There’s an adage that people can’t wait to throw at you as soon as you bring home your baby:

“Kids don’t come with instructions.”

Well, to this I say…bullshit.

Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

I first became aware of what a load of bullshit this was while my oldest daughter was still in utero.  Don’t believe me? Spend some time perusing the pregnancy/parenting aisle at any bookstore (in person or online). Google “pregnant” or “baby” or “infant care” or “breastfeeding” or “get your freaking baby to sleep through the goddamn night” and you’ll find plenty of—ahem—instructions.

In fact, there are so many instructions, you can quickly feel totally inundated with information that you are sure you’ll never absorb with any meaningful consequence. If you factor the blogosphere into this equation, you’ll be clicking your way into a black hole that you aren’t likely to ever emerge from (my blog being no exception, mind you).

Some of these instructions are actually opinions disguised as instructions. For new parents, these lines are blurry and confusing. I found myself gravitating to “instructions” that aligned with my personal philosophy on life (and what turned out to be my parenting philosophy).  To be upfront, I am planted firmly outside the Alarmist Parenting Camp.  My kids are permitted to fall down, play in mud, stir hot pots of spaghetti while supervised, and occasionally ride their razor scooter without a helmet. Sometimes they don’t even wash their hands before the eat snacks.  Oooooh…and my five-year-old is even allowed to carefully take steak knives out of the drawer to set the table.

I have plenty of friends who dip their toes into the Alarmist Parenting Camp and even a couple who live there permanently. I have friends whose philosophies differ from mine on vaccinations, television, discipline, and Koolaid. I like this diversity. It keeps me on my toes and makes things interesting. One thing I have taken for granted for the first five years of motherhood, however, is my relative control over these instructions.  Until recently, I was able to pick and choose the instructions I followed diligently and which I approached more lackadaisically.

Actually, now that I think of it, my general approach to instructions is lackadaisical. This probably explains why my husband intervenes when anything needs to be assembled. Especially things from Ikea. Ikea’s instructions are ridiculous. I am a quarter Swedish, I can state this without reproach.

The turning point on instructions came this past August, when Ava started kindergarten.  Actually, it started about five days before kindergarten, when the “new student” packet came home.  Included in this packet was page upon page of instructions—I was very overwhelmed. The momentum continued for the next three weeks when back-to-school-night came around and has hit a full-orchestra crescendo as we have approached the first progress report and parent/teacher conference. These instructions usually get sent home on astrobright paper that has been run through the school’s mammoth-sized copy machine and include such enlightening gems as: what they should eat, wear, do in their spare time, how they should write their lower case “k”s, what time they should arrive at school, which elements should be included in their drawing of their best friend, where they should hang their back packs, how they should wash their hands, what color pants they should wear if they are going to be a pilgrim, what color shirt they should wear if they are going to be a Native American.

To me, all of this instruction and wasted paper seems like total overkill. I spend a lot of time feeling as if I am stuck in a video loop of The Wall watching the kids neatly lined up walking like comatose droids from one room to the other. Never mind the fact that I’m not organized enough to keep all of these stupid details straight in my head—a problem that is exacerbated by my natural aversion to list-making.

Luckily for me, Ava seems to be soaking it all up—even assimilating easily into the world of “living according to instructions”.  I have even suffered the indignity of being corrected by her when I have sidestepped the instructions.

I’m sure this will all change once fifth grade arrives and the door slamming, eye rolling, and “you don’t know anythings” begin. But for now, I will continue to sift through the mountain of bright orange paper and continue relying on Ava to remind me which day is library day.

Tags: organization, parenting styles