The WHY, and The How, of Parenting
“WARNING!
THE FOLLOWING ARTICLE (KINDA) MENTIONS OLD-SCHOOL DISCIPLINE. IF OLD-SCHOOL DISCIPLINE OFFENDS YOU, I SUGGEST YOU STOP READING NOW. OR AT LEAST SKIP THE FIRST PARAGRAPH.
Everyone good? Okay. Here we go…
“One day in my teen years, my siblings and I didn’t clean the house. My dad was more upset this day than previous ones. He was voicing his frustration, standing next to my mom on one side of the living room, my siblings and I on the other side, in front of our couch. I can’t remember what stupid thing I did or said to him (I probably shot an IDGAF look), but within seconds he was in my face. I can’t remember if he had me hemmed up against the wall. I don’t remember if my shirt collar was grabbed or just my shoulders. I only remember him yelling, with a matching look of rage on his face.
“This isn’t a disclosure of abuse or childhood trauma. It’s me saying… it was just a dirty house, and not (that) bad by teenage standards. Besides the shot at my teenage ego (which, honestly, shouldn’t have been shot. My dad was a big dude at the time. I should’ve played the dumb and humble card and apologized for not cleaning) my main concern was wondering why he did all this for a not-so-dirty house?
“We moved into our home in 2005. Four-bedroom, three-bathroom, split-level; fireplace, back deck, nice backyard, two-car garage. Our previous home was a single level (I don’t know the names for the house styles and I’m not looking them up — deal with it); three-bedroom, one-and-a-half-bathroom. No fireplace, but it had a decent backyard. It was a nice home minus that one time I saw a ra — never mind.”
The time right now is 12:46 A.M. on a Saturday. The date is July 8th, 2023.
It’s been a shitty week. Well, a shitty week and some change. Work has been slow; the kitchen faucet was leaking and ended up breaking yesterday; and one of the cars needed a new battery. What could I do about the slow work week? Be patient, still get up and go out with a positive mindset (or as close to positive as I can get). Before installing the new faucet, I had to remove the old one. I decided to remove and clean the pipes while I was at it. Damn near every piece was grimy on the outside, with gunk packing the inside that made Ellie’s worst poop diaper look and smell like a drop of chili. I gag just thinking about the smell from the pipes. Getting the car battery replaced forced me to cancel my work schedule. I made money that day, but not what I was hoping to make.
NOW WHY WOULD I COME HERE COMPLAINING ABOUT MY SHITTY WEEK?
I’m not complaining. I’m venting. Work being slow was because I didn’t accept the posted blocks. I didn’t, because most drivers, afraid they’ll miss getting one, snatch blocks once they’re posted, at base pay, instead of waiting for the pay to increase. They drive all around Alabama, sometimes over dangerous roads, off-roads, and driveways, damaging or risking damage to their vehicle, making little to no profit — paying to work (I could go into further detail, but I’ll save that for another post). The kitchen faucet needed replacing, and better to endure the stench for one day and get rid of the gunk than have the stench and gunk back up into the sink. Replacing the faucet was also my first successful DIY project (judge me). I feel damn good about how I did. And I’d rather lose out on money and have a new battery in the car transporting my daughter to and from school, than risk her and her mom being stuck in this Alabama heat, or at school waiting on me to pick them up.
Life happens. Adjust.
The time right now is 11:01 P.M. on a Monday. The date is July 10th, 2023.
The shittiness has stretched into a new week. Amazon is still slow; Uber Eats is all but nonexistent, likely due to most families being on summer vacays, but who knows. Some bills have been paid; others are coming due; others, ones I don’t care much about, are past due.
At the time of my writing this article, my daughter is a year old, far from the days where her not cleaning a room frustrates me enough that I’m wanting to yell at her. I practice gentle parenting. Putting my hands on or taking a belt, hanger, shoe, etc. to my daughter is asinine in my book. There are moments where I’m wanting to voice my frustration.
Most of these moments leave me wondering: Why does Ellie take her food and throw it on the floor? Why does she drop food (crumbs AND whole pieces, mind you) in her highchair seat? Why does she ask to get out of her highchair, just to turn around and pull fallen crumbs from her seat to eat or throw them on the floor? Why and how does she leave crumbs under the rug? The answer to every question is the same simple one. She’s a toddler. Toddlers make messes, not even seeing the mess for what it is. They see food and something they were sitting in. They eat, get rid of what they don’t want, go on about their day, and maybe they’ll return to find and enjoy some seat snacks. Rug refreshments. Floor food. Chair charcuterie. One day she’ll be older, seeing messes where others don’t, seeing messes she had no hand in making. She’s going to have to deal with all of them, sometimes on her own. She’ll clean them or rest in them.
“And… Why?”
Working for myself, every day I wake up with a target amount of money in my head. If I reach, surpass, or even get close to that target amount, I count the day as a success. Make far less than it and anxiety flows through my body. Make crumbs in comparison to what I need to make… you get it. Do I manage my money well? Better than I once did. Do I save? When I can. Does me doing either of these make a difference when anxiety is treating my system like an amusement park?
Absolutely-the-fuck-not.
You wanna know the time and date? 9:27 P.M. on a Tuesday. July 11th, 2023.
I’m not purposely stretching this post out. What you’re reading is the result of me having set myself to a schedule. Monday through Wednesday, in the morning, once Ellie and her mom are off to work and school, my workout is done and my breakfast eaten, reserved Amazon block or not, I sit in front of my computer screen and dedicate at least forty-five minutes to working on a story, the current WIP being my baby, the one I’ve spent seven years (I know, right?) working on. That’s the writing side. My Amazon/UE workday typically runs from one or two in the afternoon to ten at night, including grocery store and gas station trips if either is needed. Daily target amount be damned, I come home, shower, brew a cup of coffee if I need it, and dedicate at least one hour to writing for this blog. Except Wednesday nights. Wednesday nights are wrestling nights (judge me some more). Thursdays and Fridays are dedicated to working on blog articles in the morning, with no obligated late-night writing session attached.
Why am I telling you all this, and what is this article about?
“Life is a mess.”
Leaving my former job to work for Doordash was the last planned thing I did. My daughter was not planned (gasp!).
During my downtime of daytime baby care duty, I applied for Amazon Flex. Doordash getting rid of me was not expected (though the bastards could’ve been empathetic to me becoming a new parent. You can’t buy things a baby needs, pay the bills, and have money for food, making six bucks a delivery). Being kicked off the platform left me delivering exclusively for Uber Eats. When things slowed down with UE, Amazon Flex came through with block after block after block. Running primarily for Amazon and doing UE every now and then was a cakewalk in the beginning.
Starting with my dumpster fire of a former job, every mess I found myself in, I was blessed with a way out of. I found comfort in a new and organized space, clear of any mess. Then the new and organized space got messy. The cycle repeated, and repeated… and repeats to this day.
“You must navigate through the mess, learning as you go. Getting comfortable in it cannot be an option.”
Things have been shitty, but not without pause. The money I’ve made thus far I know will get me through. I’m not saying I won’t wake up tomorrow with my target amount in my head or the appropriate mindset to make or surpass it; my past messes have prepared me for days when I’m far from what I want to make. I know what I can survive on. Good days, bad days; amazing days, horrible days. We’ve all had them. We’ve all made it through them. The important thing is balancing faith, and determination in those days; never being so faithful that you don’t put forth a determined effort, never being so determined, working so hard, that you overwork and stress yourself out. Most of the stuff that we worry about we can’t control. The things we can control, we have no reason to worry about.
I asked a close homie of mine, what’s something that frustrated her parents when she was a kid, but she, now being a parent, understands? She answered, ‘Early bedtime. It wasn’t all about getting the kids to sleep early for more rest. It was the only time in the day my parents were kid-free at home.’ Rest? A chance to straighten up or get some work done, without having to pause and parent? Maybe. For you and your parents the answer might be different; perhaps it’s the same but for different reasons.
The first job I remember my dad having was at Roto-Rooter Plumbing. I don’t know what he did, I assume he worked service calls. His next job was associate for Central Park Associated Foods — a neighborhood grocery store that’s long been closed. I don’t know if he left Roto-Rooter or got fired, nor do I give a damn. He worked his ass off at both jobs. We never went hungry or without. We always had running water and electricity. And our single-level home was all we needed (minus me sharing a room with my little brother). One day my parents explained that my dad was going away for training. He had applied for and been granted a Trucker position for Schneider. He never worked for them, but getting his CDL helped him get a position with Norfolk Southern Railroad. I wish I still had his binders and notebooks. Every page was filled with notes on this switch name and how to maintain it, this relay and what it does, where this relay would send this signal to… He studied and worked his ass off. Railroad employment comes with a sacrifice. He’d leave on Sundays, return on Thursday evenings. It was worth it. All his work and sacrifice put him in the position to afford a split-level home where his kids — his smart mouth oldest in particular — decided one day to not do what their mother said and clean the house.
Me now being a parent, I get why my dad was upset with us. I get why he (probably?) hemmed me up. He worked his ass off to get out of one mess, only to get in another (years later I would apply for and be hired by the same railroad company, but that’s a story for another post). His Why for never resting in either mess was simple: He loved us; he wanted more and better for us. He always asked me what I wanted. Me not knowing what it was I wanted yet, I’d sometimes give some half-assed answer, dodging the question. On rare occasions I’d flat-out say I didn’t. Half-assed answer or admission of not knowing, he’d always respond the same way, saying, ‘Ya mama and I can want the world for you, but it’s up to you to get it.’
One more thing…
My dad loved baking. Cookies or cakes — if he made it, you were going to love it. My sister takes after him in skill. Both their cakes come out tasting of Heaven. Objectively speaking, if they’d gone into business, they would’ve been one of the hottest bakeries in Alabama. But maybe that’s my bias talking. I was a great taste-tester, so long as there was no coconut or peanut butter involved, but baking wasn’t my thing. I can cook well when I apply myself and don’t rush. You can study and work your ass off for any position for any company in any industry. Thing with cooking is, unrushed and focused, I might still slip up. You must have a natural love, appreciation, skill, and desire for what you do.
