Parenting: The most stressful and rewarding job

“You are the best cooker,” Kendall said to me sweetly as she helped stir the cheese sauce bubbling on the stove.

She helped me grate the cheese, cut the butter and measure out the milk. She stirred as I added all the ingredients to the warm pan. She even helped me pour the noodles back into the sauce.

Once we dished out our homemade “mac and cheese,” we both eagerly dove in. Even my nine-month-old enjoyed the (cut-up) cheesy noodles I offered him.

Kendall ate half a dozen bites or so before she shoved the dish away from herself, across the table.

“I don’t like this.”

Uh-oh. Kendall’s threenager attitude was showing again.  

“What do you mean?  You just made this with me,” I asked incredulously.

“It’s not yellow. And the noodles are wrong.”

“You’re right that this isn’t Annie’s mac-and-cheese from a box. But it’s still cheesy noodles. It’s the same.”

“It’s not the same. I don’t like it. I want steak.”

I must have given her a look, which she interpreted as the “use your manners” look, because she added, “May I have a steak, please?”

Parenting is hard.  I know that no one has ever claimed it to be easy.

But after three years of relative ease with two kids — a very mobile baby and a toddler who sometimes behaves like a teenager — I am beginning to truly understand how stressful it can be.

These days, I feel as though I’m constantly asking Kendall to share with her brother, or to understand (and not cry) that he will always knock down our block towers/castles, to stop shouting, to stop pushing her brother, to listen.

I’m constantly keeping my baby from knocking down his sister’s towers, from trying to eat the cat food, from trying to eat the random tiny toy or craft supply forgotten on the floor, or trying to play in the toilet.

He loves pulling himself up on the toilet to play in the magical yet mysterious bowl of liquid.

I swear he has radar for knowing when I leave the bathroom door open. He doubles his crawling speed when I chase after him. He thinks it’s a game.

Some nights I lay awake wondering how I can be more efficient, how I can better predict threenager meltdowns, or how I can remember to keep the bathroom door closed.

Over the Memorial Day holiday weekend, my family and I spent most of our time outside enjoying the gorgeous weather.

We went hiking at Springbrook State Park. We were the only people there, my mother, father, daughter, son and I. It was as if the trails through the woods laid themselves out just for our feet to travel. We cut through a sea of green and it was perfectly peaceful.  

Hayden took in the leafy trees, the purple wildflowers and the pond with silent wonder until he fell asleep.

Kendall ran with glee at times, danced and rode on her grandfather’s shoulders.

No one yelled or refused to share.

My kids actually made each other laugh. And we had a staring contest with a deer.  

The following day, we worked in our garden and on our landscaping as a family. We made space in the garden for our growing watermelon and sunflower plants that Kendall planted in little trays on Earth Day.

Hayden ate dirt.

Kendall played in the mud.

And it was wonderful.

Yes, Kendall refused to share a toy and she shouted at her brother to back off, but the toys were tiny choking hazards and she was right in warning him away.

I heard pleases and thank yous.

Everyone ate what was put in front of them.

And then, at the end of the day, Kendall ran up to me and wrapped her muddy self around me.

She gave me a kiss on the lips and said, “I love you, Mom!”

At that moment, with the sacrifices of our veterans heavy on my mind, I resolved to stop focusing on the stressful things and to truly experience and enjoy the good moments.

“I love you, too, baby,” I replied.

I’m grateful for any and all moments of motherhood.

Even the moment a minute later when I heard the slapping of Hayden’s hands against the hardwood floor, followed by squeals of delight and the splashing of toilet water.
 

Andra Kucerak Guccione is a Jefferson resident.