Trevor is knee-deep in Cub Scout popcorn sales right now. I have actually been amazed at how much he's been able to sell, since we don't really know very many people to approach and we're not the kind to run out going door-to-door. We won't make the $600 goal, but we're over half-way there already (after two weeks of selling, mostly to family and people at our church).
So, last night I went to a storage shed to pick up some more product from the director of the sales, a woman who calls herself the "Popcorn Queen." They are very serious about this fund-raiser. I think she and her husband and sons have sold around $1000 each week. They will be getting the cool prizes. Us ... not so much.
As I checked-out, she informed me that they have a nick-name for Trevor. They call him "Blow-torch Boy." I asked why and she said that they came to our house to sell popcorn two years ago (when Trevor was 6) and Trevor came walking out of the garage carrying a blow-torch, followed by his father. (When I mentioned this to my husband, he remembered the day and said that they were just getting ready to start a bon-fire.) I went on to tell her that we have another blow-torch story for Trevor as well.
From the time I started driving home and all through the night, I have been kicking myself for sharing the extra story. Will she report us to someone for neglectful parenting? Will my children be taken away from me because he slipped out of my realm of supervision for a moment and gave us such an intense scare?
I was agonizing over my parental failures. In fact, I've been reading a book about raising "resilient, capable, caring kids" (book review soon to follow). This book offers a myriad of suggestions of ways to turn everyday events into teachable moments and I can see how far I fall from that ideal. We are not bringing up conversation starters every time we turn around. We are not doing our best to raise well-rounded, responsible kids. We are not teaching our children "the joy of sustainable living." I know that we could be doing a better job. I know that we have failed our kids in so many ways.
But, it doesn't help to get down on myself and to berate every little failure I have made in the parenting department. The blow-torch incident wasn't the first time I've failed to provide enough supervision and it probably won't be the last. Frankly, it's hard to supervise so thoroughly that nothing harmful ever befalls your child without hovering like a helicopter parent.
Now, my job is to stop being so obsessed with how other parents might be judging me and to focus on doing it better, if I can. I will continue to read books with parenting insights (even when I think the writers go over the top a bit and take examples to extremes). I will continue to recognize my failures and to make efforts to correct those failures. But I will also try to cut myself some slack. What parent doesn't make failures in this all-important role from time to time. No parent is perfect.
As we reflected back on the blow-torch story, we marvelled again at how blessed we are that God chose to protect Trevor from his curiousity and errant behavior, and from our failure to supervise better and keep dangerous tools properly stored. We are indeed fortunate that nothing worse happened.
I still have a niggling worry in the back of my head over what others think of me, but I'm trying hard to turn the worry into proactive steps to guide and direct my sons in a better way. I'm human. I fail in so many ways. Thankfully, as others have said, "God's not finished with me yet," and when I do fail, He very often fills in the gaps. (Here's another blogger who really nailed what I'm trying to say.)
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