momSMARTS: Failing by Example

My husband and I are blessed with two smart kids. Sometimes it doesn't feel as lucky as it sounds, what with their ability to outmaneuver us regarding bedtime and sugar intake with rhetorical gymnastics that would impress Supreme Court justices, but in general we recognize and are thankful for daughters who don't face  major obstacles in mastering new challenges.

But I worry anyway. With a tween and a newly-hatched teen in the house, and high school not far in the future, I've been brushing up on developmental literature to help negotiate the changing family dynamics (my favorite, both in content and title: How to Hug A Porcupine: Negotiating the Prickly Points of the Tween Years by Julie Ross.)  Some of this literature points to the fact that kids who have not had to struggle academically in elementary and middle school are worse off than their peers when they meet the rigor of high school; having never had to "learn how to learn," they are flummoxed when the material doesn't just sink right in.

Of course whenever you read a book like this - and I'm looking at you, "What To Expect When You're Expecting" lady - you spend a lot of time thinking, "Ooops. I don't do that. Oh god, I do exactly the opposite of that, is that bad? I have totally messed these children up! Crap!" I know it's probably not their raison d'etre, but making you feel like a lousy parent does seem to be a predictable byproduct of any parenting book.

So I was pretty thrilled when I realized that there is one thing I have done right: I've let my kids see me fail.

About five years ago I was working in a corporate job and percolating the idea of leaving it all to write a novel; not the Great American Novel, more like the Great American Subway Read. I had the story, I had the characters, and I had the passion. So, with the financial and moral support of my husband, I sat down and I wrote. For about three years, the kids saw me spend hours writing at my computer, watched me edit early drafts, listened as I belabored plot points with anyone who would listen. They saw me off on research trips, they overheard me read parts aloud to gauge the rhythm and flow, and they celebrated the day the 450 page draft was done.

And they heard my reaction when the book was rejected by a baker's dozen worth of publishing companies, with an exhortation to "keep working on it!" In short, my daughters saw me fail.

But they did not see me give up. Sure, I floundered for awhile, and I was sad. But I wasn't defeated. For now, I have other stories to tell, on my blog and in essays. I have shelved the novel, but I am confident that someday I will figure out how best to tell that story, a story so deeply ingrained that I swear it pulses in my cells.  I tell my kids that writing that unpublished novel was the hardest thing I ever did, and that I'm proud of myself, even if it's not in a bookstore. I tell them the rejections were a good reminder to me that I can do better work.

My hope is that when it's their turn fall short of a goal , they'll think of me, their failure of a mother, and take heart. 

Nancy Davis Kho blogs about the blessings and absurdities of everyday life at Normalarkey. She's a writer, a reader, a bike wife, a mom, and a music fan. And they don't call her Aunt Blabby for nothing.