“Jamie, what event are you signing up for?” A fellow parent at preschool waved a clipboard my way as I hung my son’s backpack. I’ve mastered the art of slipping in and out of the school without making eye contact to avoid this very moment. But today, I knew I couldn’t dodge it. Taking a deep breath, I smiled and replied, “I’ll be signing up for wine and cheese in my pajamas, Sarah.” Her puzzled look gave me the chance to escape down the hallway.
I used to be the parent who volunteered for everything! Until parenting morphed into a chaotic race filled with endless event planning. Every week, I receive emails about preschool happenings. Carnivals! Tea parties! Story time with live owls! Perhaps my standards are simply too low. As a child, we didn’t have much money. We made mud pies in old tins and even taught our foreign exchange student how to play poker with Skittles. Occasionally, we splurged on $2 matinee movies. And we spent hours outside.
Upon dropping my son off at preschool, I often see a signup sheet for the latest “event” that our kids will barely recall. The list is filled with names of parents juggling multiple jobs and children, all striving to keep up.
At one point, I thought I was just being lazy. The thought of attending raffle day and driving back to the school after a long day of work felt like my own personal hell. By evening, I wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed with some pretzels.
Meanwhile, other parents were showing up with homemade goodies, ready to create magical moments for their kids. There I was, sipping wine in my backyard while my son explored the wonders of nature, wondering if I was failing by letting him play independently instead of orchestrating a grand “experience” for him.
When did parenting become an unending guilt trip aimed at making every moment extraordinary? Growing up seemed so much simpler. I was fortunate to have a loving family life. We shared meals, visited parks, and sometimes my mom even let us jump into a huge puddle of mud.
I remember the joy of drinking green milk on St. Patrick’s Day and sliding down stairs on cardboard while my mom folded laundry. I recall running through sprinklers and decorating cookies during the holidays, and the epic food fight my mom let us have. I remember feeling loved and, yes, even bored at times. My mom would say things like, “Go outside,” or “Figure it out.” She was her own person and seemed genuinely happy.
Yet, something has shifted. When my son first began preschool, I felt like a personal assistant, hunting for raffle items and coordinating playdates. I was sewing costumes and creating Pinterest-inspired birthday parties, believing this was what made childhood special and how my son would truly feel my love.
It finally hit me how absurd our schedule had become. My son was listlessly wandering through an aquarium while I was frantically asking, “Are you having fun?!” He looked less than thrilled.
That evening, I collapsed on the couch and resolved to change things. My son doesn’t need a packed schedule to have a fulfilling childhood. I don’t need to spend every moment worrying about whether he’s having fun. He will remember the love, I reassured myself as I walked past yet another signup sheet at school the next day.
If being a “half-assed” parent means I can be a fully engaged person, then so be it. After countless trips to the children’s museum, the joy had faded. “Having fun” had become just another task to manage—like laundry or dinner.
Now, we do less. Sometimes he’s bored, spending hours outside with a kitchen spoon and a bucket of water while I immerse myself in a book. Occasionally, I still feel that pang of guilt when we haven’t “done anything” for a day or two. But then, as I help him fold laundry, I realize he will remember the love.
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Summary
In this piece, Jamie Thompson reflects on the pressures of modern parenting and the importance of embracing a more relaxed approach. She recalls her own upbringing filled with love and simplicity, contrasting it with today’s culture of over-scheduling. Ultimately, she concludes that her child will remember the love shared, rather than the endless activities.
Keyphrase: relaxed parenting
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