Dear Son – A Letter from your Scatterbrained Mom

Dear Skywalker,

Sometimes I feel like I’m not winning at this game. It’s been a bit chaotic at our house this week and everyone seems a little off their A-game. The good news is that we’re getting a puppy, so that will make everything calmer and easier!

It seems so simple on Day One...
It seems so simple on Day One…

I was late to pick you up at the bus stop yesterday because I got busy and absorbed on a phone call (while Fozzie played with electronics to distract him – bonus points). One of the very kind neighborhood moms was getting ready to bring you home when I came flying up the street, your shoeless and confused brother in tow. This morning, the teacher at carpool shook her head almost imperceptibly when we realized we’d forgotten your backpack at dropoff. Maybe I imagined it. But who could blame her, right? It’s so simple. I was supposed to drop off two things: kid, backpack. Ten minutes before, I was so busy yelling at the two of you to quit messing around and get in the freaking car already that I didn’t notice we didn’t have it. Another parenting win.

Looking around, it seems like the Good Mommy prize goes to the organized and patient. I am neither. Not at ALL. Before you, I was always okay with this about myself. I could lose my patience on occasion, apologize, and then realize I was under too much stress. Now I know I’m under too much stress but that’s not changeable, so I’m just working on counting to ten instead. [Aside: To whoever decided counting to ten was a good way not to explode at your kids: I hate you. I’d like to tear your eyeballs out. That’s healthy, right?] Or I’d lock my keys in the car, lose my purse somewhere, forget to charge my phone, and turn up to everything 10-15 minutes late. After a moment’s frustration, I’d sigh and smile at myself. Give a little sitcom shrug. “That’s just Manda!” It was all very cute.

Now that my disorganization affects you and Fozzie, though, and how people see my ability to parent you, it’s harder to shrug off. I’ve always seen my ADD-type brain as an asset, a part of my personality that allows me to see things in way that others can’t. It never bothered me that I wasn’t top of my class, despite all the “potential” that teachers and my father told me I wasn’t living up to. When I see notes come home from your teacher that you’re struggling with many of the same things I did (do), it breaks my heart for you and makes me sort of weirdly proud all at once. The challenges you are having now are inconvenient, because our schools were not designed for smart kids who think differently than other kids. Our schools were not designed for kids who don’t always fit in or who learn in different ways. Kids who need to be reminded in Kindergarten to go to the bathroom because your brain gets so busy it doesn’t talk to your body all the time. Kids who are creative, innovative and see things that others don’t because they are beyond ordinary.

Some schools try to “accommodate” kids like you are (and I was, and your uncle ten times as much). They test and pull you out into special classes and make you feel like something is wrong with you because of the way your brain works. But accommodation isn’t the answer. Redesign is the answer. Creating a new environment with flexible standards and empowered teachers is the answer, and as much as I’m able I’m going to fight for that for you, even though I often feel powerless to do so.

But I can’t fight for you if I feel ashamed of myself.

Yes, okay. I’m the mom who is going to forget that it’s Whatever Whatever Day at school and you were supposed to bring in BLANK from home, because apparently preschool and Kindergarten would be dull as hell if we didn’t do a special project each week requiring parents to send something in (which in my case usually means scrambling to the store or the closet the night before, or the morning of, to get or do or fake whatever it is).

I’m the mom who will forget you were supposed to be picked up early or at a different place, leaving some poor teacher or coach and you stranded together wondering what kind of idiot your mom is. I promise I will also forget to pack your lunch or replenish your lunch money. I’m going to careen — carefully — into the school parking lot on two wheels and fumes left in the gas tank, trying to get you in before the bell rings because I’m still in pajamas. There will be many runs to school because one of us has neglected to pack your gym clothes, your saxophone, your bas relief map of Europe.  At some point you’re going to show up for Picture Day wearing a ratty t-shirt and for P.E. with the wrong shoes. I can’t even imagine how many hats, jackets, scarves and mittens we will lose between us.

But listen to me, love: these things don’t matter. Teachers and school administrators and other parents can make their plans, and when we don’t measure up, they can look at me and you any way they want. All that has nothing to do with how much I love you or how devoted I am to seeing you grow up smart, loving, responsible and successful on your own terms. None of this is your destiny, no matter how many teachers write negative notes on your work because they couldn’t get a FIVE YEAR OLD BOY to sit still and listen to an assignment one day.

You are brilliant and talented, and so is your little brother. Both of you are the kinds of people other people will want to be around and work with for the rest of your lives. In twenty years, when you are out of college or have skipped college and are doing whatever it is you choose to do (this morning the plan was for you to be a security guard at Disney world and I say go for it), you will be amazing at it because you’ll choose something that plays to your strengths and passions, not because you busted your ass to be like everyone else. Like I do sometimes. Like I need to do less.

Average is fine. We are all average in some ways and exceptional in others. But don’t you dare let anyone shame you into thinking that because your exceptional brain works differently or at a different pace than other kids, you are somehow less. Average is nothing to strive for, son, no matter what anyone or any standardized test says. Our schools are set up to push all kids toward the middle, which is a damn shame, and to push them out of childhood and into “meeting expectations” from the earliest days. That’s even worse.

Now that I’m a parent with kids in schools, I’ve realized that I feel pushed toward meeting expectations, too. Maybe pushed by other adults, but mostly by myself and my INFINITE desire to do the right thing for my kids. But you know what? I don’t need to feel this way. I’m a mostly good person and at least a marginally competent parent; but one who loves you fiercely, supports you unconditionally and will fight for you — and sometimes with you — to help you find your way in the world. I love your dad and we respect each other, even when we disagree. We love your brain, we love you, and we’re always going to try to help you be the best version of yourself, not a score on a test or a name on a homework sheet. We aren’t giving you a perfect home, but our home is stable in its imperfection; it’s a safe and loving and loud place where your needs will always be met and a few of your wants, too. We all get mad, we sometimes yell and scream, we always apologize, and we try to look for a better way together. These are the things that matter.

Some moms are super-organized and cook every night, have things labeled and monogrammed and never miss a meeting or a special day. Some of them work outside the home and some don’t, but you can just tell when you meet them they’re on top of things. They have pinterest boards to organize their pinterest boards. Those are great moms. You’re going to meet a lot of them at soccer games and karate and drama practice, and you should make friends with them if you can. They will always have the good snacks. They’ll bring you home when I get caught up in a meeting or a story and manage to forget you.

Some of us moms are less organized, more distracted, and always behind the 8-ball of life. In our anxiety to make sure we’re taking good care of you, we sometimes compare ourselves to the organized, patient moms, and that is a depressing analysis. Add a disapproving look from a stranger in the grocery store or a shake of the head from a teacher at carpool, and we can make ourselves miserable. We assume because others don’t offer us grace when we come up short, it must mean we don’t deserve it. We translate little shortcomings into big, fat failure.

But I can’t do that. Because if I’m a failure that means you might see yourself that way, too. And that is NOT happening. Not on my watch.

Be yourself, kid. It’s trite, but it’s true and it’s something I haven’t modeled well for you lately. I wish I could say I will model it perfectly from here forward, but what I’m going to do is my best. That’s all any of us can ask of ourselves or each other.

With all the love in my imperfect heart,

Mommy

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I’m M.J. (Manda) Pullen, an author and mom in the Atlanta, Georgia area. I blog about writing, publishing, motherhood, health, psychology and whatever else strikes me in the moment. Or whatever I can remember to do.

My books include The Marriage Pact series, a trilogy of funny, semi-realistic Contemporary Romance/Women’s Fiction novels coming Fall 2015 from Thomas Dunne/St. Martin’s Press in association with Macmillan Entertainment. If you enjoyed this entry, please follow along or join my email list.  Thanks for reading!

MJ Pullen

M.J. Pullen is a distracted writer and the mom of two boys in Roswell, Georgia, where she is absolutely late for something important right now. Her books include quirky romantic comedies and playful women's fiction. She blogs erratically with writing advice, random observations, and reflections on raising very loud kids and dogs. Join her Distracted Readers newsletter list for updates, free content, giveaways and more.

2 thoughts on “Dear Son – A Letter from your Scatterbrained Mom”

  1. Robin StevensRobin Stevens

    Manda, you are so on the mark! Your boys are extremely fortunate to have you as their mother.

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