May I See Your Glasses?

My daughter has decided to move out. She has reached a time in her life when conforming to the parental guidelines of our house has become too stifling, the impractical responsibilities of our household holding her back. She even informed me that I am the “worst mom in the world.” The crime that set all of this off? Moving her sandals to an undesirable place. Did I mention that she is 4 years old? I’m not sure where she learned about moving out—she’s only been on this earth for 48 months. And I certainly don’t know where she learned to use threats to get me to do her bidding. But, in her world, the placement of her sandals is a big deal, and the fact that I don’t know where she prefers them to be is paramount to her contentment in life. The reality our children live in is just that—theirs. It may not be my reality, or what the rest of us see, but their perception of the world around them and how they are moving through it is shaping who they will become in their life time. I want my daughter to grow into a woman who feels that she has a voice, that her opinion is respected…but I also need those sandals moved out of the way, so how do we reconcile that? My five-year-old son was tasked with removing the juice pouches from the box and putting them in the fridge. In a huff, he asked, “Why do I have to do everything around here?” Only days before that, he also said—in all seriousness, “Why do we have all the chores in the house and you have none?” So, from this example, we can see that there is a time when we must take our children’s’ glasses off, clean the streaks and smudges off them, and replace them on their noses in hopes their views of reality will become a bit more aligned with ours. The same holds true for adults, of course. On the last day of school, for example, my husband told the kids we would be turning off the TV for the summer. Then he proceeded to head out the door for an 8-day business trip. It was also around this time that he said to me (exhausted from being up early with the kids and listening to an exceptional amount of whining) “I thought you wanted to be in charge of putting the kids to bed each night—like that was your domain or something.” Hmm… May I see your glasses? Of course, we mothers get into our own ruts of perception as well, and it doesn’t hurt to clean off our own spectacles every now and then. I emailed my husband on his last business trip asking if he was having a grand old time– my image of him alone in his hotel room, laying on a fluffy feather bed enjoying a gourmet room service meal with a flower vase and mini ketchup bottles on the tray. Add the Oscar winning movie on the TV in the background and he was on a mini-vacation. His response, after four days in “the nicest hotel in Reno” (let’s just say you don’t want to shine a black light in the room before sleeping there) was equivalent to taking my glasses off, stomping them into oblivion on the pavement, and then gently placing them back on my face with a smile. Cleaning our glasses—or even switching them with someone else’s—is a powerful thing, and it only takes a moment for our eyes to adjust. And how compelling a thought it is to watch someone less fortunate put our glasses on and see only prosperity and opportunity while we realize, through theirs, how privileged we really are. My daughter has since decided to stay—at least for now. And I’m going to spend some time being thankful for that—and appreciative that I’m able to be at home with my kids–and not in some hotel in Reno—and that we have the opportunity to play and enjoy life without TV, with sandals on our feet and a fridge full of juice pouches. Putting my daughter to bed last night, I realized even more of my good fortune through her lovely words: “Even though you’re the worst mom in the world, I still love you…” Published in The Broomfield Enterprise, 7/22/07