“Enough, I’m tired of it, I can no longer handle it anymore,” I said to myself, turning off the radio. On the way there, I had an in-depth discussion with him about the route he most wants to be at this summer’s camp.
There are all kinds of routes in this camp. “Robotics and Science” track (sounds a bit scary, I must admit), “Qatar World Cup 2022” track (I took it off. I was in Qatar once and it was not a great pleasure), “WORLD MUSIC” track (I very much prefer the child not to degenerate into a situation where he is Feels an uncontrollable need to play at home on all kinds of noisy instruments).
And there is the “Dungeons and Dragons” track (sounds like something that will end badly), the “KIDS FUN TEC” track (the whole “pan” in the tech world is the salary of 30 and something a thousand shekels a month, not the thing itself, so as long as the child does not return With piles of money, it basically just stays with the sucking part of the high-tech world, the part where you have to work) and the “Olympic sports” track (which sounds relatively the most sane).
He got out of the car and said he would think about it and let me know today which route he chose. I gave him a kiss and told him to have fun, and that in two hours I would come to get him back. I started driving back and really everything was nice. The weather was as pleasant as it had been for a long time, the road was open, the traffic was flowing, but then suddenly this moment came when I just did a U-turn at the boat junction and on the radio Corinne Gideon aired Guy Pines and asked him what his plans were for Friday and he said something about it That he’s going to all sorts of parties and Corinne told him, “Come on, come on, give me more salt on my wounds as a mother and as a pregnant woman.”
At that moment it landed on me, I have no strength for it anymore, I was tired of constantly hearing passive-aggressive comments from parents about their miserable lives. It’s everywhere. Workplace parents who joke that they are going to stay in the office on purpose until late and thus avoid the child’s shower and anesthesia. Parents who walk around playgrounds on Saturday in the face of an inquisition and say that Saturday is the hardest day and that they are already waiting for the redemption of Sunday morning when they can deposit the infant in the garden and breathe again.
This is, I’m tired of, I just do not have the strength for the same trend of complaining, whining, whining, tormenting parenting, of which the truth is that I am also a part. I admit, I too, for years, took part in it and complained that “vacation with children is not vacation, it is work”, and I also laughed with parents who said they were going through a “terror workshop” at home with the terrorist child they were raising, and I also said all kinds People, on all occasions, in a sarcastic tone that “children are joy.”
And I, too, when the boy went on the big holiday, tore a page off the board every day and wrote in the parents’ WhatsApp group every day, “How long ?? I’m going to commit suicide, ‘and I prayed every day the prayer of the frames that would soon bring upon us nowadays the return to kindergartens and schools and sanity. Then I made another child. Just like the pregnant Corinne Gideon, who I personally really like, but at that moment I could not hear another word of her and turned off the radio.
Now that the radio was bleeding, I was left with silence and had to do something I rarely do: think. I thought that when I was a child, sometime in the 1980s, I did receive far less attention and treatment than my child – and the other children today – receive, but I do not remember hearing all the time how I was stabbing my parents in life and how I turned them into fragments of vessels devoid of minimal enjoyment of their existence.
I mean, it was a world where you did not have all kinds of routes to choose from at the camp – the camp was what it was and that’s it – but you also did not hear your parents shout to heaven and ask God to expedite the coming of kindergarten and school before they commit suicide. I also do not remember that there was a feeling that something very strange was happening and many parents get pregnant involuntarily and against their will and are sadly forced to give birth to sons (and daughters) and face life imprisonment plus hard labor.
I do not remember so many complaining about something and then going back and doing it over and over again. I remember we received less treatment from our parents and were a more marginal event in their lives, but if the price of all this treatment is to hear over and over again that you are a terrorist and your Saturdays and holidays are in the power of the “terrible days” and you are stuck in your parents’ life. For the frame it’s the best moment of their day, so it seems to me that I prefer to go on the path of less attitude but less to feel like an ongoing punishment in my parents’ lives.
When I arrived to pick up the boy back from the birthday party, he got in the car and announced that he had decided to choose the “Olympic Sports” track at the summer camp. I immediately thought to myself that I hope the kid does not start specializing in hammer throwing or discus throwing on this Olympic track and will develop a strong desire to throw all sorts of heavy things into the distance. But very quickly I caught myself and realized I had to start looking at things differently and said to the boy, “Great, go for it, have fun and call me when you get on the podium and the anthem is playing in the background.”