A few days ago I noticed
something on Facebook. At least three of
my friends posted something about their children that was either humorous or as
a way of “venting”. None of those posts
were things that should make the children feel bad, or reflect on the parents
in any way. It was just a fact of life
of parenting. I may not even need to
mention that each post was about a son.
And something that said son did that was amazing. Not a good kind of amazing.
The thing that I noticed was that
on each post someone felt the need to either provide parenting advice or tell
the poster why the behavior was wrong.
And that is common on the internet.
We assume that anyone and everyone is just waiting for us to spout out
our advice as if it were the answer that they have been waiting for so long to
hear. We assume that if we did not post
our thoughts about reducing caffeine, or sugar, or red dye this poor child is
destined to suffer. Or feel the need to
give advice on how to discipline an unruly child. That we have never met. In a situation we have only heard two
sentences about.
I am not saying that any of these
are necessarily bad suggestions. Or that I have never done this. Because I am sure that I totally must
have. And I am glad that the internet
was not all that old when I knew everything.
You know, before having children.
Because I would have looked like a jerk back then on some of the posts
that people exactly like me make today.
I just think that dispensing this kind of
advice over the internet shows that we do not understand the intent of the
person sometimes. There are places
online I go to find out more about parenting.
There are places I go to ask advice on specific situations. I have people in real life to talk to, and
several online friends from around the world that can help me out when I need it.
Other times I am not looking for
advice. These times I am just looking
for a parent-to-parent connection. And
maybe some hope. Or a parent that has
lived through raising children and will throw back their head and life when I
say things that my children have done.
So I feel less alone. Less
insane.
Sometimes, Internet, all I want
are comfort words. No actual
answers. I want to hear things like:
“Yes, cat whiskers grow back.”
“No, that missing eyebrow is
hardly noticeable.”
“No one has ever died from eating
a glow stick.”
“Poison control knows my child
too.”
“Yes, I have laughed at my child
throwing a fit. No regrets.”
“My child has also done
that. And lived.”
And that, Internet, is why I post
on Facebook about the time my son ate three Adrenaline Rush packets which
caused him to bounce around our house like a ping pong ball and then crash for
hours. Not to hear that I am negligent
by hiding them on the top shelf of the pantry behind other boxes without ever
thinking he could climb up there and get them while I was in the bathroom. Or how harmful it is for my child to jump
onto a trampoline from the garage roof. Or how I should have assumed that he would
stick dice, or an Orbee, or a napkin, or a piece of cheese, or Kool Aid powder
up his nose. Because I know all that. And Have learned to never go to the bathroom. Now. I
just want to know that I am not alone.
And that he will survive to adulthood.
And that I will too. And that
sometimes, it is completely alright to laugh at your child.
