There are things you do because they are worth doing, and then there are things you do because some day it will be worth having done them.
This is one of my core parenting principles. There are things I want my children to be able to do and to love. Things like eating in restaurants and going to museums and climbing mountains. They are not things that children necessarily take to on their own, nor are they things that are particularly easy for children. So we have spent a lot of time with our children while they are small, doing these things in ways that may not be particularly enjoyable in the moment, but hopefully will pay off some day.
Take restaurants. Restaurants are important to us. We like to eat in restaurants, we like to know what’s going on with restaurants, and, of course, S works in restaurants. So we have spent a lot of time in restaurants with our kids. But restaurants are not great places for toddlers who have just learned how to walk, not to mention easily distractible four year olds, or hungry kids of any age. And we are determined not just to have kids who like restaurants but to have restaurants like our kids. So we have spent a lot of time walking up and down sidewalks outside restaurants with toddlers, we always remember to bring pens and pads for four year olds (the nine year old likes them too), and we ask the waiter to bring a bowl of rice or bread and butter as soon as we sit down. Now it’s paying off. M eats everything and makes polite conversation, E eats noodles or rice or bread and butter and quietly draws pictures, and people always comment on how well behaved our kids are.
This summer has been an interesting moment because M is generally in the pay-off stage, while E is still learning. M can paddle her own kayak, while E sits between my legs, sometimes paddling with me, sometimes paddling on her own, getting us pretty much nowhere and drenching me with the water that spills over us when she lifts her paddle too high. M powered up a 3,268 foot mountain, 6.2 miles round trip, with nary a complaint and a fabulous summit. With E, we took a gondola up to the top of a mountain and then hiked down, over two hours to go just two miles, lots of breaks, and an M&M to step ratio that hovered around 1:1. When M and I go river walking, we get into the zone, finding the perfect foothold, wading through pools, swimming through deeper pools, pointing out an insect or fish or spider web. When I river walk with E, I anxiously hover, holding both her hands on slippery rocks (just one when it’s dry), spotting her up cliffs, always watching, always careful.
Actually, though, the learning stage has its own pleasures. E and I kayaked halfway around the lake, checking out the houses and the beaches, wondering if the island had blueberries, and grasping at lily pads and sticks. On the grassy slopes, she ran down the mountain, dragging me along with her, almost making up for the woods where I had to drag her along, metaphorically and, often, literally. As soon as S thought to put on her sandals (we are not always as smart as we are with restaurants), she finally took to river walking, plunging into waterfalls and scrambling up cliffs, hardly needing my help, if making me even more anxious.
So maybe I should revise my parenting principle. The promise of the future only enhances the pleasure of the present? It’s all worth it? One small river-walking, mountain-climbing step for E, one big step for…whatever.
Eh, it sounds good the way it is. I’ll just try to remember that it’s a little more complicated--and a lot more fun--than it sounds.
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