I’m a pondering parent this morning. I know I’m not the first, last, or wisest person to conjure the notion that parenting is akin to farming but it’s on my mind just the same.
The most maddening thing for me, the woman who likes results and task completion, was the delayed and slow simmer of parenting payoffs. Like tending crops? Maybe. Planting those seeds, hoping for a good yield, and praying for a hearty root system to sustain the burgeoning growth, especially in harsh and unpredictable conditions. Pushing myself to believe in growth that I couldn’t yet see, much less celebrate? A challenge. One that required all the scaffolding of trust and faith I could muster, often in the form of commiseration with equally stressed-out parenting friends, tending to their own ‘fields’, day in and day out.
My gratitude moment this morning took me to this reflective place because I remember. I remember feeling the shaky sense of parenting doom. I’ve done it wrong…I’ve messed her up…followed by fear. Fear that my missteps, oversights, overreactions, or indifference – all of the things that parents-as-humans struggle with daily – would render dear daughter as less than in some way.
I still have an occasional stress dream about a slice of parenting life where I wish I’d done better. Those persistent what-ifs. (Maybe I should surrender and submit now – to some convoluted research study about women with errant, overrun, obsessive minds? 😉)
Seeking slumber, last night I received a ricochet recollection instead. About farming. It came in hazy-like at first, appearing in the form of a slideshow…scenes from a trip to reclusive Aunt Bea’s farm when I was a kid.
Aunt Bea was a hellion for rebellion, one of the outcasts in the family. I suspect she was ostracized because she was one of the few elders in mom’s life who put up with zero bullshit. No guff from this rough-around-the-edges tough gal, Aunt Bea.
I remember being mesmerized by her plain-spoken shutdowns, pointedly directed at Sue – my mom. The recall episode last night was a moment – just a moment – when Aunt Bea pulled mom aside in a bean field. I think Aunt Bea knew we were coming, but it didn’t deter her from sticking to her routine as she moved with purpose, tending to farming chores before breaking for ‘supper’ (lunch). Mom was haughty and bossy toward Aunt Bea, frustrated that she wasn’t ready to receive us, lamenting that ‘poor Lisa’ (my disabled sister) needed to eat, stick to her schedule.
Wiping her brow with a dirty rag, Aunt Bea said something along the lines of, “Sue, you better toughen up and knock off the attitude. Parenting is hard, it’s like tilling crops and pulling weeds – it’s not for the drama queens and the faint-hearted. Right now, you’re both. If you think Lisa is hungry, go make her a snack or shut up and get to work, right here” as she motioned toward a garden bed, overrun with weeds.
This time traveling stuff when I should be sleeping stinks, but the memory of Aunt Bea shutting down Sue? It was a memory with a message, and it prompted delight. A highlight reel that woke me up, but I didn’t mind.
Aunt Bea’s been dead for years and I hadn’t thought about her…forever…but the memory of her showdown with mom was a good one. And her message, “parenting is hard, it’s not for drama queens” wasn’t exactly the comfort I sought, but I took it anyhow, with a grin and gratitude. Thank you, Aunt Bea.
Despite misgivings about my performance as a parent, I’m amazed by the talented human our dear daughter has become. She is fundamentally kind but more than that – I see her as someone who either innately, or through learned experience, knows to receive people as they are. An openness about differences which I see her utilizing in every aspect of her life. She is, as my dad would say, ‘good people’. Right-o. Very little else matters, including my obsessive rewinds about my parenting performance and guest appearances from crochety, but wise, old Aunt Bea.
And so…parenting = farming? Maybe so. The growing season is long and while the cloudy days may preoccupy my mind, it’s good to remember they’re mixed with sunny days of delight and love. Today is one of those days.
-Vicki ❤
Victoria Ponders 
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