i used to wonder why middle school girls are so mean to each other. why the seismic shift of affections, the dramatic purchasing and demolishing of “best friend” necklaces, the endless note-passing and back-stabbing, and the constant labeling and striving for that which is popular?

yesterday, as my children were wailing (again) at the prospect of spending time with me while their daddy went out for a jog, it hit me: middle school misery is part of the preparation-for-motherhood process. only such a colossal test of self-esteem could come close to readying a gal for the sucker punch that comes when, apropos to nothing, she falls out of favor with her children.

when “the daddy phase” began a few months ago and my children began approximating time spent with me to sharing a cage with a hideous monster, i remained strong. i returned their unhappy scowls with hugs and kisses. when the monkey set aside an entire day to cry about the misfortune that his preferred parent has a full-time job, i remained calm. when i returned home from a two-day vacation last week to the monkey’s disappointment that “i didn’t stay away longer,” i made myself ignore these words. but yesterday’s pathetic chorus of daddy-wanting hysterics was just too much. if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. i starting crying myself.

so here i am, 34 going on 13, dissecting the anatomy of the popular parent. from my non-randomized qualitative study of one, i can conclude that popular parents are not preoccupied with cooking, cleaning, folding, and typing. popular parents are fun! they are like cruise directors, shuffling two kids to four fabulous locations all in the time that it would take me to locate and cram on the necessary shoes. never mind that popular parents just grab the first ill fitting shoes they see. everyone is having the time of their lives!

the next thing i know, i am also studying the anatomy of the unpopular parent by way of yet another non-randomized qualitative study of one. at its best, this “research” leads me to the conclusion that unpopular parents are simply not fun. at its worst, it is a bit like what anne lamott calls KFKD radio:

“out of the left speaker will be the rap songs of self-loathing, the lists of all the things one doesn’t do well, all the mistakes one has made today and over an entire lifetime, the doubt, the assertion that everything one touches turns to shit, that one doesn’t do relationships well, that one is in every way a fraud, incapable of selfless love, that one has no talent or insight, and on and on and on” (bird by bird).

i made it through  middle school in one piece. surely i can keep myself intact in the face of a couple of preschool boys. step one: find a new radio station.

[this is the first in a series of guest posts written by jennifer harrison, who was perhaps the only other person in my high school english classes who joined me in gleeful celebration when called up on to diagram sentences. jennifer’s posts will highlight how her vocation as an elementary school teacher informs her parenting, and vice-versa. her bio is located at the conclusion of her wise words.] 

I’m not a math person but I have recently been throwing together some numbers. The upcoming school year marks my tenth as a classroom teacher. Each year, I’ve taught about 20 kids. This means that in all, I’ve worked with roughly 200 students, not to mention about 400 parents. So, long before I began raising my own daughter, Elizabeth, I was introduced to the wonderful, complicated, emotional, and consuming business of parenting.

While I will begin this school year and its requisite parent partnerships with a good chunk of experience under my belt, I nonetheless approach my tenth class with new eyes: the eyes of a new mother, who fiercely loves her daughter and only wants the best for her. I know that each first grade parent I will meet next week was once just like I am now: constantly chasing after a toddler; looking at a little face and wondering what kind of person this small being will become; and hoping that a cheerful, babbling child will always know a happy and abundant life.

Throughout my years as a teacher, I have come to believe that there is one essential truth about parenting. All parents, no matter whether they are overbearing, laid-back, or somewhere in between, absolutely love their children. The way in which this love manifests itself is wildly different from parent to parent. Some parents wring their hands in fretful anxiety about what I, as a teacher, know is a minor bump in the road (if it’s even a bump at all!). Others celebrate every victory and milestone with endless flashes of the camera and small notes in lunchboxes. Still others occupy themselves with very demanding careers so that they can provide their children with a vast array of creature comforts and material things. Regardless of how hands-on or hands-off a parent may appear to be, their common fuel is their deep and abiding love of sons and daughters.

” Too often, we critically declare that this mother works too much, this father hovers around the school too frequently, or this couple places too many demands on their child.”

I think it is unfortunately too easy for so many of us — teachers, fellow parents, and the casual observers of society — to quickly, harshly judge parents. Too often, we critically declare that this mother works too much, this father hovers around the school too frequently, or this couple places too many demands on their child. It helps to remember that all of those parents once held a moments-old newborn in their arms. They have all become enraptured, as I have, with the enormity and the wonder of a life that is, as a friend so wisely put it, pure potential. That moment is the tie that binds us all together as parents. It is a tie that I now share with the 36 parents who will soon receive a letter from me in the mail. I now understand the eyes with which those parents will read that letter. This fresh perspective has renewed my commitment to my career, and it has reminded me of all that I hope Elizabeth and I will grow to be as mother and daughter.

jennifer harrison earned her bachelors and masters degrees at vanderbilt and has taught in public and private schools since 1999. she currently enjoys chicago city life with her ER nurse husband, 13-month-old daughter elizabeth, and dog rowdy. when jennifer is not parenting or teaching, she enjoys reading, photography, travel, and the quest for the perfect latte.

i think about my childhood a lot these days, as i am now in charge of someone else’s (two someones, actually). and what i remember most about being so new in the world are all of the beautiful, fun, interesting, and delicious things my parents showed my brother and me. i will never forget the first time they took us to fall creek falls state park, and we got see and walk behind this waterfall:

or the time our family spent a few nights in new orleans, and my parents took my brother and me to cafe du monde for beignets. they were almost giddy when i took my first yummy bite. now i know the feeling.

but perhaps the most recurring such events in my childhood were our trips to the gulf coast, the same coast i’m looking at now as i type and as the monkey and bird sleep. my parents started by showing us the ocean. then they taught my brother and me to ride its waves, mine if for shells, and make castles in its surf. and when we got a little older, they taught us to settle down beside it with a good book.

but what i remember most about my introduction to the world’s wonders is that it felt, at the time, as if my parents had invented all of these things just for my brother and me. whether we were wading in a creek in middle tennessee, riding the tube in london, or eating my dad’s saturday morning pancakes, it felt as if my parents were letting their children in on a set of sweet secrets conjured up merely for our benefit.

my parents didn’t invent the world’s wonders for us, of course, nor are my husband and i inventing them for our boys. but there is something so accurate about my childhood idea of my parents as inventors. the world is full of so much potential for happiness, sadness, and every emotion in between. and though much of life is spent coping and grieving those things that are beyond our control, we can continue to invent lives for ourselves that embrace what is beautiful, fun, interesting, and delicious.

being a parent is a constant reminder of this redeeming truth. it takes us back to the basic goodness of life, and while we are opening our kids to this goodness, we cannot help but open up to it again ourselves.

i can tell that the monkey and bird are already starting to become inventors. not inventors of the ocean and beignets, of course, but little people who are blazing new trails to the earth’s gifts, trails to which i hope they return, again and again.

p.s. i refrained (pardon the pun) from covering the wonders of music in this post, for reasons i have stated earlier.