Parenting 2.0

Someone in my house was invited to a dance. With a member of the opposite sex. Household confidentiality prevents me from naming this person, but suffice it to say, it's a surprising turn of events. And it officially ushers this mama into Parenting 2.0.

I guess I've been here for a while, and this is just my official welcome ticket. I still lay in bed with a kid or two and read The House at Pooh Corner, and I'm still pouring other people's milk, though it's into real glasses and not sippy cups (or "tippy cups," as my brother and no one else in the world calls them). My house still holds dozens of stuffed animals and crayons, and Veggie Tales has not gone out of vogue here. Still, that 1.0 stuff is mostly behind me now. We've moved from Blue's Clues and the habitual wearing of princess/superhero costumes to school dances and calculus, from me desperate to go to the grocery store alone to begging someone to go with me. And it all feels like it took about 12 minutes. It's a cliche to say that, I know, but it became a cliche because it's totally true. It all goes so fast.

But I'm firmly of the belief that 2.0 is an upgrade. Anything that involves people sweeping my floor, shoveling my snow, and carrying in my groceries is superior to something that poops on me. No one cries inexplicably anymore. They use real words that describe emotions that make sense to me. They sometimes express themselves with grunts, but at least it's not whining. And while there's no one telling me 149 times a day how much they love me, an unexpected hug or an appreciative note seem so much more meaningful to me now.

They say that parenting small children is physically taxing and that older kids are emotionally taxing. I wouldn't call it taxing, at least not yet. It's stretching. Challenging. Faith-building, for sure. But it's also fun. Just plain fun. They're awkward and quirky, greasy and smelly, curious and hilarious. They watch the news with me at night and ask interesting questions. They notice all the pairing up at school and try to figure out what that's all about, what people are really after. They challenge my understanding of Scripture and politics and the way the world works, along with my footwear and my dinner selections. They amaze me every day, and while they also frustrate me and worry me every day, the amazement is what lingers the longest. Where did these personalities come from? How did he get so good at that, and where does her confidence come from? How did we manage to produce such incredible people? That's what I'm really thinking, even as I nag about the unrinsed dishes and the messy rooms and the money that streams out of my wallet like water from a hose.

2.0, I'll take you. And I'll do some of your best PR. I look for the frantic young moms at the grocery store and in the church parking lot just so I can tell them, "This gets better and better." I tell my friends with younger kids to stop dreading the teenage years and to look forward to them, because no matter what they've heard, these years rock. Sometimes the person who needs the PR talk is me. As I'm handing out money and holding my breath (along with my tongue) in the passenger's seat of the car, as I'm doling out complex relational advice and pretending to understand gravity waves, I remind myself that this is the best job ever.

Unless 3.0 is even better?