Behind My Door: The perils of parenthood … part one

By Sandra Bernhardt

As I and my faithful readers know, Christmas is over. How do we know this? No more offers to clear the table and wash the dishes. No beds made like they came out of Better House and Gardens. No complaints when asked to clean their bedrooms, and no offers to slog down the drive to get the mail. Now that they’ve had their gifts, the magic is gone.

I was angry that retrieving the mail was my responsibility again. I faced that duty with both brandy and Maalox. 

Why did I resist the mail assignment? Because one day, in heavy snow, I slogged down the drive in search of the mailbox. It wasn’t long before I realized I was lost. When I didn’t return home, one of my boys frantically called the police, who arrived with the rescue squad. 

I was relieved when my “rescue heroes” heard me screaming for help and located me under a huge snow-covered pine branch. Oddly, I could hear them laughing. Then, one of the men asked the other guys, “How often have you rescued someone who was lost five yards from her house?” To my chagrin, they began laughing again, some so amused that they were slapping their knees. 

I didn’t appreciate it.  

One of the perils of parenthood is that your children will do anything for your money. Like drug dealers, they can’t get enough. My faithful readers won’t be surprised to hear that I now pay my offspring to make their beds so they don’t look like the sheets are wrestling, wash the dishes with actual soap and clean their rooms. Forget Better Homes and Gardens.

Obviously, when it comes to fetching the mail, I pay double.

Speaking of the mail, I know it’s unrealistic, but I wish I could skip the whole darn thing! Almost every day, I use a coaster wagon to haul mail back to the house. That’s ridiculous. Generally, our mail consists of one or two credit card bills and 75 catalogs, which continually threaten to stop sending them: “THIS COULD BE YOUR LAST CATALOG!” or “PLEASE COME BACK!  WE MISS YOU!”  

Right.  

Now, I’M laughing. I’ve been known to pour kerosene on a stack of catalogs in the back yard and roast Sheboygan-style Brats. In naming this column “The Perils of Parenthood,” I don’t want my faithful readers to assume I am anti-kid. I’m not. Most days, children are fun to have around, are affectionate, add joy to our lives and often make us proud.  I wouldn’t trade them for anything.  

On the other hand, if parents believe that children should bring joy, then parents should strive to do the same. It’s a two-way street. I feel that parents must groom their offspring for success by setting a great example. Unfortunately, not all parents meet those standards.  

I’m reminded of a true incident told by Dr. Marvin Gersh in his book, “How to Raise Children at Home in Your Spare Time.”

Gersh witnessed an interplay between a six-year-old, his nurse and the boy’s mother. The youngster was recuperating from pneumonia and his doctor suggested that each afternoon he get an extra glass of milk to help build him up. On the first afternoon, the nurse presented the milk to the child, and he ignored it.  

The nurse became gently insistent, at which point the boy turned to her and said, “You can take that damn glass of milk away.” Horrified, the nurse managed to contain herself and left with the glass of milk.

The following day, she approached the boy in a bright, breezy manner and urged the milk on him once more. “You can take that damn milk away,” he said again. As she had done previously, the nurse contained herself and didn’t react. She removed the milk without comment.  

The next day, the nurse could NOT contain herself. “Naughty, Naughty,” she said. “I am going to tell your mother when she comes.”

That evening at visiting hours, the nurse went up to the mother. She was somewhat embarrassed to tell the mother what happened, but felt it her duty.

“When I put the milk down in front of him, he says, “‘You can take that damn milk away.’”

“Well,” said the mother, “If he doesn’t want the damn milk, the hell with him.”

After reading that, I couldn’t figure out why people roll their eyes when someone mentions June Cleaver.

I have two brothers, Tim and Tom, who are experts at creating “joy.” One Christmas, they put their gifts to work. The present I foolishly gave to Tom was a toolkit. Pretending to be a carpenter, it was a mere five minutes before Mother’s kitchen table sported just three legs. She propped it up with the ironing board.

Next it was Tim’s turn. Borrowing Tom’s saw, Tim created even more joy by removing the sad, skinny tree from the front yard. It was the only tree in the entire neighborhood.  

That was absolutely true, and I believe it is the perfect example of the PERILS OF PARENTING!

Tim and Tom are still in hiding.

For more than 30 years, Fort Atkinson’s Sandra (Sandi) Bernhardt has enjoyed humorous public speaking in Wisconsin and beyond. During her career, she served as a human resources director, as well as a customer service consultant for a healthcare company. Active in the community, Sandy is a graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater and the mother of three grown sons.