Some Early Errors
I did a dumb thing the other day, I asked my daughter, now in her 20’s, if she had any examples of parenting mistakes that would be entertaining for this column?
“Okay! Where’s some paper?”
“Well, you don’t have to do it right this second, you’ll need time to think.”
“Oh no, I have plenty of material.”
“You do not!”
Catherine, (musingly) “I wonder....should I arrange them by subject or chronologically? Or maybe by least to most emotionally damaging? or levels of embarrassment?”
“You don’t really need to....”
“I think I’d better create a spreadsheet.”
Hmph! Just for that I’ll also point out a few of the errors she’s made over the years. One of which is making smart aleky comments while I still have time to write her out of my will.
As it turned out I didn’t even need her input this time around, because depressingly, 800-ish words of errors doesn’t even get me up to six months.
We started messing up before she was even born when we picked out a name, Catherine. We both thought it was a beautiful name and one of her grandmothers was also named Catherine. We thought that later, if she wanted, she could shorten it to Cathy, Kate, or Katie all cute. What we didn’t think of was, of course, what she actually did with her name, which was to shorten it to Cat. This would be fine, except that her last name is Byrd. With a name like Cat Byrd she should be a jazz musician, except that we also failed to give her a saxophone.
The other problem is that Catherine is apparently the wrong name altogether. We should have named her Elizabeth. A surprising number of teachers, coaches, and church leaders over the years have instinctively called her Elizabeth, and it’s still happening. We have no idea why, but this has happened so often that she answers to it.
But, back to the beginning. When Catherine/Elizabeth/Cat/ Whatshername finally arrived her first real smile soon followed on schedule. It was the best thing I’d ever seen. But was this smile given to ME, her mother who had sacrificed so much? Or her father who bent over backward daily to make her happy? It was not. Her first precious smile was given to a shiny red valentines balloon. She really loved that balloon. Me? Whatever. But that’s ok. I just want her to be happy, and I’m certainly not the kind of person who would bring that up in public for the rest of her life.
Next, was a joint failure. Mine, for investing so much time, and hers for failing to be enchanted with the results. Some fancy parenting magazine printed an article about how baby’s brains are stimulated by high contrast black and white geometric shapes, and I should purchase this kit of shapes for a huge amount of money and put the shapes where Catherine could easily see them. If I didn’t, I’d stunt her mental development and then don’t blame us if she turns out to be a serial killer. I might not have the quote exactly right, but that was the drift for sure. Well, I couldn’t see any reason to pay a fortune for such simple pictures. So, I got some card stock and a black marker and made my own set of cards. I took the time to measure and really do them right and the end result was pretty professional if I do say so myself.
Proudly, I put one on the changing table at just the right eye height, and laid Catherine down.
“Look at the special picture, Catherine!”
Catherine glanced over and went back to staring at the blank white ceiling.
“Looky! It’s a squaaaaare!”
Grunt.
“Ok, how about this one? It’s a triangle! With FOUR triangles inside it!
Nothing.
Over the next few weeks, I keep trying with all kinds of pictures. No luck. She simply preferred looking at literally anything else and even though she couldn’t talk yet, she was plenty expressive, and it was easy to read her thoughts in her eyes.
“We have a circle today! Isn’t it neat?!”
“uh.”
“Look here kid. I spent a lot of time on these stupid shapes, and I expect you to be mentally stimulated.”
“Are you mentally stimulated?” was her unspoken but clear response.
“The least you could do is gurgle with delight.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
We stared at each other.
“Is Mr. Balloon still around?” she asked, “He’s mentally stimulating,”
“I’m right here, how about me?”
She eyed me critically, “I think Mr. Balloon is floating by the sofa.”
Failing to learn from my mistakes, I continued to try to help her brain grow in all
kinds of ways over the years. That sounds like a good thing, but have you ever thought through what you’ll get if you help your child develop their brain? You get a child with a well-developed brain, that’s what you get--as in a smarter brain than the one you’ve got. I mean, have you ever tried to play scrabble with Catherine? I don’t recommend it. I don’t think the people who write those magazines know anything about kids at all.
“Okay! Where’s some paper?”
“Well, you don’t have to do it right this second, you’ll need time to think.”
“Oh no, I have plenty of material.”
“You do not!”
Catherine, (musingly) “I wonder....should I arrange them by subject or chronologically? Or maybe by least to most emotionally damaging? or levels of embarrassment?”
“You don’t really need to....”
“I think I’d better create a spreadsheet.”
Hmph! Just for that I’ll also point out a few of the errors she’s made over the years. One of which is making smart aleky comments while I still have time to write her out of my will.
As it turned out I didn’t even need her input this time around, because depressingly, 800-ish words of errors doesn’t even get me up to six months.
We started messing up before she was even born when we picked out a name, Catherine. We both thought it was a beautiful name and one of her grandmothers was also named Catherine. We thought that later, if she wanted, she could shorten it to Cathy, Kate, or Katie all cute. What we didn’t think of was, of course, what she actually did with her name, which was to shorten it to Cat. This would be fine, except that her last name is Byrd. With a name like Cat Byrd she should be a jazz musician, except that we also failed to give her a saxophone.
The other problem is that Catherine is apparently the wrong name altogether. We should have named her Elizabeth. A surprising number of teachers, coaches, and church leaders over the years have instinctively called her Elizabeth, and it’s still happening. We have no idea why, but this has happened so often that she answers to it.
But, back to the beginning. When Catherine/Elizabeth/Cat/ Whatshername finally arrived her first real smile soon followed on schedule. It was the best thing I’d ever seen. But was this smile given to ME, her mother who had sacrificed so much? Or her father who bent over backward daily to make her happy? It was not. Her first precious smile was given to a shiny red valentines balloon. She really loved that balloon. Me? Whatever. But that’s ok. I just want her to be happy, and I’m certainly not the kind of person who would bring that up in public for the rest of her life.
Next, was a joint failure. Mine, for investing so much time, and hers for failing to be enchanted with the results. Some fancy parenting magazine printed an article about how baby’s brains are stimulated by high contrast black and white geometric shapes, and I should purchase this kit of shapes for a huge amount of money and put the shapes where Catherine could easily see them. If I didn’t, I’d stunt her mental development and then don’t blame us if she turns out to be a serial killer. I might not have the quote exactly right, but that was the drift for sure. Well, I couldn’t see any reason to pay a fortune for such simple pictures. So, I got some card stock and a black marker and made my own set of cards. I took the time to measure and really do them right and the end result was pretty professional if I do say so myself.
Proudly, I put one on the changing table at just the right eye height, and laid Catherine down.
“Look at the special picture, Catherine!”
Catherine glanced over and went back to staring at the blank white ceiling.
“Looky! It’s a squaaaaare!”
Grunt.
“Ok, how about this one? It’s a triangle! With FOUR triangles inside it!
Nothing.
Over the next few weeks, I keep trying with all kinds of pictures. No luck. She simply preferred looking at literally anything else and even though she couldn’t talk yet, she was plenty expressive, and it was easy to read her thoughts in her eyes.
“We have a circle today! Isn’t it neat?!”
“uh.”
“Look here kid. I spent a lot of time on these stupid shapes, and I expect you to be mentally stimulated.”
“Are you mentally stimulated?” was her unspoken but clear response.
“The least you could do is gurgle with delight.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
We stared at each other.
“Is Mr. Balloon still around?” she asked, “He’s mentally stimulating,”
“I’m right here, how about me?”
She eyed me critically, “I think Mr. Balloon is floating by the sofa.”
Failing to learn from my mistakes, I continued to try to help her brain grow in all
kinds of ways over the years. That sounds like a good thing, but have you ever thought through what you’ll get if you help your child develop their brain? You get a child with a well-developed brain, that’s what you get--as in a smarter brain than the one you’ve got. I mean, have you ever tried to play scrabble with Catherine? I don’t recommend it. I don’t think the people who write those magazines know anything about kids at all.