I saw him out of the corner of my eye: a man arguing with his daughter who was mad at him because she forgot her list and wanted his help. He was telling her she could figure it out and if she forgot something, it wouldn't be the end of the world. She wanted him to run home and get it. He told her no.
Then, the teen's mother flew in from out of nowhere and said she'd take her daughter through the crowded store in hopes to jog her memory. She was also very mad at her husband for saying, "Listen, let her do it herself and next time she won't forget her list. She was on her phone socializing for a half hour before we left!"
Then, he went to the closest bench to sit down
I forgot about the family, as I was running around trying to get all the things I needed, until I was checking out and heard the mother and daughter behind me. I turned to see sweat beads dripping off the mother and her hands full as she was rambling on about how they better not have forgotten anything because she wasn't coming back, and she had too much to deal with "to bother with this shit." The daughter ignored her.
The husband was sitting sweetly on the bench, talking to an elderly woman, as happy as can be. When he saw his family, he walked up to them and said he'd pull the car around.
I saw myself in the woman standing behind me, who was going on to her husband about how she has to do it all — she had to worry about it all, she always took on the extra while he didn't give a crap. I've been a mother for over 16 years and I've said the same words to my now-ex-husband at least once a week since we had kids.
Then it hit me: I'm a martyr
If something needs picking up, doing, adjusting, cleaning, fixing, or one of my kids forgets something, I pick the slack all the way up. I don't sit on the bench and let them figure it out. I don't let the mess stew around in my house as I sit and eat Hot Cheetos, and I sure as hell have never talked to a stranger as my partner took charge in the middle of a busy department store so my daughter could get her shampoo and Christmas gifts for her friends. I'm pretty sure I never gave him the room to do that. But judging by how happy he was, I realized I should be like the dad a little more often.
I feel like it's my job to do all the things because I've assigned it to my own damn self. No one told me I had to do it or that I should. I just took it on. The problem is it comes with a side of resentment and, man, is it bitter.
I felt the mom's pain because she'd rather put herself out now than have to deal with the aftermath. I've totally been that mom who overdoes it just to prove a point. And I've always let my partner know how much more I do than he does, when it comes to our home and kids.
All for what?
Parenting isn't a race. It's not a contest to see who can dislocate a rib faster. It's not about exhausting ourselves because no one else can mom-up like we can. I mean, of course they won't do it as good, but just because we do it better, doesn't mean we have to do it all the damn time.
I'm not saying that mom was doing anything wrong — you never know the back story or how someone's day is going. I'm simply saying that I've been her so many times — and I'm sure you have too. Perhaps if I'd changed my ways to be more like the dad on the bench, I might not feel so stabby all the time.
I've pulled the "Oh, I have to do it for my kids and everyone else because no one else will. Look how tough, amazing, and pissed I am. My partner is a lazy a-hole" card when, really, I could be doing the same.
I'm not talking about neglectful parenting. I'm just saying I could loosen my grip, let my kids figure things out on their own more, have a little faith that other people will pull some weight around the house, and stop clenching my jaw so tight.
Old habits are hard to break, but today my son called me from school to let me know he forgot his lunch. Old me would have dropped everything and raced it over, but new-and-improved me told him that since I had to work and had a hair appointment, that I simply could not fit it in and he'd just have to figure it out.
And you know what? The world went on and he was fine — and so was I. Even better than fine. I was great.
