I hold the title of “Meanest Mom in the World”, according to my children. So don’t sweat that one; no big deal. Just keep this in mind: Grandchildren are the gods’ way of rewarding us for not eating our young. (And The Mother’s Curse works: “May you have a child JUST LIKE YOU!”)
I miss my little people, who are adults now (sort of, just like I am sort of an adult), with little people of their own (or as I tend to refer to them, “the grands”). My son was born in ’86; his sister followed 2 years and 7 months later. I was a SAHM (as is my daughter now). While it was happening, it was everything you have described. BUT. I miss being with them, the wonder of learning or seeing something for the first time, showing them all the wonders I possibly could. I miss the unexpected (maybe undeserved) hugs and cuddles, given freely and without any lingering rancor at not being able to play video games all day.
Before I had children, I swore, loudly and publicly, that I would NEVER repeat the mistakes my mother had made with me. When I had children, I managed to keep that promise. I just made all of my own mistakes. I do admit that from this point in time, looking back, I think I did a good job and that the mistakes made were small. Especially since they are both in long-term, (reasonably) stable relationships with the other parent of their children; they are both able to feed and house and clothe the family. No one is in jail, or in rehab, or unable to drive because of DUIs and no license. No one has police records, expensive (and family-ruining) drug habits or other socially unacceptable behaviors. I am proud of them both.
Things were run fairly tight when they were little — not so much wiggle room out of the rules but much less rules to have to enforce. In fact, I basically had one rule: Safety. No jumping on the furniture, no running in the parking lot, no being stupid in a place where stupid could get you dead.
And yes, I spanked. That one I blame on my parents, who believed in corporal punishment and applied it happily. In my own defense: it was ONE swat, with my bare hand (no wooden spoon or leather belt for my kids, thank you) and done just to the point of a “hey! ow!” sting. My hand did not hurt me afterwards, so I know that they were not in danger of having bruises. And that stopped once I could (sort of) reason with them. So by the time they reached about 2 years old. Spanking was used primarily for safety issues (see above). You can’t explain to an 18 month old toddler why running out into the street is dangerous. One swift smack and the operant conditioning of “no! stay with me!” worked for us.
As they got older…so did I. But aside from that, we had a good time. Their childhood coincided with the advent of the home computer. Ours sat in the kitchen, where I could see what they were doing and could help them if they needed it. And yes, when I went on the computer, they could see what I was doing. Only fair. We learned about Internet research before Google existed…and did a LOT of it. I was never afraid to tell them “I don’t know” about anything — but that “I don’t know” was immediately followed by “let’s look it up”. (My parents had done this with me to a certain extent, but kids, that was SO long ago, I had to go to the bookshelf and actually take a dictionary or the Encyclopedia Britannica off of the shelf and turn the pages myself to find whatever it is we were seeking. VERY old school!)
Apologies…I never hesitated to give them to my children. I was not afraid of saying that I had been wrong or mistaken. And THAT is definitely thanks to my mother, who had (and still has, sigh) to be right or die. (Even my dad was that way. I was about 35 years old and we had been discussing the commander of Desert Storm, Norman Schwarzkopf. His last name is (obviously) German and I told my dad that it means “black head”. He said no, I let it go. (I had lived in Germany for 4 years by that point…just saying.) The next time I spoke to him, he actually OMG apologized, having checked with his (German) business partner. The one and only time I can recall either parent admitting error.)
When the kids hit the tweens, I acknowledged the way that kids speak to each other in school and the language that is being used…I told them that personally, I didn’t care if “those” words were in daily conversation, but that they were NEVER to do it in front of the Grandmothers. The other forbidden aspect of those words is that they would not be used in true anger as verbal missiles in (the inevitable) altercations that occur between anyone. It was about 3–4 years later when I finally admitted what *my* favorite word was — and I managed to shock them. Let’s just say that it’s got some of the same letters as the words “fire truck”, LOL.
Sex education…that parental terror. Not for me. When my kids learned to name their body parts, they learned ALL the parts. No big deal. When I was pregnant with my daughter, my son’s only question was “how does the baby get out?”. (Whew, missed the big one!) As each of them headed into puberty, I got the appropriate book (The Girl’s / Boy’s Body Book, now in the 4th edition) and told them to read it, that there would be a quiz. When they got a little older, I had them read “The Idiot’s Guide to Sex” and the Kama Sutra. We talked about anything — and everything, so sex was just a part of that. We just kept it impersonal; I wasn’t sharing boudoir stories with them, they weren’t telling me just how they liked it. But they both chose to relinquish their virginity in the safety of our home. (Everyone else was out, what did you think?)
And in their last few years with me, we became friends; we enjoyed doing things together and we were not embarrassed to be seen with each other. I know that my relationships with them are miles beyond the “polite strangers” relationship I have with my parents. (That’s a whole other story…)
I don’t think I did anything super awesome Mighty Mom. I just did like the rest of the parents: keep the wet parts dry, keep the hungry parts fed, and socialize them in a way that won’t have them thrown out of the pack. (Please and Thank You were among the first words my kids learned, because I used them when speaking to them.) My life has been richer and better by having kids. I have been very lucky. And I really miss those little people who regarded me as the center of their Universe just long enough that I knew I had made a difference on this planet, if I did nothing else the rest of my life.
And by the way, when my children told me I was mean, I went full forward on it: “Yes, I am. In fact, I am the meanest mommy in the whole wide world.” And we’d all laugh and life would be wonderful again.
Be mean. Laugh often. Apologize when necessary. Don’t be afraid to show that you don’t know everything. Say please and thank you and I love you. And don’t blink, because tomorrow they will be gone, living their own lives without you…as they are meant to do.
Peace and blessings!