FA M I LY
THE PUSH-PULL EFFECT Navigating the colorful ebb and flow of building relationships with our children. BY J E N N I F E R A S H TO N RYA N
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24 PA S A D E N A
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Relationships are magnetic, messy, variable, and the best ones—like the ones with our children— are quite long.
that baby I shhhed will be in college, and she’s starting to talk to me less and less after school. “How was it?” I ask in the car line. “Good.” I’ve read lists of better after-school questions to ask. I imagine before bed is a better time to talk. But she shares a room with her brother, and more than talking to me she’s into giggling with him after we turn out the light. Our 4-year-old has her own room, so you’d think I’d waltz across the hall for a dose of quality bedtime connection. But she is not old enough to
leave us alone—I tuck her in, and she’s still screaming for six raisins, a glass of water, and a potty break. No additional connection needed with that child. The relationship swings I experience with my children can feel a lot like playing with magnets. If I have one toy train and I want to link it to yours, if it’s turned one way, no matter how strong I come on, we won’t connect. But if pull away a little and turn around, snap! We’re together again. As I’m drawn to the 8-year-old’s angst, she pushes me away. So, I turn my focus to her siblings, and she’s acting out to get attention. The
COURTESY OF WRITER AND HER SUPER COOL FAMILY
n order to work from home while caring full time for my infant (my first child), I needed her to nap. So, I lived and breathed those damn naps. I’d plan for her to go to sleep at 1 p.m. By 1:05 my mental to-do list had activated. Everything now. Everything must be done now! Each extra second past 1 p.m. that she lay awake I would be spiraling, convincing myself that she would never sleep again. But she did. Magically her eyes closed and her breath slowed to a predictable rhythm, the one capable of soothing my acute fit of panic and rage. I was released to the couch, where I collapsed into the cushions, craving a sleepy breathing pattern of my own. But I could never sleep, thinking of everything that needed to get done. And I couldn’t move because I was exhausted. So, I sat staring at my phone, inevitably watching videos of someone who 60 seconds prior I would have sold an organ to get a break from. This catch-22 of parenthood shows no signs of letting up. I want to savor my time with my children at the same time that I want to be away from them. I want them to stay little, and I want to witness them growing up. I want to know all their secrets, and I want my own head space. My first child threw me for a loop. When my second and third children were napping, I was watching Mad Men. But during that first go around, my premom productivity level had yet to be ground down. Now it’s not naps, it’s school. I have more predictable time for myself, but I woke up and realized that, in 10 years,
