It’s hard to admit when you’ve been a bad parent, but I’ve been a bad parent lately.
I don’t like this whole “growing up” thing. (I mean for myself, not the kids. Shallow and sarcastic are so much easier than deep and mature, despite what ANYBODY1 says . . . )
I liked when the kiddos were little and I had the final say. I liked when the biggest decision we had was whether or not it was too late in the day for caffeine. (Sidebar: the rule was “no caffeine after the sun goes down”, which makes good sense at 8:30 p.m. in the summertime, but is open for debate at 4:45 p.m. in December.)
So, anyway, I’ve been ticked off at my son because he made a decision I didn’t like. I’m not saying it was a wrong decision, it was just one that I advised against but he chose to go his own route despite my mothering. (Imagine . . . 16 and wanting to make your own decisions!) And I’ve been pretty relentless at giving him grief. Playfully . . . but not really. Last night he had all could take and we had what could almost be considered an argument. Only nobody yelled or cried. We talked for a long time. He apologized for being disrespectful. I apologized for giving him such a hard time. I love that my kids will talk to me even when I’m difficult.
If they didn’t, my life would be pretty darn quiet. :o)