A soft place to land

No matter how old your kids are, I don't think you're ever done learning how to parent.

My kids are 21 and 16 and we've managed our way through a lot of the hairy stuff. Not that older kids don't throw you curve balls (they do), but the issues, reactions and frustrations are different. While my friends with younger kids are dealing with battles of will over whether their grilled cheese should be cut into rectangles or triangles; whether they should wear shorts or long pants; or whether  or not they should absolutely try to go to the bathroom before they get in the car, my battles of will have more to do with whether or not I understand (I usually don't), whether or not I'm being reasonable (I'm usually not), or whether or not I'm being annoying (I usually am.)

Still, our responses to parenting challenges are universal, no matter how old your kids are, and I got schooled in just how true this is by my cousin this past weekend.

My cousin, Jessica, is amazing. She's the daughter of my mom's sister, and she's nine years younger than I am. Despite not being immediate family and the difference in our ages, Jessica has always been more of a sister than a cousin. She shares our family's goofy sense of humor, our universal lack of awareness as to when our "indoor voice" may be more appropriate, and our tendency to default to sarcasm. But she also has a graciousness and gentleness that softens what is edgy in the rest of us. She continues to remind me more and more of our grandma, which is probably the biggest compliment I could give a person. She is warm, loving, generous and kind - while posessing a wicked wit and a talent for giving unexpected one-liners that land me on the floor.

Jessica is Mom to two young girls, who are spirited and hilarious and well on their way to be forces to be reckoned with. The older is a "Dancing with the Stars" junkie who is more than happy to show you her moves - in her garage or in the middle of Trader Joe's. The younger is already a ball-buster. I spent some time with her over the weekend, and when I asked her why she was excited  about going into Kindergarten this year, she said, "Because I don't have to take a nap. Naps are stupid. I don't NEED a nap." (I didn't bother telling her that naps are more for her teacher than for her, but she'll figure that out some day.)

We were out and about on Saturday and one of the girls spied something she wanted. Jessica gently told her that no, we weren't here for that today. The lower lip came out and whining commenced. A second response the negative, and tears started flowing.

Our family believes in participative parenting, which is more or less means we butt in whether or not our assistance is warranted, needed or wanted. So my first inclination was to defend Jessica and tell my young cousin that what her mother said goes and if she didn't like it, she could spend the afternoon with her dad, who was doing "Boy Things." And I don't know why I thought that was a good idea, because whenever I have employed that strategy with my own children, the situation escalated from whiny tears to Apocalypse Now within seconds. I guess it's because it's a way to play the "I'm the parent and I'm in charge and that's that" card. It makes me feel better. It makes me feel in control. Sometimes it works. A lot of the time, it doesn't.

I stopped and closed my mouth when Jessica picked her daughter up and hugged her. No words were exchanged. Jessica didn't agree to what her daughter wanted - she just held her. Her daughter sniffed twice, hugged her mom, and jumped out of her arms within seconds. That was that.

I couldn't stop thinking about it today and I remember so vividly how frustrating it was when I was a child and I didn't feel like my parents understood what I was saying or what I was asking. It was the most agonizing thing in my little world when I felt like people didn't understand what was important to me. Whether you're six or 46, when you don't feel like people are listening, you feel unheard, unvalidated and sometimes, unloved.

As I watched Jessica hug her daughter, I felt her saying, "This is the way this is going to be, but I get that you're disappointed. I love you."

Look, I'm not saying parents should be their kids' friends. We're not. I'm also not saying we shouldn't be disciplining our kids. There are times when we absolutely have to call kids out on their behavior. We're parents, and we're around to make the tough choices, communicate them, and stand by them. But I remember how hard it is to be a kid - particularly in middle and high school when a lot of outside pressures had capacity to serve up a pretty messy shit sandwich just about every day.

We remember, but there's a difference between remembering and relating. We're not kids anymore, so we can't relate. But we can be empathetic so our kids have a soft place to land.

I'm going to remember Jessica's willingness to just stop and hug the next time I'm tempted to respond to my kids' disappointment with a terse, "That's the way it is sometimes, and that's part of growing up."

Kids know that. What they need to know, remember and constantly be reminded of, is that while disappointment is part of life, they are still loved.