Maybe it was when our 2-year-old said, "I like 'The Wire.'" Maybe it was when a song about sex became her favorite song. Maybe it was when I realized the three of us ate a whole package of Double Stuf Mint Creme Oreos in 60 hours (but in our defense, it was vacation). Whatever it was, I've been thinking lately that maybe we aren't exactly the best parents in the world.
I never said I was going to raise a Pollyanna; anyone can take one look at me and know there's no way I could even try. But I've been wondering if we could try a little harder. We made sure she didn't see "Eastern Promises" when we rented it last week. But we did let her watch "Halloween" on Halloween, after we realized she thought Michael Myers was a ghost. See, right there, TWO layers of bad parenting. Most of you don't even realize that is a POSITIVE statement. But it is. Harper loves ghosts. Around Halloween, she carried around a glowing skull and called him Buddy Argh. We thought it was cute, but I will admit that most well-adjusted 2-year-olds probably don't have a glowing skull as a best friend.
This wasn't a concern until this year. We're freaks; so what? Someone has to be. But I've been touring preschools recently, and I was starting to think that maybe we needed to dial back some of the freakishness. Because Harper's preschool teacher might not be down with Flight of the Conchord's "Business Time" being Harper's favorite song. She might want to discuss with me why Harper thinks milkshakes can talk (and if you watch "Aqua Teen Hunger Force," too, you know they CAN talk ... and cuss, and flip the bird, and cause mass hysteria in Boston).
I had almost talked myself into normalcy for the kid's sake. But then I finished reading "Julie & Julia" today. It's by a woman (named Julie) who decided to make every recipe in Julia Child's "Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Vol. 1" in the course of a year. Well, that's the simplistic description; the book's really about a lot more. It's partially about parenting, for example. I'll explain: Julie wrote a blog about her efforts during that year. At one point she broke down and decided to quit, and her readers tried to encourage her in various ways to continue the project. Except for one reader named Clarence, who said, "If only you wouldn't use f*** so much -- it adds nothing." Those of you who know me know I snorted here; I happen to be a big fan of "fuck," and I think it adds a lot depending on emphasis, placement and usage. Plus it's just fun to say. I've run into some Clarences in my time, so the episode stuck in my mind. Several pages later, Julie realized a little angst shouldn't derail her and she got back into the project. Julie's mom, who up until then hadn't understood the project, posted a comment on the blog thanking the readers for supporting Julie and making her (Julie's mom) realize why the project is good for Julie.
Some nice parenting, right? Well, that's not what I'm talking about. What I'm talking about is the postscript Julie's mom adds to her comment: "PS -- Clarence, who fucking cares what you think, anyway." It took my breath away. The comment was good parenting, but the postscript was complete acceptance coupled with a mama-bear instinct of swiping at anyone messing with her kid. I loved it. It struck me as funny and good and right. And I realized that THAT is the kind of parent I want to be (plus one who gets to say "fuck").
So if Harper loves profane milkshakes, well, that's just who she is. She might run into some Clarences who don't understand her, but that's why I'm around. I won't let people kick my kid just because they don't take her path. I will, however, refrain from buying more Oreos.
