Eat your vegetables. Brush your teeth. Look both ways before you cross the street. Say please and thank you. Don’t use mean words. Wash your hands—with soap—after you go to the bathroom.
We know them well: the parental platitudes of safety, health, and niceness that parents tend to say ad nauseam. Learn them, live them, love them. We repeat ourselves again and again like water dripping on a rock, slowly trying to make an indentation. After all, veggies are important, and cleanliness is next to godliness, right? We don’t call people names, and brushing your teeth will get you into heaven.
But what happens when you fall off of the goodness wagon? When we, the grown-ups who spout rules about behavior, language, and manners so that our progeny will go forth and prosper, don’t follow our own guidelines?
Moms are, after all, human. While we play superheroes 24/7, we do have our kryptonite. Sure, we can say that too much sugar isn’t good for you, but every now and then, we want NEED another bite of chocolate (or a whole bar or even the whole bag—we don’t judge here). Nothing wrong with that, right??
Bad news: it turns out those little sponges we call children actually listen to us. That’s right—somewhere between the 500th and the 1000th time we tell them something, it sinks in. And becomes law. There is no gray area for them, no wiggle room. They just don’t let us know that they are judge and jury until just the right moment—then BOOM.
You overrule the voice in your head suggesting it would be best to put down that leftover Butterfinger. But that voice is quiet and, really, it’s just one leftover piece of candy. So you go for the wrapper. Suddenly, your conscience is alive and breathing, staring you down with big, sweet eyes. The quiet voice in your head springs to life, echoing loudly in the form of an insistent five-year-old. “Mama, we don’t eat too many sweets. That’s not good for you.” And the candy goes away because what you’ve said comes back to haunt you.
You’re slowly backing out of a parking space when you’re almost hit by someone speeding through the parking lot—a regular occurrence in this lot, a standard destination on your weekly chauffeur route. You slam on your brakes and exclaim, “I hate this parking lot!” Cue your living, breathing conscience: “Mama, we don’t say hate. That’s a rude word.” Foiled again.
You get cut off in traffic, once again slamming on your brakes. Like lightning, “Idiot!” comes out of your mouth. Just as quickly, your conscience jumps into action. “Mama, we don’t call people names. That’s not nice.” Got it.
You’re on a deadline, squeezing in any laptop time you can, staring at the screen as you try to finish a project. Of course, you’re also checking Facebook and searching the web for “inspiration.” (That sounds so much better than procrastination. Once again, no judging here. Solidarity!) “Mama, it’s not good to look at a screen for too long. You need to turn the computer off.” Touché, little conscience.
It’s late in the afternoon and a bit of caffeine would definitely give you a boost, so you pour yourself a soda. “Mama, too much soda is bad for you. You shouldn’t drink that.” Thanks, killjoy.
It’s one of those nights when dinner is coming from the freezer. Hello, pizza! To balance things out, you chop up some carrots for the little one, but you fail to put any on your own plate. “Mama, you need to eat vegetables. They’re good for your body.” What, the toppings on the supreme pizza don’t count?!? Have some mercy and eat your carrots, kid.
You were in the car alone, getting your jam on to ANYTHING but a kids CD, and in your state of rock, you hopped out of the car without turning down the volume. Child picked up, secured in car seat, you start the car and the volume is blaring. Cue payback for commenting on the sound of DVDs, learning games, and really, any toy that doesn’t include an off switch. “Mama, we don’t listen to things that are too loud. You need to turn it down so it won’t hurt your ears.” OK, OK, spoilsport. Who was the stick-in-the-mud who told you that?!? Nevermind.
I never guessed that all of the things I’d said were becoming so ingrained in my little’s psyche. Who knew that I was raising a one-kid police force who was going to ensure that everything I taught him was followed by everyone around him?? I have to admit, I’m pretty impressed with how committed he is to his cause, no matter how much it happens to harsh my mellow, keep me away from candy, and limit my screen time.
Your phone rings while you’re sitting in the car. You start to reach for it just to see who is calling when that same voice yells from the backseat, “NOOOO! Mama, you’re breaking the law. You can’t use your phone in the car!” Point made, kid, but we’re sitting in the freaking parking lot I hate, waiting for the idiot to speed by so we can get home. Now quit bugging me and I’ll let you turn up the volume on that Star Wars game and play until your vision is blurry. Deal?!
