Before anyone gets all paranoid, know that this goes for all ridiculously intelligent people with intelligent children. And know that I have astronomical standards for what constitutes plain ‘ol intelligent, much less ridiculously intelligent, so by nature, very few qualify. But if you do…
I’m watching you. I’m making note of your every move. I’m listening to what other people are saying about you. I want to observe you so that I can do what you did to get your child where he is now, which, I might add, is quite impressive. I’m getting all CIA on you. I’m sniffing around about your past, your kid’s past, about how you handled bed-wetting during the preschool years, and what you said when you found purple crayon on the new white furniture.
No, I’m not stalking. I just need some positive influences among all of the garbage that has become so commonplace. Give me a break here. I am trying to raise a child in a society that prays to the retail gods, a society that admires a woman who looks like she’s smuggling bowling balls in her t-shirt, a society that sees nothing wrong with hanging back and taking credit for another group’s accomplishments (I’m talking about pro sports).
Don’t get me wrong – there’s nothing wrong with cheering on your favorite team. But for the love of Nutella, don’t say we. You ate chips and drank beer while a bunch of guys put in the sweat to accomplish whatever it was you’re patting yourself on the back for.
Just a peeve of mine.
Okay, back to my cry for help.
I JUST PULLED BREAD OUT OF MY KID’S EAR.
I mean, how is he supposed to become a chaos theorist and dead language hobbyist if he’s got a head full of bread?
You can’t blame me for taking notes on the geniuses of the world. Whatever I’m doing isn’t working. I’m like, oh no, you just put bread in your ear. Wait, Mommy’s getting her camera. Smile! Now, we don’t put bread in our ears…
(I know, I know, mixed messages. But some moments are too cute not to capture with the old point-and-shoot.)
I’m just trying to find the model parents and children out there who aren’t so much interested in the bowling balls and touchdowns (okay, I’ll take mildly amused). Is it too much to ask to want my child to want to exercise the noggin as a matter of priority?
So, the moral of the story is, I’m seeking out the people who get it so that I can get it too.
For the record, this doesn’t even scratch the surface of the parenting pressure I put on myself. Time to lighten up, perhaps?