So much to learn

Dear Zen Mother,

We only have one child and I want to make sure I do everything right for her. What parenting tips can you offer me?

Vicki from Amesbury

Dear Vicki,

There is enormous pressure these days to be the perfect parent and rear the perfect child. Well, get over it. You’re not perfect and neither is your kid. It doesn’t matter how many tap dancing classes she takes, or how many antioxidants she receives. And yet that doesn’t stop us from trying.

A few days after Halloween, my sister stopped by for a visit. She had spent the day volunteering in her daughter’s classroom.

“Can you believe it?” she said with a heavy tone. “Little Gretchen with the overbite and the pigtails? Her mother packed a bologna sandwich on white bread in her lunch box today.”

“That’s good,” I responded absently.

“No, it’s bad. That sandwich is filled with nitrates, trans fat and empty calories. Kids need to learn about good nutrition.”

“Oh,” I replied quietly, suddenly questioning the M&M and peanut butter sandwiches I packed for my kids that day.

“And Johnny, with the blonde curls, is starting Karate on Thursday.”

“And that’s… bad?”

“No, that’s good. Kids need a structured, physical outlet where they can learn to respect and listen. What are your kids doing after school these days?”

“Oh, you know. They… play and… stuff.” I glanced outside where my kids were shoving dirt into each other’s faces.

My sister shrugged her shoulders. “Learning doesn’t end just because school’s out,” she said, as she crunched on a package of neatly cut celery she had pulled from her purse.

I waited a few seconds to see if she would choke but no such luck. So I decided to take her advice and give my parenting skills an overhaul.

A week later Grammy Z came into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of vodka. “What are you doing?” she asked, seeing a collection of unhappy little faces at the kitchen table.

“We’re enjoying pesticide-free polyphenols for an afternoon snack,” I explained.

Grammy Z glanced at the untouched plate of sliced beets, chili peppers, and pomegranate.

“Why don’t you give them some Pop Tarts? Those are good.”

“No, those are bad. I’m teaching the kids to stay away from processed foods and other potential health hazards.”

“Sounds good,” she said, lighting a cigarette. I grabbed the cigarette away from her and tossed it down the sink.

“Mommy, I’m thirsty,” said my youngest.

“Here, sweetie,” chimed in Grammy Z, as she handed my five-year-old twenty dollars. “I’m thirsty too. Run down to the packy and get Grammy some more vodka.”

“You can’t ask him to do THAT!”

“What? I’m teaching him about commerce,” she replied.

It was at this moment I realized that Grammy Z couldn’t be faulted for her parenting skills either. After all, nobody took the time to teach her. The important thing was to help her move forward.

“Grammy Z,” I said as I held her shoulders. “I forgive you for your limitations as a parent, and I recognize and accept these limitations as explanations for your actions. Let me teach you all that I’ve learned this past week.”

Showing no hurt or malice, Grammy Z’s eyes looked straight into mine. We were on the verge of a breakthrough; I could feel it.

She burst out laughing and left the room.