Punks need not apply.

My sister-friend Tanya has this saying that always makes me smile. She says, with a hand on her hip and a saucy curl of her lips, "Marriage (and parenting) ain't for no punks." And whenever she says that, I laugh out loud at the way she has perfectly distilled this simple truth down to just a few words.

Yep.

I will admit that mostly, the marriage part hasn't been the biggest conundrum for me. At least, not so far.  But geeze. I hear Tanya in my ear often when it comes to the parenting thing. I find myself shaking my head while folding up a basket of laundry or reading an email from a teacher or paying for whatever sport-of-the-week we're on saying, "Damn, this being a mama thing ain't for no punks."

And when I'm in the thick of it, the throws of it, that's when I really get what Tanya meant by that. Not punks as in punk-rockers or whatever other thing you think of when you hear that word. But punks as in weak, excuse-laden, lily-livered, milquetoast types that tremble like gelatin under pressure. Yeah, so I get what she was saying because parenting (and marriage) require a crap-ton of compromises, hard decisions, sacrifices, and suck-it-ups--none of which are for punks.

Unnnnh uhhh.

Parenting kind of stresses me out sometimes. Okay, not to the point of pulling out my hair and refusing to let my kids out of my sight. . . but still. It does. Sometimes it does in those "big picture" ways like hoping my kids are confident and filled with enough love for themselves and humankind to make good decisions and treat people well. Especially themselves. And I hope that me rushing them in the mornings or scolding them or being frustrated sometimes (okay, a lot of times) isn't damaging. So I lay in bed and pray things like, "Okay, God, can You just keep all of the good things I'm doing and chunk all the bad things? Thanks." And I'm serious, this is a prayer I say often, almost verbatim. I also say things like, "Protect my kids from monsters, especially the monster in me." And I say that because I mean it and because we are all a little broken in our own ways. So those monsters can come out sometimes to hurt more than just ourselves.

At least that's what I think.

Then there are the little things. Like whether or not my approach to my reluctant reader Isaiah is all wrong or even smaller than that like whether or not I have a solid plan to escape the house with my kids in the event of a real, true emergency. And, of course, I think these things only at 2 AM because this is the very best and most intrusive time to do so. So, in order to fall asleep, I just pray for some protection and for the God I believe in to help me to get it all right.

I'm rambling. I know. But I'm just thinking this morning. Thinking about how parenting ain't for no punks. Thinking about how once you get older there is so much to sift through and how hard this must have been for my parents. I am pondering it all and giving them mad props for what they did with us and feeling glad for their involvement in this round two but still realizing that Tanya is right, even with the help of grandparents, it still ain't for no punks. It ain't. 

Here's the other hard part. If you're lucky, you grew up with amazing parents like I did who provide you ready counsel and assistance with your own children. But ultimately, you have to decide what to do based upon your own judgement and gut and opinion. And, for me, this gets very hard because I deeply, deeply trust and value the opinions of my parents. But. . . . those same parents raised me to also seek and trust my own. Does this even make sense? I don't know if it does, so forgive me. I guess I'm just saying that this ain't for punks.

My guess is that when they raised us, it wasn't back then either.

The other day, Isaiah was sitting at the table reading a book. It was bumpy and he was whiny and I was frustrated. He's a bright boy and a proficient reader but prefers not to do it. And I reminded him that, like Auntie Deanna always said, "Readers are leaders, dude." And he looked at me and twisted his face into the saddest face I've seen in a very, very long time. He said, "I wish so, so bad that my auntie had just stayed a little bit longer." Then he just cried. A perfectly innocent eight year-old cry.

"I miss her, too," I replied.

"There is just stuff I want to talk to her about with school. Just a lot of stuff." And when I asked him what stuff, he said it was little stuff mostly but the kind of stuff he always talked to her about after school. And I got that because most of what I wish I could talk to her about is little, too.

But when it stacks all up, it feels big.

"Last night, I was missing her and cried until I fell asleep. I think of Auntie every single day. Every single day." And he was weeping when he said that. Hard. Getting it out of his little head and into the atmosphere.

"Me, too."

"And now I'm better in chess, Mom. And we could have played and I might have beat her now. I just wish she didn't die."

And what do you say to that? You tell me what do you say? So I just hugged him and listened as he told me a few of the things that he wished he could tell my sister. And, I swear to you, I wished equally as badly that he could, too.

He sat on my lap and I told him that we were lucky to know her so well so we could probably imagine together what she would have to say. And he seemed to like that, so we did. We did just that. And it was okay but still kind of tough. And the kind of thing that definitely wasn't for no punk.

Nope.

The time thing with kids? The building confidence thing and the discipline thing? The school thing with kids? Damn, it ain't for no punks. Man, it ain't.

But Harry and I slug it out. We do. And thank goodness we are at least equipped with some self worth and love for each other which puts us ahead of a lot of folks. This part I know. And I also know that getting the chance to do this is huge and I wouldn't trade it for anything. But it's just that I am recognizing the enormity of being trusted with raising up little human beings into whole people.

Yeah.

So I'm just thinking. Hoping and praying that the good things stick and the monster inside of me is kept under wraps. And please don't worry because I am loving it all yet trying to be intentional enough to get most of it right. Yeah. So I'm thinking about all of this today, but mostly I'm just agreeing with Tanya that this "being a grown-up" thing--which may or may not include marriage and parenting for some but does for me--ain't for no punks.

No, it ain't. 

***
Happy Sunday.