“I’m hungry,” Abby Kate said. “I want waffles.”
“Well, let me show you something!” I replied, pulling our toaster from the kitchen cabinet with flourish. “You can cook them yourself.”
(I have neither the energy nor the want to make waffles from scratch. Frozen is faster. L’eggo my Eggo.)
Abby Kate stood beside me, watching, as I plugged in the toaster and showed her how to check the browning controls so her food wouldn’t burn.
“But I’ll burn my fingers!” she said, wondering how she would take out the waffles when they popped hot and ready.
I offered her a small pair of wooden tongs and a warning, “Do not ever put anything metal into a toaster.”
I’ve learned it’s best to assume she knows nothing.
As Abby Kate placed the waffles on her plate and poured (way too much) syrup on top I said with a smile, “Now you will never go hungry! Because you know how to make waffles.”
In a lot of ways I feel behind the curve in raising my kids. It’s my fault. I fancy myself Supermom and enjoy it. But as the girls are growing, so is my frustration over doing the things they are capable of taking care of themselves.
Life Lesson #1: Make your own breakfast.
It’s long overdue. Abby Kate will turn 13 years old in May and I am acutely aware of the dwindling amount of time I have left to teach Life Lessons #2 through 2000. I have felt inadequate a lot lately, as if she will never be ready to walk confidently into the world on her own.
The painful truth is, I have almost always felt behind in raising Abby Kate. The toddler years were the worst for me in terms of measuring milestones. She didn’t cut her first teeth until she was more than a year old. She was almost 2 before she started to talk (and I don’t mean sentences, I mean words). She couldn’t write her name when she started Kindergarten.
One Sunday morning when Abby Kate was still very young, a more experienced mom offered me the best piece of parenting advice I have ever heard:
“She’s not going to take her paci to the prom.”
On that particular day I could very well have been wondering if or when to wean Abby Kate from her pacifier. But this mom’s words weren’t really about the pacifier at all. She was reassuring me that Abby Kate would develop and grow as God intended. It was her way of letting me know Abby Kate was going to be fine. And that I would be, too.
I carry a lot of hopes and dreams for my daughters, a picture of what I want their lives to be. These days I find myself wondering of Abby Kate:
Will she move away for college?
What career will she pursue?
Who will she choose to marry?
It’s easy to get caught up in the end game. I wrestle with worry, doubt and guilt. Part of preparing Abby Kate for what’s to come is quieting my questions and paying attention to what she is experiencing now. I can’t predict her future but I can:
Coach her through an essay for English class.
Engage her interests and hobbies.
Mirror what a healthy relationship looks like.
And I can teach her how to toast waffles.
There’s another pivotal piece of parenting advice that I have bookmarked, literally. It comes from actor/comedian/author Paul Reiser in his book titled “Familyhood.”
Reiser writes:
“Kids are like a plane. And you’re like the pilot, but only a little. In truth, the kid takes off and flies less because of what you do and more because of how the kid is designed. Once they’re up, they’re going to be buffeted and pushed around plenty by bad weather and strong winds and angry turbulence. No way to avoid it. As the pilot, you make your adjustments. That’s your job. Do it as best you see fit. But take comfort knowing that in the end, they’ll fly. Because they want to fly.”
The flight path is different for every child. God picked you to be the pilot your son or daughter needs. So, don’t let the pressure to be a “good mom” paralyze you. Resist the impulse to second-guess yourself. Take captive any comparison that makes you feel like a failure. If we are present with our kids and take the time to teach them, they are going to find their way, in their time.
The most important thing we can do to impact our kids for their lifetime is to love them. Teaching our children – whether to ride a bicycle, cook a meal, or create a budget – is an act of love. I would venture it is the greatest measure of our love. Because in teaching them, we are not just preparing them for life. We are also preparing ourselves to let them go.
“Start children off in the way they should go, and even when they are old they will not turn from it.”
(Proverbs 22:6)