Parenting
“Boys!” I shouted instinctively. “Where’s my chair?”
My younger son, Jake, who’s 10, yelled back, “It’s in my blanket fort! I neeeed it for my blanket fort!”
Let’s unpack this situation. When I approach my desk, I am laser-focused. I’m ready to tackle bills, complete work, or write something important. I’ve pulled myself away from whatever more entertaining activity was calling my name (seriously, have you guys heard about thredUP?), and I’m determined. I mean business as I stride toward that desk!
Now, I may be a 43-year-old mother to two growing boys, but a part of me remains stuck in my big sister days. All I wanted back then was to be left in peace with my books, to find my belongings where I left them, and to not have pesky little boys messing with my stuff. Why are you even in my room?! Ugh!
When my kids were younger, my inner big sister didn’t surface too often. They were small and mostly dependent on me, either in my lap or within my sight. Sure, they could be annoying, but they typically didn’t rearrange furniture or sneak away with my things. Now that my boys have grown strong enough to disrupt my space in genuinely bewildering ways, that 14-year-old version of me has come roaring back—and she’s not happy.
“Listen, kiddo, while I understand you think that chair is essential for your blanket fort, I need it for my butt. I have bills to pay and work to finish. So please return that chair to me, and no more taking furniture from my room. That’s just not acceptable.”
Ironically, all the other chairs in the house were also in that fort, but apparently, my little office chair was vital to its structure. In making him return it, I felt like I had ruined his world and become the worst mother ever.
Honestly, that’s fine by me. Someone has to take the fall for this parenting gig. I’ll gladly accept that title so it won’t be you. You’re welcome!
I also discovered that my free weights were somehow crucial to this elaborate fort. I found that out when I went to lift them—yes, these weights are a whopping 8 pounds and coated in vibrant plastic, making them excellent for blanket-fort stability.
And don’t even get me started on my favorite giant beach towel. That towel is no longer mine; it now belongs to some wet child who insists on wrapping himself in it. I even bought another one with giant pink flowers, thinking none of the boys would want it. But guess what? My reward for teaching them about gender equality? They couldn’t care less about the pink floral design. Great, now we have two giant towels—just perfect!
Recently, while I was on a business trip, my husband took our older son, Ben, to get his learner’s permit. He even posted a picture on social media of our sweet boy behind the wheel of my car.
My car. Driving. My. Car.
“Awesome job, buddy! I’m really proud of you!” I texted my son that night.
“Thanks for taking him. So why on earth can’t he drive your car?” I texted my husband.
They didn’t reply. I’m pretty sure they were either in the blanket fort or driving my car around.
This article was originally published on July 19, 2015.
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In summary, parenting can often feel like a battle between your personal space and your children’s endless creativity. As I navigate this chaos, I embrace my role as the big sister, ready to reclaim my belongings while managing the delightful, albeit frustrating, antics of my sons.