My kids are six and eight years old. I am aware that this is considered the “sweet spot” in the whole parenting journey. This is the time when they’re independent, but still love to cuddle and hang out with me. Now they’re getting into cool stuff, have interesting conversations, while still believing all my lies – we can just enjoy each other’s company.
I know this and yet, I continuously choose to be overly concerned by how they’ve only eaten half the pizza on their plates, leaving the crust and all the actually nutritious bits – rather than adding my two cents to the debate over which is cooler: Nerf water guns or the rocket launcher looking ones from the dollar store.
Why do I care so much if my kid goes to every single one of his soccer practices (“Do you have any idea how much those classes cost?) Or if they’re late for Kindergarten? Really who gives a shit??? And yet, I continuously choose to make this the focus of my attention – over just enjoying their crazy and wonderful little minds.
The problem stems from my brain getting fucked whenever I try to be too responsible. The pressure to helicopter parent is turning me into someone I don’t like and that asshole is raising my children. I know this, but my awareness is so delayed, I only realize my missed opportunity after I’ve done it all wrong.
I am ready to admit that the only way to prevent myself from turning into a tight-assed, lame parent, lies in the responsible usage of marijuana. I have a legal prescription for medical-grade pot to address my anxiety and insomnia. But I find it even more effective as a parenting tool.
For those of you who are judging me or who are reaching for your phones to dial Social Services – consider this: what would it take for you to get on the floor with your six year old son to play dinosaurs versus lego ninjas – and actually really enjoy yourself? The answer for me is two long hits on a vaporizer.
“Mom? Is Jar Jar Binks bad?”
“Well,” I answer thoughtfully. Because now I’m his intellectual equal.
“He’s good in that he’s supposed to be a Jedi Master, but he’s bad because he sucks and his stupid character ruined the entire movie.”
We spend the rest of the evening lying on the floor philosophizing about Jedi powers and the proper and effective usage of them, while dinner dishes go unwashed and wet laundry moulders in the machine. It is also hands down my favourite night in recent memory.
These days, I’m experimenting with a new medicine. Its ingredients include: one thinly rolled joint, two cups of epson salts, some relaxing music, a copy of Vanity Fair and a hot tub of bathwater.
Last night, I barely wait for both kids to get into bed before I indulge. A feeling of deep relaxation and bliss begins to wash over my tired muscles and over-taxed brain when I feel someone in the room staring at me. Felix is standing just out of reach. Normally, I would start hollering threats. “Get to bed now or I’ll….(fill in the blank).” But he’s aware that the effects of my medicine have kicked in. He knows nothing he does will pull me out of the tub, so he sits on the toilet and asks,
“Mom, where does inspiration come from?”
In my current state (hell, in any state) I am powerless to ignore this line of questioning. So we start to talk. Suddenly it’s 11:30pm on a school night and I realize that little fucker has totally played me.
Normally I would be mad, but I’m pleasantly medicated and so I decide just to enjoy. And anyhow it’s my husband’s turn to get the kids ready for school the next day.
What’s working for you right now??