The Unexpected Joys of Parenthood

Confession: I was terrified to have kids. I never really wanted to be a mom, but I married someone who wanted to be a dad; and thanks to him, a mom I became.

I had so many fears about having kids, they warrant their own essay (or, at the very least, a good listicle). But I can confidently say that one of the silliest worries I had before becoming a parent was the fear that my skiing life would change forever.

I was correct; skiing was never the same after having kids. Instead, it got better.

For a while, I did ski a sadly minimal amount. In the earliest years, before the kids could take lessons, we didn’t make it to the mountains much. In Denver, where we live, kids often get on the slopes by age 3, assuming their parents are as avid as my husband and me. But even once my kids were in lessons, skiing was tough; there was the interminable schlepping of gear, the complaints about weather, the logistics, and the sheer cost of the sport. It was work, much like any outcome worth reaching requires. At times, it sucked.

But now my kids are 12 and 9, and we have officially reached a milestone: no more lessons; now we can ski as a family.

It is hard to convey how much I enjoy skiing with my kids, in a way I never enjoyed skiing before. It’s more joyous, more lighthearted; it amplifies the gifts around us, like stunning scenery and our bodies’ abilities to have fun through exercise and adventure and pushing limits. Skiing together has taught me that when an activity shifts from being a purely selfish endeavor to one that you experience with others, through others, especially when those others are young people looking to you for life’s wisdom and security, the activity takes on a whole new kind of joy.

Family TV Time

Is TV the devil? I hope not; my brother and I watched a fair amount growing up, bonded through it, and still do. And now, one of the activities I find most enjoyable as a parent is watching good TV shows and movies with my kids.

Here is another area that I thought would suffer when I became a parent, and in some ways, it did; I definitely don’t get to see as many movies as I did before, and now have only a precious hour or so after the kids go to bed when my husband and I can wind down at night with a good TV show. (We’re currently alternating between Slow Horses and Ted Lasso on Apple TV). And I definitely spent several years watching way too much Wild Kratts and Curious George, although both are quite decent, at least among kids’ shows.

But now the kids are old enough, and we can watch movies like Groundhog Day or What About Bob and laugh in unison at Bill Murray’s phenomenal comedic performances. We can cozy up and watch You’ve Got Mail and Sleepless in Seattle (because yes, boys love those movies too), cheering at the end when Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks finally find themselves together. We can have a Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings marathon and know the books will always beat the movies, yet appreciate how movies bring books to life in such a vivid way. The joint experience of a movie, for me, always beats watching by oneself; and sharing that experience with my kids is magical and eye-opening in a way I never anticipated.

As a family, we just finished the TV series Young Sheldon, which we found ourselves excited to watch each evening, after the sports and activities and dinner and cleanup of daily life. My daughter (12) and I have been watching Gilmore Girls together, my first time with the series. We just started Season 5, and Luke and Lorelei have us screaming and cheering them on, and Rory is making questionable choices that we love talking about. I don’t want the series to end, but we’ll probably start right over and watch the whole thing again, enjoying it in new and different ways. As Heraclitus said, “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.” Amen, brother.

Learning From My Kids

Before becoming a mom, I assumed being a parent was all about helping your kids, teaching your kids, being there for your kids. It was quite intimidating, and felt like an immense amount of pressure. What I didn’t know is that this street would run both ways, that my children would be my teachers, showing me constantly how to be a better person.

One of the most striking realizations as a parent is that even if your children came from your DNA, and you birthed them and raised them, they are somehow still their own unique souls. They have talents and interests and abilities and flaws that you don’t recognize in yourself or your partner; or even if you do recognize them, they have a slightly different flavor and texture than the ones you know. And with their uniqueness, and innocence, they teach you things in a way no one else can.

Take my daughter, for example: As I commented recently on a delightful Substack note, she is obsessed with all things Snoopy-related. She collects Snoopy sweatshirts and earrings and swag, and wears them proudly. I’m not sure where this interest originated, though we do have an old collection of Peanuts cartoons that she has enjoyed reading since age five. But her love of Snoopy is completely her own; it’s not something her friends are into, or something she has learned from anyone else. I love that she has the confidence and comfort in her own skin, especially as a sixth grader at a new middle school, to embrace her passions. I know with certainty that I would not have had that kind of courage, at her age. I want to be like her when I grow up.

My son (9) has an entirely different personality compared with my daughter’s, and his is much more like my own. When he gets moody, I see my own mood tendencies reflected in his storminess. When I tell him not to take things so seriously, I hear reverberations in my own psyche, where I’ve battled all my life with the very same inclination. When he clings only to the teeny-tiny criticism among all the praise lavished on his game, his performance, his math test, I see the same intense negativity bias inherent in myself.

And then, when I see him laugh, I appreciate his love of irony and good comedic timing, and I want to make him laugh more. I want to be funnier; I want to share everything funny I can find with my hilarious, brilliant little man. He shows me how to find the silliness and the fun in life, and grab onto it, and keep fighting off those demons no matter the effort.

My son also loves good food, and cooking and baking, and I take every opportunity to have his help with a recipe. My daughter joins when I can convince her, too. Enjoying food, enjoying nature, enjoying good books, even playing music together—my son on drums, my daughter on guitar and trumpet, my husband on guitar and myself on piano—these are but a few more of the joys I never expected to gain when I had kids. Watching them perform on the soccer field, at choir concerts, at school and even on the trampoline are just a few more. I’m so grateful for these unexpected joys, which tell me there’s a kind and benevolent universe helping our efforts as humans feel rich, fulfilling, and rewarding.

If you’ve had unexpected joys as a parent, I’d love to hear about them. Drop them in the comments and share your thoughts!