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| At Atria's |
I have SO many incomplete blog posts that it's laughable. They're incomplete because I'll start writing them and then life happens. They're incomplete because in between my inspiration for the post and editing it, I realized that I had a sponsored post to complete. They're incomplete because some national event took precedence. They're incomplete because I realized that we needed milk, eggs, or some other essential and I just forgot about it. There are so many explanations about why they're incomplete that I could devote an entire series of posts to that. Instead, I'd like to share a post from several years ago about how my kids messed up my grandmother's birthday dinner...
My family has more complexities than the NATO peace treaty. Truthfully, like no nonsense, or bull s---t At one point in my life, I had nine living grandparents. It would take a long time to explain how that happened, but trust me. That is a true statement. Well on one Monday in 2016 (August 1st to be exact), it was my last living grandmother's birthday. So, I arranged a dinner for us to celebrate her even though I had worked all day. I was excited for her to enjoy her favorite meal of crab cakes, have some cake, and have a peaceful, enjoyable time. Unfortunately, my kids did not get the memo.
Kids Will Be Kids, And That Is OK
Instead of celebrating, they decided to complain. And they asserted their independence like only they can. They also questioned the entire thing. Questions that still need to be answered: "Why aren't we at home. Why are we still here?! Is Daddy coming?! Can I have dessert even though I f---ed the entire event? And, again, "Why are we still here?!" We struggled to eat peacefully, sing "happy birthday," and even take a photo.
I remember being so frustrated at the time. I remember questioning why I put so much effort into making memories when they are often not perfect. Recently, I decided to stop. The myth of the ungrateful child haunted me through my entire childhood. It was as if I couldn't do enough to express my gratitude.
And yet, as I remember it, despite being accused of being ungrateful, I felt very grateful for my family. I knew that I was a kid, lacked a job and insight, and was completely ill-equipped to navigate life without the direction of my grown-ups. I am not entirely sure what I was doing to convey my so-called lack of gratitude. However, as the person being accused of it, I can attest that the characterization of my feelings was untrue and I didn't like it.
Parents and Children Communicate Differently
Just the other day, I found myself accusing my kids of being ungrateful. I rattled off a list of things I had done for them and paid for in an effort to inspire different behavior that I felt indicated a lack of gratitude. They looked at me in confusion and said, "Mommy, I AM GRATEFUL!" It stopped me in my tracks. I realized that how children express gratitude might be different than how parents would like to receive gratitude. Perhaps, we need a translator to help us communicate with one another. Until I identify if that is a real job, I will try to reflect on what I can control--listening with my entire being and not just my ears. Perhaps, my children are expressing gratitude in ways that I ignore--through hugs, cuddles, and smiles. Perhaps gratitude from a child looks like a smile, sounds like a laugh, and is shown by deeds as much as by words. And maybe, just maybe, my brood is grateful and appreciates me.
Here's hoping!
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