Too Pooped To Parent?

It happened again.
The eight-year-old wanted to go on the roller coaster one more time. I didn't.
I knew, if I did, my insides would slip past my partial bridge and slide right onto my lap.
I knew that my knees would buckle as I crawled out of that snug little coaster car and I would crumple to the rails underneath.
So there he stood--huge brown eyes just beginning to swim in tears.
What else could I do? I crawled onto the ride. 90 seconds later, when I got off, my knees didn't buckle. They'd been bolstered by my large intestine, which had somehow twisted itself around my left leg.
"Did you and Grandma have fun?" the ride operator asked.
Fun. Yes, at 9:00 that morning, I had been having fun. Silver Dollar City, in Branson Missouri, is a great place. Full of steep hills. And heat. And humidity. Five rides after the coaster, I was beginning to fade.
See, kids' bodies come equipped with stamina as standard equipment.
Thirty-year-olds get it as an option--provided they're willing to spend the extra time in the gym it takes.
For fifty-somethings, stamina is a pleasant surprise--capricious in its comings and goings.
I go to the fitness center. And--for my age-- I do all right. I don't even need a fan on me--the flapping of the skin under my arms generates quite a nice breeze.
But being the fifty-seven year old parent of a young child is a challenge.
Getting enough sleep helps. When we get older, that can be hard. Nature beckons at 2:00 am and we trudge to the bathroom, then get a drink on the way back. How crazy is that? But we can train our bodies to sleep. First, we need to remember that the bedroom is a place to sleep, not watch TV or play ( with one exception.) We need to condition our minds to that: Bedroom = sleep. Second, avoid drinking anything two hours or less before retiring. Remember: A toddy at ten brings a tinkle at two. Third, keep your bedroom cool--no more than 68 degrees. Fourth, keep your bedroom dark. And if you absolutely cannot sleep, get up. Watch a boring TV show. Play solitaire--alone. There are more tips on my website http://www.lifeplusone.net
Using mentors is a great way to let your child be active without killing yourself in the process. We get our kids ( foster and adopted) involved in all kinds of activities--school clubs, summer rec, cheer leading, pee-wee wrestling, scouts, almost anything they're interested in. And each activity has adult leaders. Translate: MENTORS. We try to give a little something extra to the group--financial support, providing snacks, offering to mail out schedules--and the leaders take a greater interest in our kids. It's a win-win thing.
Keeping up with your meds, diet and exercise. Do NOT sacrifice taking the time to check your blood sugar or swallow your medications. Don't be tempted to think your body will thrive on the same diet your nine-year-old eats. Hot dogs are not fiber. AND a day without fiber is like a day without --well, you get the idea.
There are more ideas on the web site.
But, I was telling you about my vacation--sort of.
We just got back from Missouri. Branson is the greatest vacation spot in the world for families. It has just about every activity under the sun, for adults and kids, and it costs a lot less than Disneyworld.
There are miniature golf courses and go-carts, amusement parks and hiking. Para-sailing and boating is available at scads of marinas. Then, there are comedy and music shows--most tailored to hold the interest of all age groups.
There is a new attraction: The Titanic Museum. You buy your ticket to the huge ship-shaped building and get a boarding pass with the name of a Titanic passenger. At the end of the tour, you find out whether your passenger lived or died. Cool. huh?
There is shopping and ice cream stands and antique-looking cars to rent to drive the winding streets. There is a fish hatchery to tour ( for free) and the mansion of a famous nineteenth century artist ( Rose O'Neil, the woman who originated the Cupie Doll) to explore.
Branson is probably my favorite place in the world.
So, back to my roller coaster ride.
I climbed off and tried to get to the exit without looking like a doddering old woman having a stroke. I wanted desperately to look cool. It helped that my eight-year-old adopted son is big. He pulled me up the wooden walkway.
As I made my way through the crowd exiting the ride, I saw a lot of young people with forced, blue-lipped grins on green faces. Motion sickness. They were sauntering, best as they could on wobbly legs, vowing to ride again. Bravado, that's what it was. Silly. That's one thing I have found out as an older parent--I don't have to prove anything to anyone. But I want to--desperately. I don't want to shortchange my kids. Sure, I know there are lots of things I can give them that a younger parent couldn't. Yes, I understand that --at the very least--I have given my adopted kids a forever home. But I don't want them to be ashamed of having an older parent.
"Did you and Grandma have a good time?" the ride attendant asked.
"She's not my grandma," my eight-year-old said. "She's my mom."
I felt the hot tears welling as I gave him a squeeze. Then, I grabbed one of those green-faced, grinning kids getting off the coaster after a solo ride and asked,
"Will you go on the ride one more time with my child? I would go with him, but I want to take pictures from the observation deck. "