Middle school is a weird, weird time. Physiologically, things are changing practically by the minute. a middle school kid (MSK) can be happy and on top of the world at one moment, and the next moment, he is upset about things unknown. Hormones are raging with little to no control over them. Bodies are changing, and to an MSK, that's gross and full of ewwwww. It's strange for parents, too, to watch their MSK grow taller with bigger feet and funnier smells. Emotionally, being an MSK is a complete crap shoot from day to day. MSK's spend hours at school trying to navigate the shark-infested waters of moving from class to class, new teachers and their expectations, and worst of all, friendships with other MSK's. Although they don't mean to be, they're fickle creatures who would rather have the blessing of the crowd than the blessing of their own hearts. I mean, I know plenty of adults who do the same, so it's not a big shock that kids have a hard time keeping things balanced. They don't quite yet understand that they don't have to befriend everyone even though that is what they are taught in the younger grades. Being cordial and being a friend aren't the same things, but MSK's are still figuring that out. Emotions aside, MSK's get beat up mentally, too, with all of the work they have to do at school every day. There aren't a lot of second chances, and in order to be successful, they have to be really organized for each class: different folders, different notebooks, different requirements for six or seven teachers a day.
This is where things get difficult for the parents of MSK's. How much do we help? How often do we rescue them? How hard do we push and when do we step back and watch them fall because it's all for the greater good? There is no simple answer because I can tell you I sure haven't figured it out. It's a delicate balance, being the parent of an MSK. We are always there for our kids to listen, to hug, to sympathize, and to help: it's increasingly clear, though, that this is the time they have to learn some things all by themselves. If you haven't been there yet, allow me to tell you that it's hard. That lesson is hard for the MSK and hard for the parent. I don't want my kids to fail because watching them be hurt in any way, shape, or form breaks my heart. What I have come to realize, though, is that someone is going to teach them lessons in life, lessons about getting things done on time, doing what is expected of them, and doing things alone. I would rather my kids learn those things from me than from someone else who isn't as invested in them as I am or someone who doesn't care.
And so begins the tightrope walk. As the parent of an MSK, I only take one small step at a time before stopping to assess the situation. If the MSK has a missing assignment, do I give a lecture or simply remind the kid that zeros will hurt them in the long run? I take another small step as I listen to how mean some of the other MSK's are being at school. Do I encourage my kid to be kind or do I tell her to walk away from nonsense and drama? Maybe I say nothing because what she really wants is to be heard, not to get advice she neither wants nor needs. Another wobbly step and we're not understanding the math homework. If I help, she gets frustrated; if I don't help, she gets frustrated. I take a tinier step this time, and the math frustration has turned into hysterical laughter because I don't remember my order of operations. I attempt a bigger step, but I am stalled when trying to help both kids with homework and not doing a great job being stretched between the two. That's another piece of the puzzle, too. I have a younger kid who is watching how his dad and I deal with the MSK, and he is learning from all of this as well. That just serves to add weight to the pole I am using to balance myself on the rope.
My feet want to slip off the rope, and I can feel my entire body listing to one side. I know I can't stop walking, though. This is a tightrope I have been walking since the day my first child was born, and when I look ahead of me, it's stretched out as far as the eye can see. I don't feel weary even though I know it's going to be a long, long walk. I can see the fruit of my efforts , though, when the MSK unloads the dishwasher just to help out or offers to bring me some applesauce when I'm not feeling well. I can see it when she shows her brother how to make an online comic because she knows he loves to create his own. I see it when she can laugh at a mistake and realize that failure isn't the end of the world but an opportunity to learn and grow.
We have a long road ahead, but it doesn't have to be a rough road. This is where the parenting gets tough and sometimes it's the hardest thing I have ever done. There are some days when I am exhausted, and I don't think I have the energy to say "no" one more time. That's my job, though, like it or not. My MSK might occasionally (or more often) wish for a new parent or sob in her room, but I'll be damned if I let anyone else do my job. So if you ever see me with my head in my hands in the pillow aisle at HomeGoods, it's okay. I might have temporarily lost my balance, but I'm planning to get right back on.
