No One Told You Parenting Was Gonna Be This Way

My heart broke recently.

I know parents aren't supposed to be their kids' best friend (I'm a high school English teacher and I've seen plenty of parents acting like their kids' friends to know how that can turn out), but I want to be there for my sons. I want them to like me and want to be around me.

That's why my heart shattered.

On a recent family adventure Mini-Me and I were chatting about friends:

"Who's your best friend?"

"My guitar…and mommy."

"Really! What about me?"

"No. Just my guitar...and mommy…and Abby (friend at the sitter's)…and Dave (Auntie K's boyfriend). But not you."

Ouch!

At least I'm not alone in my pain. On that same family adventure Mini-Me and his Auntie K got into a verbal sparring match over Dave. I'm not sure how it started, but this is how it ended (P.S. Auntie K's in her late twenties):

    "He's with me."

    "No, he's with me."

    "No! He's with me."

    "No, he's with me!"

    "He's my boyfriend and I can tell him to go!"

    "Dave. You're my friend. You can stay with me."

To make life as an Aunt worse for Karen, a few weeks later she and Dave were watching the boys while Rach and I enjoyed a night on the town. I bought Rach Berkeley Breathed's
Mars Needs Moms for Mother's Day. I highly recommend any book by Mr. Breathed, but this one is a favorite of ours. Before putting Mini-Me to bed, the gang was reading the final pages of this particular book and got to the line where the main character's mom looks at him and says, "I'll love you to the ends of the universe." At this point Mini-Me looked up from the colorful pages.

"I love you to the ends of the universe, Dave."

    "What about me?" asked Karen, hopefully.

    "No. Just Dave."

Always one to look for the positive, I'm glad my son knows what he wants. That's better than having the indecisive gene the rest of the family has. I hope that one's not contagious, actually.

Auntie K got a little victory today when Mini-Me didn't want us to drop her off after the trip to Wisconsin: "You can live in our basement!"

As for me, I never imagined it'd be my 2.11-year-old son who'd teach me how much love hurts. Here he is, though, breaking my heart, seemingly vying for the attention of everyone but me. I'd say at least there's The Wubster, but he's a hardcore momma's boy.

On the verge of hopelessness, I'm reminded of the days I take the boys to the sitter and am faced with the joy that comes from the pain of dropping off Mini-Me as he clings tightly to my neck and begs me to stay and play. He knows just how to claw at my heart and tell me that I still rate.