Parenting in the Apocalypse (Or: Tuesday)
My kid asked me if the world is ending.
"Eventually," I said. "Heat death of the universe" and all that. "But not today. Today we have dinosaur nuggets and this video of goats falling over set to Yakkity Sax. It was on a show. The Benny Hill show. No, it's not on anymore. Yes, it's kinda sad, but I'm pretty sure all of those people are dead now anyway."
He seemed satisfied with this answer. I have no idea if that's good parenting or not. It was probably too long. It hardly touched on the Apocalypse, but it was there. Lurking in the background like yesterday's carry out pizza aroma in the car.
Welcome to Tuesday?
Everything Is Fine (It's Absolutely Not Fine)
One thing about being a parent in what increasingly feels like the End Times: you're expected to maintain the appearance of calm competence while internally screaming at the absolute state of things.
Climate change is real and we're all just going to work anyway. The economy makes no sense and we're explaining to small children why they can't have the $3 toy. Social media is rotting everyone's brains. I have work to do, and I'm sitting here writing a macro to remove draft = true from my posts to publish them.
And also: homework needs to be done. Teeth need to be brushed. Someone needs to find the other shoe. The dog-bucket needs cleaned so we can scoop more shit into it (but with a bloody bag this time, please and thank you).
The apocalypse can wait until after bedtime I guess.
The Balancing Act (Or: Juggling While The Building Burns)
Every single day is a tightrope walk between competing absolutes:
Honesty vs. Hope: "Yes, sweetheart, things are complicated. No, we probably can't fix it all. Yes, we're going to try anyway because what else are we going to do? This is why your parents are always so tired."
Protection vs. Preparation: "You're safe. The house is safe. The world is... look, it's complicated, but here's how to think critically about everything anyone ever tells you, including me."
Screen Time vs. My Own Sanity: "No more tablet time! I said no. That's final. We have limits for a reason. Okay, twenty more minutes, but only because I need to finish this thing and also maybe stare at the wall for a bit."
There's no manual for this. There's just a bunch of exhausted people trying not to completely screw it up.
What I'm Learning (Probably Badly)
Kids Are Resilient (Thank Cthulhu For That)
They process things differently than we do. What feels apocalyptic to us is just... Tuesday to them.
We're all worried about trauma and therapy and making sure we don't mess them up. And yes, sure, don't be a rotten bastard to your kids. But they're also remarkably good at just getting on with it.
My daughter once asked about death, processed the entire concept in about ninety seconds, and then asked if she could have candy. I'm working (hopefully VERY gradually) through my own mortality. She's moved on to more important matters like "sleeve of PEZ or a Dum-Dum?"
They're adaptable little weirdos. It's actually quite reassuring.
Presence Matters More Than Perfection (And Thank Some Elder God For That Too)
I used to stress about providing the "perfect" childhood. I still do, but I used to as well (obligatory). The right activities. The right experiences. The right balance of structure and freedom.
Meh.
I'm just trying to be there. To listen when they talk (very hard sometimes), show up when they need me (easier), put the phone/book/deck down and actually pay attention to the sometimes complete bonkers nonsense but often deeply insightful things they have to say.
Turns out that matters infinitely more than whether their birthday party had a coordinated theme or whether they'll remember the vacation to that one place I never get right in my own memory.
Nobody remembers the themed parties. They remember whether you were there hanging up the decorations and mushing cake into their hair.
Model, Don't Preach (Harder Than It Sounds)
Kids learn from what we do, not what we say. This is inconvenient.
Want them to be kind? Better be kind, even to that numpty who cut you off in traffic. Note: numpty was not the last word I used in this situation.
Want them to think critically? Better demonstrate critical thinking instead of just saying "because I said so."
Want them to manage their emotions? Well...huh. We're all pretty constantly working on that one, aren't we?
Be better so they can be better. It's sure as hell a good enough reason to try.
It's Okay to Not Have All the Answers (Truly, It's Fine)
"I don't know" is a valid answer.
"That's complicated, let's figure it out together" is often better.
"I messed that up, I'm sorry" is perhaps the most important one of all. I'm terrible at this because I'm perfect. ...ly flawed. At adverbs.
You don't need to be perfect. You don't need to know everything. You just need to be honest and keep trying.
Even when you know everything like I do.
They'll forgive you for not knowing. They won't forgive you for pretending.
The Point (If There Is One - I Can't Be Certain Anymore)
There's no perfect way to parent in an imperfect world.
You just show up. Try. You apologize when you inevitably screw it up or shout like some stupid entitled asshole. You hug them. You feed them. You teach them to be kind even when the world isn't. Especially then.
And you keep hoping all that love and showing up are enough in the end.
Also, dinosaur nuggets really do solve a surprising number of problems. I don't know why. They just do. Especially with thai chili sauce. Except when you laugh it out of your nose. That part is gross and painful. Ew... there's some on the screen.
Closing Thoughts (From One Exhausted Parent to Another)
The world has always been complicated. The world will (probably) always be complicated. Every generation of parents has thought they're living through uniquely difficult times.
Maybe we are. Maybe we're not. Whatever. Doesn't matter.
One day at a time. One dinosaur nugget at a time. One "I don't know, sweet child, but we'll figure it out together."
It's not perfect. But it's real. And real is the root of what they need.