Momming, the Job You Never Retire From

• Blog author, Cynthia Ross Tustin.
• In case you’re wondering why a retirement blog is writing about parenting; it’s because momming is a job you never retire from!
• Today’s blog is about one family member’s idiosyncrasy; specifically my Mamaw Jane.
• Posted Tuesday, May 10th, 2022
• Nosara, Costa Rica
• Shout out to Feedspot for naming me #73 on their 2022 Top 100 Retirement Blogs and Websites

Happy belated lovely Mother’s Day (I’m on Costa Rican time), I thought I’d use my retirement blog to clear up a misconception. Specifically, the errant belief that Mother’s Day is simply to celebrate the nifty trick of giving birth. Momming is a lifetime appointment. Moms never retire. Not that we’d really want to; but the occasional break might be nice.  

Being a mother is a lot like being the Queen of England, it’s filled with both adoration and emotional burden of the realm. And no, I’m not specifically referring to Prince Andrew; but dude, seriously?! How could you embarrass your mom like that??!!

The flowers, or the candy, or the cards, or the jewelry, or the spa day (stop me if you actually get any of this stuff) are lovely tokens of affection. Truthfully, a card or a phone call actually works great for most of us. The acknowledgement of our demanding job, in some form, is really what’s important.

Although, since momming is a really demanding job, one could make the case that those “tokens” are really the ROI we get for all our hard work. Recognition for all the worry, exhaustion, sleepless nights, and careers that came second.

Earlier this week, I interviewed author, model, actress, coach, entrepreneur, general super cool Mom extraordinaire, Shantelle Bisson. She and I agree, there is no retirement from momming; and that those different stages of life require different “momming” strategies to get it right. Here’s the link to our conversation, hosted on YouTube. She has a ton of great momming/coping advice about how to keep your cool while raising your kids. I’ve also included a few links to her blog and her Huffington Post articles.

One of the hardest things for me to get a handle on, and not lose my cool, was “worry”. Just like Shantelle says, different stages, different strategies. Worrying occurs at every stage of your child’s life. The only thing that changes is what we worry about.

I worry. Shantelle worries. All moms worry. Moms can worry the smell out of dog poop. I believe we’re wired to worry. That worry keeps us vigilante and our children safe and protected. Each mom has her own threshold for worry. Worry is subjective; and therefore, tough to quantify. Like all moms, there’s the usual stage related worries. “Will they be born healthy” worry? “Will they choke to death on a cheerio” worry? The “learning to drive” worry. The “what if they hang out with the wrong crowd” worry? Standard stuff.

I’d like to think that my tolerance for worry (projecting my own fears on to them) is extremely well developed. If you knew my kids (adult children now) you’d totally understand how hard it was to suppress my fear that they’d get hurt. After all, I’m a nurse by trade. Years of working in emergency rooms, trauma units, and of course the fire service, gave me a front row seat to every kind of self- induced injury that’s out there!  My threshold development started in the early stages of my children’s lives. Why? Because they think those things that cause self-induced injuries are fun!

My good friend Cathy says all three or our children were born without a “fear gene”.  The “fear gene” is normally what tempers risk taking behaviour. Fearlessness. They could all ride a bicycle without training wheels at age two. They wanted those two wheels motorized by age four. Riding motorcycles became racing motorcycles. I’m certain the gene came from their father! I learned to cope with my worry/fear (okay sometimes I lost my cool) by holding my breath and gritting my teeth so they could do what they loved. Our children’s happiness frequently causes our ulcers!

If it was risky, they seemed to gravitate to it. Downhill ski racing. Snowboarding in the terrain park and frozen half pipe. Skateboards, Razers, pick anything with wheels. They could drive the car by age nine. My only consolation was that they couldn’t really touch the pedals. Once I was forced to resort to a local teenager to keep an eye on them during summer vacation. That misadventure lasted about a week.  The teen took my car for a joyride. But in the back of my head, I always wondered if one of the three hadn’t talked him into it.  

Probably not though, as an aside, the same kid taught the 7-year-old how to make a bong from an apple. It’s mortifying to be in the grocery store and have your child inform you that Macintosh Apples are too mushy to be a good bong.

Sometimes their antics were so ridiculous eye rolling replaced worry. Like the time I came home early from work and found my daughter (7yrs old) dressed in full protective gear.  It was a combination of a full-face motorcycle helmet, safety glasses, hockey pads, and race gear. Her brothers had taped paper targets to her, and she was running around the yard. She was human pellet gun target. They all thought it was fabulous. I had a stroke!

My kids, at every stage of their life thoroughly enjoy risky, adrenalin junkie stuff.  My tolerance for worry increased over time as they tobogganed off the garage roof; or did back flips on bikes. Sometimes those back flips were out in a field or in a terrain park, and there was always a crowd!. Other times, back-flips were on bikes found in a dumpster. Those involved launching themselves off a huge sketchy ramp at the end of a dock. Don’t think watching them land in the water makes it easier. Each “ramp jump back flip” required them to barrel down a hill a breakneck speed, dodging the fire pit, on a bike with broken handlebars. On two separate occasions, they narrowly missed a boat coming into the dock.

Did I mention that they race motorcycles? My rapid acquisition of worry tolerance is directly proportional to the speed at which a motorcycle can go. Or how high it can fly through the air. Or how far your kid can ride it on one wheel! Or all the different ways they can compete on one. Mine have done all of them. Motocross, Enduro, Trials, Harescrambles, and Road Racing.

I could have lost my cool after the first broken bone; or even the second.  Tolerance is well established after half a dozen or so.  So, I suppressed my fear, and looked for a good orthopedic surgeon to keep on retainer!

If giving birth were the sole reason for mothers to be celebrated, then a onetime offering of a bottle of wine and some scratchers from the mini mart would be sufficient.

Mother’s Day is the acknowledgement of the selflessness of our job.  On Mother’s Day I appreciate the recognition my children give me for my risk tolerance. It’s damn hard to not project your fears onto your kids so that they can do what they love. And it’s even more difficult to suppress that hard-wired worry, and not lose your cool, when what they love is dangerous and risky.

Cheers,

Cynthia

I acknowledge that the land on which I live is the traditional territory of the Wendake-ionwl,  Anishinabewaki ᐊᓂᔑᓈᐯᐗᑭ , Mississauga, and Haudenosaunee peoples.