’t my strong suit. This week, I wanted it to be. I have always loved my children, but the more time I spend with them, the more I like them. The more I appreciate them for who they are. The less I try to perform as a parent. The more I try to simply be their mother.
Frequently there is the perception that being a parent isn’t a a bona fide dream. It is. The further I go down this mothering path, trying to engage with my children as human beings, I’m increasingly convinced that parenting is among the most daring of dreams. As a parent we have very little control, but so much at stake. Perhaps because of this Theodore Roosevelt said, “It is impossible to win the great prizes of life without running risks, and the greatest of all prizes are those connected with the home.”