Parenting isn't always black and white...

Sometimes it’s slimy, green, and polka-dotty… 


For the last week here in central Ohio, we’ve enjoyed a regular old-fashioned snowy winter.  It started with biting, bitter cold and wind, followed by a few days of falling white stuff, and now we’re blessed with a picturesque winter wonderland of a backyard, complete with white drifts, snow-covered limbs on all of the trees, and a solidly frozen creek (in most places).  


Despite being twelve and fifteen-going-on-sixteen, two of my girls grabbed sleds and headed out back to play today, like they did when they were half this age. My youngest built a mini snowman and then managed to break up some of the ice in the creek.  She dragged her “trophy” - the biggest chunk - up to the deck to display it on the railing.  



The quest for that ice trophy brought back a memory from five and a half years ago.  And that’s what I’m going to share with you today.


It was early October of 2018, and the warm weather was still holding out during the days, but the evenings were pleasant and perfect for spending outside.  On this particular Tuesday, in addition to the usual housework, I had spent my day potty-training a puppy, cleaning up from baking cupcakes (a softball game snack) the day before, and washing the ballpark clay out of everyone’s jerseys.  When the girls got home from school that afternoon my littlest - then seven - headed outside to play.  A few minutes later she came charging back into the house to declare (at the top of her lungs) that there was a huge bullfrog in the creek and she was going to catch him.


Mind you, there were always several frogs in the creek in those days.  Most of them were tiny and speedy, and the larger ones were smart enough to only ever be heard, and never seen.  The whole near-side bank was an overhanging paradise of hiding places for frogs, crayfish, and even a mink on occasion.  And in the year and a half that we had lived at the house, none of my girls had ever managed to actually catch one of the frogs.  

  

So I watched her grab the creaking net from the closet and a pair of mud boots and disappear back outside without thinking much of it.  Apparently, she thought of nothing else for the next several hours.  Homework was completed by the older girls, as were chores.  Dinner was prepared.  Only then did we convince my frog hunter to abandon her obsession long enough to eat.  She dashed back outside as soon as she was allowed.  Clean-up was completed and lunches were packed for the next day.  By bath time I had to make the great hunter surrender her net to wash up.  


I bathed more creek out of that kid than I would’ve thought possible for the size of her body.  I combed her hair, helped her lotion up, and provided her with fresh, clean pajamas.  When she was done I sent her back downstairs to visit with Daddy, who was now home from work.  She asked if she could go out back and sit with him on the bridge, where he was enjoying some fresh evening air after a long day in an office.  I told her that was fine, and reminded her to stay clean. 


I can imagine that the seasoned parents among you can see where this is going, and I probably should’ve seen it too, but I was tired.  Cut me some slack, okay?


Not five minutes after she went outside I received a text from my husband that contained only this image. 



This was one of those (many) moments where parenting ceased being black and white, right or wrong, a clear path to the proper response.  In fact, I abandoned the grayscale altogether at this moment and experienced the full rainbow of emotions. 


I was shocked that she’d actually caught that frog!  Also, that’s a BIG frog!  (she wasn’t lying)

I was proud of her determination, and pleased that she’d rather be outside than watching TV…

But I was so frustrated at the fact that my bath-fresh kid was wearing creek water yet again right after I told her to stay clean.  

And I was admittedly angry with my husband for allowing her to do so, while also happy that the two of them got to experience that victory together.  

I was certain she was very excited.  The frog looked less excited.


🤣


Should I tell her good job?  Should I scold her and remind her that she was supposed to stay clean?  Was I excited? (yes)  Was I mad? (yes)  All of the parenting books in the world were letting me down (something that happened often, I’ll have you know.)  What was my next move?


Whatever it was supposed to be, before I could make it I heard the sound of the sliding glass door closing and it occurred to me that the frog might now be in the house, so my next move became a mad dash downstairs.  


The frog was back in the creek. 


The kid was washable.  


The memory was made. 


I think that might be the only frog that was ever captured from our creek.  The following spring a heron began showing up daily and there are very few to be seen anymore.  There is even less ambition to go catch them from (now) teen girls.  


But the lesson stands.  What lesson you ask?  This: 

Quite often in life, there is a clear right and a clear wrong.  In those moments the difficult part is usually doing the right thing, rather than recognizing it.  The rest of the time - and I might say the majority of the time - we are just like my kid out there with her net, hoping for the best result.


A slimy, green, polka-dotty success story.  


So show love.  Be patient and kind.  Don’t neglect discipline, but pad it with mercy and understanding.  Always lead with the example of self-discipline, as well.  Pray for guidance (you’re going to need it).  And make sure the frog ends up back in the creek. 


Also, keep your pictures organized.  I spent almost two hours trying to find this one and my hubby had to come to the rescue.


Unfortunately for this snow-loving mom, the forecast shows a high near 40 and rain for the next four days, pretty much ensuring that the scenic view is going to be replaced with a brown soggy bog over the next week.  That ice trophy doesn’t stand a chance.  But don’t worry, we saved the snowman.  He’s in my freezer.  



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