If our grandmothers and great-grandmothers could see the pressure modern mothers put on themselves, theyd think we were insane. Since when does being a good mom mean you spend your days creating elaborate crafts for your children, making sure their rooms are decked-out Pottery Barn Ikea masterpieces worthy of childrens magazines, and dressing them to the nines in trendy coordinated outfits? For a few years, I got caught up in the Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better parenting model, which mandates you scour Pinterest for the best ideas, execute them flawlessly, and then share the photo evidence with strangers and friends via blogs and Facebook posts. Suddenly, it came to me: We do not need to make our childrens childhood magical. Childhood is inherently magical, even when it isnt perfect. My childhood wasnt perfect and we werent rich by any stretch of the imagination, but my birthdays were still happy because my friends came over. It wasnt about the party bags, perfect decorations, or any of that. We popped balloons, ran around in the backyard, and we had cake. Simple. But when I look back on those times, they were magical. I dont have a single memory of doing a craft with my parents. Crafts were something I did in preschool and primary school. The only crafts I recall were the ones my mother created in her spare time. The hum of her sewing machine would often lull me to sleep as she turned scrap cloth into hair accessories to sell and hemmed our clothes. At home we played. All the time. After school, wed walk home from the bus stop, drop off our backpacks and my mom would push us out of the house. We ran around with the neighborhood kids until dinner. Times are different now and very few of us feel comfortable letting our kids wander, but even when we were inside, we played with our toys and video games. We made blanket forts. We watched TV. We slid down the stairs on pillows. Our parents were not responsible for entertaining us. If we dared to mutter those two words, Im bored, we would be handed a chore. I look back on those times and smile. I can still recall what it felt like to have carefree fun. My parents made sure we were warm and fed, and planned the occasional special activity for us (Friday night pizza was a tradition in my home), but when it came to the day-to-day, we were on our own to be kids. They rarely played with us. Apart from the random empty refrigerator box scrounged from the back of an electronics store, we werent given toys outside of our birthdays and major holidays. Our parents were around in case we needed something or there was accident, but they were not our main source of entertainment. Parents do not make childhood magical. Abuse and gross neglect can mar it, of course, but for the average child, the magic is something inherent to the age. Seeing the world through innocent eyes is magical. Experiencing winter and playing in the snow as a 5-year-old is magical. Getting lost in your toys on the floor of your family room is magical. Collecting rocks and keeping them in your pockets is magical. Walking with a branch is magical. It is not our responsibility to manufacture contrived memories on a daily basis. None of this negates the importance of time spent as a family, but there is a huge difference between focusing on being together and focusing on the construction of an activity. One feels forced and is based on a pre-determined goal, while the other is more natural and relaxed. The immense pressure that parents put on themselves to create ethereal experiences is tangible. We constantly hear that children these days dont get enough exercise. Perhaps the most underused of all of their muscles is the imagination, as we seek desperately to find a recipe for something that already exists. huffingtonpost/bunmi-laditan/im-done-making-my-kids-childhood-magical_b_5062838.html
Posted on: Thu, 08 Jan 2015 22:42:55 +0000
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