Too Tired To Be A Good Parent
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On the likely chance that I might offend the woman who busted my chops a few posts back, I feel I must discuss being really tired. If I’m to be true to my artistry, and if I’m to write what I know and what I’m going through, then dammit, I just have to write about being tired. It’s who I is lately.
Sometimes, when the exhaustion piles up, I get a bit relaxed in my parenting, um, “style”. And so here’s my up-to-date parenting style:
It’s OK to say “fuck it” every now and again.
Not literally. I would never say “fuck it” out loud in my house. I would mouth it. Gayle and I have mastered the art of saying whatever we want while the kids are awake, but we mute out the bad stuff with the precision of an rated R movie being played Sunday morning on a network channel.
When I refer to “fuck it”, I am actually referring to letting Noble have treats in the afternoon, before dinner; I’m referring to mac and cheese for dinner for the third night in a row; I’m referring to juice boxes galore; I’m referring to no bath…again!
Sometimes it’s just easier to take the road less travelled, because that road has no screaming, whining child on it. It’s the road of peace. It’s the road of smiles and good times. It’s the road of “you’re the best dad in the world!”
I don’t condone this type of parenting on a regular basis. But those of us who have the kids all day long know that it is an endlessly repetitive job to convince our children to eat healthy, do right, listen up, mellow out…
On the days when we’ve reached our threshold, there needs to be some way that we can keep our kids happy while we are trying to recharge our battery. And that way, is the “fuck it” way.