Rules Are Overrated: My Son Is a Disruptor, So Am I

I sat down at our Passover table stressed over a situation I couldn’t control.

“Why is this night different?” my husband asked 16 people sitting at a table filled with flourless, gluten-free food.

My 10-year-old son Marty sat next to his younger nephews.

“Because we don’t eat bread!” they said.

Marty put a pair of sunglasses on and yelled, “No! Because we’re rock stars!” He strummed an air guitar like Eddie Van Halen.

I giggled. No one else smiled.

Marty is blessed with spirit, smarts, and a wise soul, but he doesn’t have impressive impulse control, especially at the end of an active day.

Are Well-Behaved Children the Product of Good Parenting?

After a few silly outbursts, a guest told me how “smart and well-mannered” my stepdaughter’s kids were.

They are really amazing," she said.

I thanked her for saying kind things about kids who weren’t my son.

And I fumed. At my son’s recent celiac diagnosis. At a protein that poisoned his stomach and caused him chronic fatigue. At moms whose kids are able to present well because they feel well. And at myself for feeling ashamed because my son fell short of someone else’s irrelevant expectations.

Caitlyn Collins, an assistant professor of sociology at Washington University in St. Louis, who studies motherhood and social policies, said moms are under too much pressure to do everything right, without enough support.

“We ask the impossible of mothers,” she said. This mindset “sets us up to [feel like we] fail.”

I'm Tired of Living by Someone Else's Standards

In my neighborhood, success has a narrow definition. Kids play chess, not tag. They are prodigies at soccer and standardized tests. After hours of homework, there is a box that is checked.

Marty gets ready early for playdates but runs late to school. At home, he reads books with small print about prehistoric creatures, but in reading class, he doodles. He can hold a rook and use it to castle on a chessboard, but he’d rather wrap his fingers around the trigger of his Nerf gun.

At a kid’s birthday party, I talked with a group of moms about homework and screen time.

“I struggle to get my son to start homework or stop screens,” I said.

“I don’t negotiate,” one mom said. “My son knows I mean business.”

My Pokémon prodigy doesn’t play by other people’s rules. I feel pressure to apologize. But, to be honest, a part of me is pleased.

As a Kid, I Fit in But Felt Fake

Growing up, I made life easy for my parents. I did what they expected. But in my soul, the space where life matters, I didn’t develop the self-confidence that comes from feeling authentic.

I took ballet lessons. I should have played rugby.

I searched for fashionable clothes on the sale rack at the mall when ripped jeans were my true style.

I loved music and listened to "Graceland" and "The Joshua Tree" with friends, but I played "Appetite for Destruction" for myself.

My insides didn't match my outsides. So, I set out in search of myself.

Breaking the “Rules” (Not the Law!) Set Me Free

Instead of choosing a college close to home on the East Coast, I went to the University of Colorado in Boulder. My Ivy-League-educated dad said "great!" My future wasn't a specific destination.

At Boulder, where every night was a Saturday night, I found my inner scholar, getting straight A’s and graduating with three Latin words next to my name.

While my friends at elite universities spent winters securing summer internships, I shoved ski boot liners into Sorrel hiking boots and attached them to a snowboard.

Skiers in Vail hated us.

As I glided over powder, squealing with delight, a man with many wrinkles yelled, “You’re destroying our mountain!”

“Get used to us!” I said and blew him a kiss.

I discovered my mojo. I was unshackled and free.

Over the next decade, I didn’t give my mom bragging rights, but she had the confidence not to care.

Get a Job? No, Thanks. I’ll Rock Climb and Travel.

After college, many friends worked in banks and businesses and added zeros to their savings accounts.

I traveled to Europe with my rock-climbing partner. We pulled a nine-millimeter rope up 1,000-foot cliffs and ran out of cash.

We pitched tents in parking lots and survived on cheap snacks and other people’s generosity. Discomfort didn’t matter.

I went to Israel and lived on a kibbutz with kids my age from Croatia and Serbia who had fled the former Yugoslavia when war broke out. They taught me every curse word in Serbo-Croatian, and more about inner strength, resilience, and grit than any psychology class in college.

I decided to become a journalist and tell stories about struggle. When we understand someone else’s situation, we can feel familiar, not foreign.

Doing Things Differently Led to Divergent Thinking

For a while, I was a frustrated news producer working on a CNN business show. I wanted to cover wars, not mergers and acquisitions.

I learned how to shoot and edit videos so I could travel and report without a camera crew.

Colleagues said it was impossible.

“It is possible, it just hasn’t been done before,” I said.

Not long after, CNN sent me to Iraq and Afghanistan to cover U.S. military operations. Thinking outside of the box gave me a new mindset. I felt confident, courageous, and unstoppable, even when I failed.

As I’ve previously written in this blog, after many twists and turns, I met my husband, and, 10 years ago, I had Marty.

Motherhood feels like middle school. I don’t fit in. Some days I don’t care, and other days I wish that were true.

Finding Freedom

The rules of the road in my neighborhood are too rigid for me.

Marty and I were recently in an elevator with a mom who seemed surprised to see a 10-year-old heading home after school.

“Don’t you play soccer or chess?” she asked.

“I rest after school,” Marty said.

She struggled to make sense of his words.

“My kids do homework and then an afternoon activity, even if they complain,” she said.

The elevator doors could not open soon enough.

“She was annoying,” Marty said.

“She doesn’t get it,” I told him. “You’re finding your way, not someone else’s.”

Marnie Weinstein is an education consultant who works with kids in the Washington, D.C., area. She wants more parents to “rewrite the script” in their head and focus on a child’s strengths, not their challenges.

“It’s freeing,” she said.

I've spent too much time focusing on the blank worksheets in Marty's backpack instead of the article on dinosaurs that he corrected in The New York Times.

Feeling Like a Good Mother

Lately, I’ve felt liberated.

After Marty endured three years of chronic fatigue and a confused brain, two months of going gluten-free have been life-changing. He is happier and healthier, and his energy and abilities are returning.

That doesn’t mean he will sit quietly during dinner or hand in his homework. The part of me that doesn’t care is claiming more space.

We have a big family wedding coming up.

“Will you keep a calm body?” I casually asked.

“Definitely,” he said. “I need to rest the day before.”

“You make good choices,” I said.

“Well, sometimes I can and sometimes I can’t. That’s how I am.”

He paused.

“And I like me,” he said.

This kid I created and can’t control is reminding me that expectations are someone else’s burden. He’s helping me rediscover how to love myself, this time as a mom.

Sum It Up

Who gets to decide whether I am a “good” mom? I think that I do. Marty is reminding me that what counts is compassion, courage, and love, for ourselves and our wonderful kids, whether they are conventional or nonconformists.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the amazing mommas who work so hard every day!