Thank God You’re Safe, Now I’d Like to Kill You

If there's one thing I can say about parenthood, it's that it evokes passion, both positive and negative. Your child is born and you fall in love. They take their first steps and you're as proud as if you did it yourself. They get a part in the school play and you fight for a spot to park your video camera.

Then one day, they screw up and you get mad. It's shocking the first time it happens. Not because you weren't expecting it, but because life was rolling along and you were so into this great kid and then, well, you find out they’re not perfect. The natural reaction is to blame someone else: “That Jimmy Smith is a bad influence. Billy would have never done this on his own.” And that works for a while, until Billy gets in trouble again and then the thought dawns on you that like everybody else, your kid is human. Eventually, you grow to accept this fact because I’m pretty certain that every kid will do something wrong more than once or twice in his lifetime.

The tricky part comes when two opposing passions collide all in one episode. Our son recently drove his car back to college. This was a huge deal only because getting there required driving through Chicago, the third largest city in the nation. To say I was nervous was an understatement. In fact, I spent several sleepless nights trying to think of and thereby eradicate any possible disasters along the way. I’m not ashamed to say that when he left, I cried. Two and half hours later he called to say that he had safely made it through Chicago and had arrived at his first destination. Relief flooded over me and I sent a few thank you prayers to the man upstairs.

About an hour later, our son called again. He had just been pulled over for a speeding ticket. A $125 speeding ticket. Rage began to replace relief. I reminded myself and my husband that he was safe. Poorer, but safe. Still, we couldn’t help but be pretty steamed that he had gotten himself a ticket that would likely raise our already high insurance rates. It was hard to balance these two very strong feelings.

As my kids get older, I find this happens a lot – this juggling of emotions. I’ve spent many nights worrying that kids are safe and praying for someone to watch over them, only to have that worry and fear turn into joy and then anger the minute they walk in the door 30 minutes after curfew. You want to hug them and strangle them all at once. It’s a bit unsettling.

I’m beginning to understand that bigger kids mean not only bigger problems, but bigger worries that translate into this swirling cauldron of muddled emotions. I’m trying to teach myself to be patient, give my kids the benefit of the doubt and have a great parent network that I can use to alleviate stress and keep tabs on my kids. It doesn't always work.

In my house, I’m sort of known as the queen of mercurial emotions. I can go from zero to rottweiler in six seconds or just by walking into a child’s bedroom. But this fine line between worry and fury is probably just as confusing to the child as it is to me. I find it amazing that I can easily love and loathe at the same time. It feels sort of....schizophrenic. Nevertheless, I'll try to keep things in perspective and be thankful for safety, health and cell phones.