This has been a week.
That’s a cliche. But it’s been a week. Forgive me for using a cliche to express my thoughts — I have mom brain and cliches are all I have.
My daughter has been crying and crying and banging her little forehead against the carpet for no reason we can figure out (is she teething? who knows! could it be an ear infection? not sure! maybe she’s tired? i don’t know!). My son is potty training–actually, he has successfully been potty trained, but now he has VERY strong preferences about which toilets he’ll use at what times (he’ll only poop in the gym bathroom at daycare, and he’ll only pee first thing in the morning in mom & dad’s bathroom — but don’t mix that up with his second pee of the morning, which must take place in the downstairs powder room and under no circumstances is his little sister to come anywhere near him).
And the toy battles are starting: My daughter is finally big enough to take her brother’s toys, and he is NOT happy about it (“MINE! MINE! MINE!”). Mornings and evenings are battles between brother and sister, with mom and dad as ineffective referees who aren’t really sure of the rules of the game.
The other morning I was sitting on the floor in our tiny pantry with both kids because that’s where my son decided they were going to eat breakfast and who am I to argue. My son was holding a big flashlight because there aren’t any lights in the pantry, which is of course the appeal and I’d given my daughter another smaller flashlight in hopes that she wouldn’t snatch his away. After about 20 seconds of semi-peaceful eating strawberries in the semi-darkness, my daughter did what I had been dreading: She snatched the big flashlight out of my son’s hand, prompting him to scream “NOOOOOO!,” spill his plate of strawberries and eggs on the floor, and hit his little sister on top of the head.
Heart pounding, I opened the door, picked up my daughter and took her upstairs, kicking and screaming. I gave the flashlight back to my son and asked him to finish his breakfast. Of course, he followed us up the stairs, telling me all about how his sister had stolen his flashlight as if I hadn’t seen the whole thing happen. I didn’t know what to do, so I just led them into the living room, sat everyone on the carpet and let them cry for a few minutes until they forgot the whole thing.
The thing is, as every parent knows, a scene like that happens every day or multiple times a day. And usually, I just don’t know what to do. Sure, I try to Big Little Feelings the kids (at least the older one, who understands more) and validate his feelings and stay calm and hug everyone and all that, but it doesn’t typically calm anyone down in the moment, and who knows if it’s working in the long run? I try to follow my mom instincts and do the best I can in every moment, but often I feel like I’m taking shots in the dark.
Why don’t we get parent training?
During the pantry scene, I kept thinking: Where’s the training for this? Parenting is one of the hardest things in the world, and most of us get a grand total of zero training for it.
I took classes on geometry and history and Spanish; where were the classes on dealing with toddler tantrums and trying not to show favoritism for one child, inadvertently hurting the other child’s feelings and scarring them for life? Where were the classes on figuring out exactly when and what to feed your children to ensure optimal energy for the day? Where were the classes on communicating with your spouse about how to handle the kids’ meltdowns? Getting them into their car seats in under five minutes? Figuring out how to latch a screaming baby onto your breast? Knowing when to give up breastfeeding if it’s just not working for you? Not feeling mom guilt dropping the kids off at daycare? How much screen time is too much, and is it actually bad for your kids to see adult shows sometimes? And on and on and on …
I know people used to take Home Economics in high school–I didn’t–and of course some people get degrees in early childhood education or pediatric nursing or other similar topics. I took a few four-hour classes at the hospital on taking care of a newborn and installing a car seat. And I just Googled it, and it turns out high schools in certain states do have parenting classes.
But people who plan to have children (or who do have children and realize they have no idea what they’re doing) should have the option to take a full semester at their local university when the time comes: How to Raise a Child. The textbook would have chapters on newborns, babies, that weird baby-to-toddler transition time, toddlers, elementary-schoolers, pre-teens, teenagers and maybe even beyond.
Specific topics would include: What to Do When Your Son Won’t Let Anyone But Mom Put Him to Bed; How to Tell If It Really IS Teething or She’s Just Mad About Something Else; How to Do Your Job As a Mom While Doing Another Full-Time Job; Are You Being an Understanding Mother or Spoiling Him?; What To Do When Parents Disagree on the Right Approach.
There would be reading and real-life workshops and tests, and your homework would be taking care of your own children using the methods in class. I’d sure use knowledge from that class more than I use biology. Although, to be fair, biology does come in handy when my son points to a daisy and says, “what’s that?” and I say “a daisy” and he says “no, it’s a flower” and then I explain that a daisy is a type of a flower. Then he asks me how flowers grow and I talk about seeds and stems and photosynthesis and stuff. So there’s that.
But still, let’s do the parenting class idea.