My husband and I do parental checkups every so often. There’s no standard rhyme or reason to it. Every few weeks or so if something major happens with the kids, with anything from attending an event to disciplining them, we’ll evaluate if we need to make any parenting adjustments.
A frequent topic I’ll bring up is if I’m spending enough time with the boys. Inevitably the answer is yes. Subconsciously I know I do, but sometimes the slightest incident can cause me to question if I’m doing enough. Then I go through a range of emotions. First is contemplative wonder – am I doing enough? Then, it turns to concern – am I doing enough? Next I progress to fear – am I doing enough? Finally, I settle into confidence – am I doing enough?!?
By the time the assurance hits, I’ve convinced myself of all the things I could be doing instead of doing things for the kids. The litany of questions goes something like this:
Don’t you think I’d rather be writing than researching these activities for the kids?
Don’t you think I’d rather be resting than running around town for this toy?
Don’t you think I’d rather eat out than cook every night?
At the end, I’m pretty pumped that yes, I’m a good self-sacrificing mom.
A few days ago I had a chance to get some writing done when my son asked to play a game. As we played, the familiar “don’t you think I’d rather…” rang in my head. It was then that I realized … no, I wouldn’t rather. I wouldn’t rather be writing or resting or networking or watching tv right now.
In fact, there’s nothing I’d rather be doing …. than this.