Extreme Parenting
by Bonnie Coy
I have watched the so-called 'extreme sports' shows and concluded that these high tech-supported uber-atheletes are a bunch of pansies. I challenge any of them, washboard abs and all, to take on the kinds of 'extremes' that I face on a daily basis, 365 days a year.
The conditions under which these athletes perform are perfectly-controlled and there is a trained support staff and camera crew at the ready. I'm always on call, come hell or high water, and I'm mostly on my own. I don't require 100 pounds of cutting-edge gear, complexly-designed Spandex/Kevlar clothing and exotic amino acid-laced carbo-energy bars. Instead, I use my wits, my bare hands, a pot of strong coffee, a few ounces of dark chocolate and if things start to get ugly, a well-executed time out.
Take the sport of street lugeing. First you need a person with less brains than your average grapefruit. You dress 'em up in thickly-padded clothes and sturdy shoes for when they wipe out going 120 MPH. You get them to lay down on a big fancy skateboard and roll 'em down a steep incline. People call this exciting? I beg to differ. Exciting is stepping out of the shower and hearing sounds that cause you to dash out to the yard, clutching a too small, damp towel, just in time to abort the launch of your youngest child by your oldest child from high atop Cape Swing Set Canaveral.
What about extreme skiers? They get to the bottom of their run, and breathlessly chatter to the interviewer about the thrill of having "caught some major air". Catching air? This takes skill and abs of steel? Air is all around us and like most folks, I catch lungfulls of the stuff on a fairly regular basis. What's the big deal? I'd like to see these skiers try catching puke sometime, now that takes speed, agility and guts. When every instinct in your body screams, "Run away! Vomit bad - vomit yucky!", yet you race toward the sound of gagging. - that takes the heart of a warrior. Depending on the stakes involved, carpet vs. tile, washable plastic vs. stainable upholstery, or cheap toys vs. expensive electronic equipment, a properly-motivated mom can position a bucket, towel, or her own coat pocket in front of an erupting child with greater speed and accuracy than some hot shot, hard-body skier can carve a turn. Despite your incredible athletic accomplishment, no one is there to interview you, or offer you or a Nike endorsement - and it sure ain't glory you're covered in.
Then there are those silly rock climbers. These people scale the sides of sheer cliffs, hundreds of feet in the air, using finger and toe holds the size of dental cavities. I was shocked to learn that they actually find this challenging. For a true test of nerves, strength and endurance they ought to try soothing a teething baby from 7pm until 7am. Then put in a full day parenting the well-rested older sibling, while the cranky teether spends the day napping and plotting the coming evening's entertainment. I have no doubt that after two or three consecutive days and nights of this kind of punishment, these brave climbers would be cowering under their unslept-in beds and asking themselves, "Why didn't I just let go of the rock when I had the chance?".
The Crocodile Hunter, Steve Irwin, is not only willing, but eager to hold dangerously-venomous snakes in his hands. He smiles for the camera as he happily crawls on his belly through gator-infested muck and mire. I betcha anything he'd be squeamish about rescuing Snorkeling Barbie and her itsy bitsy swim fins from the toilet. C'mon, you know as well as I do that your average sugared-up toddler with a belly full of Cocoa Puffs could reduce ol' Steve to tears without breaking a sweat.
People who engage in these extreme behaviors only think they are living on the edge. They've convinced themselves and their viewers that they are flirting with disaster. In reality, any idiot can go excessively fast, jump out of a plane or bungee-jump naked. But it takes a special kind of idiot to cope with the amazing ingenuity and insanity of kids and the incredible heights of ecstasy and bone-chilling fear they can evoke. Parenting is not for sissies.
Questions? Comments? Please email me at BLCoy@dealofday.com
Posted by mayor at March 27, 2005 11:00 PM
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