I push my pride aside, I swallow a few weird scenarios, and the kids think our family dynamics are totally normal. They have no idea about all the drama and mess this whole stepdad thing is “supposed” to cause. Maybe we can redefine what normal is, which seems especially valuable given that the current normal sucks. Our normal, after a few years of both their dad and me going out of our way, means doing our best to never make anyone feel excluded. I have always given the kids the choice to call me Philip or Dad. When they choose to call me Dad, it makes my heart melt. They go through phases and I never take what they offer for granted. But I also correct them anytime they call their father by his first name. He is always “Dad.” He gets that honor; I have to earn it. And that is something I really like about being a stepdad. They get to choose how they feel about me. Thankfully, my two older kids choose to love me and that makes being “not quite a dad” pretty fantastic.
Being a kicker probably isn’t so bad either. If you hit that last-second field goal to win the Super Bowl, the fans will remember you forever. But the likelihood of your success comes from how you practice every day of the season when no one seems to be paying you any attention.
Sixteen
Raw Kale and Sprinkle Donuts
I broke down in public recently. I was in a packed restaurant, sitting across from my mother-in-law, who had accompanied me for a check-in about how one of her grandchildren was doing. At the moment, she was waiting—beaming warmth and compassion my way—as I mustered the strength to utter just one cohesive sentence about our situation. And then I completely lost it. I cried into my spinach dip and a plate of potato skins. Because parenting can break us.
Motherhood is the most heart-filling part of my life, and it is also at times the most heartbreaking. Recently, I have been really struggling watching one of my children struggle. I’ve been trying every trick I know, rushing to learn the skills I need but don’t yet have, shoving aside the temptation to slide into naïve bliss, exhausting myself trying to fix what I can, and holding myself back from doing too much. Yet at the end of every day I am left feeling like all of my effort was useless. This is an excruciating place to be.
But here’s the crazy revelation I’ve also had: I don’t feel guilty. I don’t feel inadequate. Let’s be honest—feeling guilty and inadequate is par for the course when it comes to the extreme sport that is parenting. In the past when I’ve felt overwhelmed by the demands of this crazy gig and without a clue as to where to look for the answers I need, guilty and inadequate feelings have always been right there waiting for me with open arms.
The biggest lesson I’ve learned while wrestling with these new struggles is that parenting is in big part about simply showing up. Even when we feel overwhelmed and clueless, we have to show up. And as long as I’m showing up, how dare I berate myself? I have to show up for the tough stuff, but it is just as important that I show up for the fun stuff, even when the fun is hard to find. As much as I hate the word “balance” when it comes to describing the ways we attempt to juggle all of our responsibilities (in that case, it is a dirty word!), I love the word “balance” when it comes to my parenting philosophy: My mission is to find the balance between strict and fun.
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I GUESS IN SOME WAYS, I approach parenting the way I approach eating. I believe in a balance between giving my body the nutrients it needs to feel good and full of energy—so I make sure leafy greens like kale are in regular rotation on my plate—but I also indulge in foods that bring me bliss. A donut with rainbow sprinkles may not be high in nutritional value but it is exceptionally high in joy-3 and delight-6, which are important ingredients in my sanity multivitamin. Being miserable is bad for my health. So when it comes to parenting, I try to be a strict parent who teaches common sense, follows through, and helps my kids see the value even in doing tasks they don’t always enjoy. But I also try to encourage fun and spontaneity, and strive to help them find joy in the mundane parts of life. Kale and sprinkle donuts; my well-being requires both.
Our house is full of laughter. We’re goofy and dorky and ridiculous. I prank my kids. Often. We have dance parties. Sometimes at Target. My kids get dessert every single day. Occasionally dessert ends with me smearing cake all over their faces. We celebrate everything. We celebrate nothing. I’ve been known to throw my kids “We’re proud of you!” parties—not after a great report card or a perfectly cleaned room but for no reason at all. Or, actually, sometimes for the most important reason: because I saw them behave in a thoughtful, compassionate way.
My kids also have responsibilities. The older two have been doing their own laundry since they were ten years old, and the youngest one will start at that age as well. They have bedtimes. They pack most of their school lunches. They help with household tasks. My kids don’t get paid for basic chores. They do chores because they’re part of the family and therefore part of a team that works together to make our home run smoothly. They don’t get an allowance either. Nothing. Not a single buck. Because one of my main jobs as a parent is to prepare them for real life, and in real life you don’t get money just because you’re alive. No one shows up at my door and hands me cash once a week. Money is earned. If they want money, they do extra chores, for which they are compensated.
When I give a consequence, I follow through. Even if doing so complicates my day. Though my kids would never believe me, we parents know that consequences can be as annoying and inconvenient for us as they are for the kids. I once took my high schooler’s phone away for more than seven months. Annoying for me? Absolutely, because I couldn’t reach him as easily when I needed to; but it had to be done. I’ve canceled parties, opted out of a movie premiere I was looking forward to attending, and shelved entire trips just so that my kids could see I was true to my word. When I say, “If you do this, such-and-such will happen,” such-and-such will happen, and they will hate such-and-such because I am really good at coming up with terrible such-and-suches.
I believe I can give my children a fun, full life and still lay down the law when I need to. I can give them lots of great memories without giving in to their every demand. I believe I can encourage them to talk openly with me about anything and not succumb to condoning their every whim. I believe I can empower my children without giving them power to rule over me. The way I see it, my job is to be the rule enforcer but also the fun enforcer. Working to implement and constantly adjust those two elements to achieve balance not only helps my children thrive but also helps me enjoy parenting.
Parenting is not like riding a bike. Just because you mastered one facet of the job with one kid does not mean you’ll have a clue how to handle the next one—or even the next obstacle that comes your way. Because the next kid might not be a bike. He might be a tractor. And you’ve probably never tried to operate a tractor before! I don’t believe that the same punishment applied to different people will yield the same results, just like I don’t believe that privileges should automatically kick in at preset ages. I know some thirteen-year-olds who are mature enough to use social media and some fortysomethings who aren’t. Whether it’s a consequence or an incentive, I try to tailor my response to the individual. (I doubt my children appreciate how exhausting it is to put in this extra effort, but perhaps you, dear reader, will.) I also make a point of leaving consequences open-ended. If, for instance, I’ve taken the phone away from one of my kids, I don’t say they can have it back on Saturday if they’re good. I want phone privileges to be earned through a pattern of positive behavior, not by a spate of good actions motivated only by the desire to have the phone back.