Stay-at-Home Work-at-Home Full-Time Married Dad

I have two completely different stories to tell.

A few months ago, Siena decided to throw a tantrum, a knock-down dragged-out doosie of a screamer, at the shopping mall food court. My wife returned from the bathroom with her, at which point she screamed, sat, and refused to return to our table. So with no remaining options, we left her there, many yards away but within eyesight, and with more frustration than embarrassment we waited for her to scream it out, alone in the middle of the floor.

For many minutes, passersby would either stand high like prairie dogs, looking for parents, or crouch down and attempt comforting conversation. I waved to the prairie dogs; the crouchers made things worse. Later, after I gave up and dragged her kicking and screaming to a more secluded corner, a woman approached with a need to verify Siena wasn’t being abused. I felt insulted by the question but held my tongue. Besides, there was no way I could convince anyone that Siena actually wanted to scream like that.

Now I’ll tell you a second story, filled with big belly laughs and childhood fun. This story is about Oren, who loves the game I call Watch Out. I put him on my shoulders and lean way over, pretending to tip him into bushes and trees. Oren’s favorite part is when he falls completely upside-down onto my back. With his knees still over my shoulders and my hands on his legs, he flips over and bounces the back of his head against my belt. I spin around, wondering where he went, and finally I bounce him high enough for his little stomach muscles to complete a sit-up back up to my shoulders. His laughter during all of this is truly wonderful.

Here’s the thing. I know full well that I can’t tell this story with people thinking, “Whoa, you better make sure you don’t drop him!” and “Are you sure that’s good for his back?” and “What if he goes back but you’re not holding his legs?” People who see this get really nervous too, because it looks, well, dangerous.

Both of these stories are about safety disguised as danger. Climbing trees, performing in recitals, learning to use scissors or a bicycle: If I can’t bring risk into my children’s lives, then I’m not doing my job as a parent. It’s a very strange thing, having to defend this.

Yes, it’s that time in our children’s lives where bathroom activities are discussed all day long, and the excitement of an emptied bladder permeates the home.

We’ve read the books, heard form other parents, and tried everything, but we’re not even close. Siena is almost four years old — I’m fond of saying she’s almost a teenager, as if to emphasize the point — and she still insists on wearing diapers regularly. Oren, younger but on a more promising path, follows in her Pampered footsteps.

For me, the stakes are huge. Every unnecessary diaper contributes to the needless destruction of the environment. Every set of soiled clothes — and let me tell you, Oren has some real talent, because he often manages to dampen everything from shirt to socks — is another hour wasted either doing lanudry or battling off tantrums about some unavailable pair of favorite underwear.

It’s my style to put everything on the line, all or nothing, when I’m frustrated or angry. “That’s it, no more diapers allowed, let them constipate themselves for all I care!,” I’ll yell, or “Wear diapers if you want. You can change yourselves, too.” My struggle is in trying to accept the small successes and failures, and not view them indicative of absolutely everything. I am so tired of staring critically into yet another bowl.

Tonight, Siena sat on the toilet, because she wanted to. She invited the whole family into the tiny bathroom and sat there. And before my wife could retrieve Everyone Poops from the upstairs bathroom, it was over. “Did you hear the plop?” Siena asked. I smiled by best dad smile and told her I was proud. From experience, I know these thirty seconds don’t translate into a litetime of happier parenting, but I can’t help but wonder.

My hopes are literally flushed down the toilet. But yeah, that’s a good thing.

My kids are old enough that they’re trustworthy. Well, toddler-level trustworthy.

I’m not allowed to gasp when they walk down stairs or climb a stool. I’m not supposed to freak out when they drink from a regular cup, sans lid. I like to think I’m a proactive parent when it comes to avoiding potential disasters – part neurotic parent, part controlling parent – but as the kids get older, I’m expected to turn off these anxieties so they can grow into independent beings. Sure, it might stain, spill, scratch, spear, ruin, break, tear, and hurt, but that doesn’t mean I should automatically interrupt. No, I’m supposed to let it happen, with unobtrusive supervision. It’s like pretending to cover your eyes at a scary movie. Watching and not watching at the same time.

Some of the time, I would have been right. Every gouge in the hardwood floor, every crack in a toy, every puddle, and every Band-Aid gives me full parental rights to say I-told-you-so. But sometimes letting the kids be themselves turns out okay.

It’s gambling, really. Maybe this time Oren will surprise me by selecting and putting on a shirt himself without pinching his fingers in the drawer, losing his balance into the dresser, or just getting tangled in the wrong holes. And maybe Siena will actually carry that stepstool through all of the house’s doorways without chipping paint, smashing her toes, or clobbering Oren. Maybe this time my paperwork won’t get mangled, and my stomach won’t throw punches at my heart.

The funniest thing about this whole process of letting go, however, is that all the other adults have it harder than I. I’m the one with visions of emergency rooms dancing in my head, but they hate it when I let Oren go down the stairs. He walked down three concrete steps to retrieve a fallen toy, while almost every adult within range said uh-uh-uh-uh and I-I-I-I, extending their hands just a little bit. Reaching and not reaching at the same time.

We risk everything when we let toddlers be toddlers. Trusting them is trusting ourselves.