Parenting Well...Enough

There are days when I think parenting may not be my forte.  Last Monday, we packed up diapers, wipes, water bottles, sweaters, strollers, sunglasses, sunblock, sunhats, and cash, and went to explore Washington, D.C.  We started our day with two hours at the Capitol Building.  One child enjoyed the view the grounds afforded of the Library of Congress, "Must...have...books," the others were less impressed.  We followed this fiasco with a visit to the National Gallery of Art.  Nothing says Mother of the Year like taking five tired whining children to see a da Vinci.  As we ran from the building, I poked my head in the Monet room, but skipped Degas completely.  The security guards thanked me for my sacrifice.  We thought a stop at the Natural History Museum would go better.  And it did...for all but the baby who screamed through the butterflies, mummies, T-Rex, and Hope Diamond.  The Washington Monument was, "Tall!  Can we go home now?"  By the time we climbed the steps at the Thomas Jefferson Memorial, this 'sunny day of sweet memories' had taken on epic proportions.  Signs posted everywhere asked visitors to respect the quiet of the place.  My children didn't read them...or the bits of the Declaration of Independence carved in marble.  We then zoomed past the Franklin Delano Roosevelt and Martin Luther King Jr.  Memorials.  As we climbed down from the Lincoln Memorial I noticed the light was a little warmer.  The sun was getting ready to set.  Some oddball stood off to the side belting Amazing Grace and the moment seemed rich and significant.  We had done it...almost.  We still had to make it to the subway and the White House was kind of on the way, so we saw that too. 



Il Sodoma [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Back in the hotel room, as my children watched cartoons and horfed pizza, I Google Mapped our route and realised we had walked over twelve kilometres.  It seemed like the day had been all tears, and blisters, and sunblock in eyes, and indignation.  I felt discouraged.  Then I remembered a single golden moment.  In the National Art Gallery, Beth had alternated between cartwheeling and sprawling on couches.  But at one point, I heard her yell from across the room, "Look, Mama!  It's Saint George and the Dragon!  Remember?  We read about him!"  Leaning back on that double bed, my head throbbing, my feet swollen, I felt a slow smile spread across my face.  I have not failed this parenting thing completely.  I have done at least some things well (teaching my children museum manners isn't one of them).