Don’t tell me my business

I’ve addressed parenting books before, but I was doubtful then of my no-parenting-books streak. Now, notsomuch.

I still haven’t read a single parenting book. I’ve read books about parents and books about kids. When yo break it down, every single book I’ve read has parents and children. Wild, right? Not only is the publishing world bursting at the seams with family members, our very own real world has parents and children everywhere.

Deep thoughts, people.

So, no, I haven’t read a how-to-parent book yet. And while 2 years is, by no stretch of the imagination, a lengthly trip down Parenting Experience Avenue, I have no intention to ever read a parenting book.

Why? Reading one book by one author (or even a couple authors who collaborate their wisdom) is a time investment. Chances are, only bits of that one book might be applicable, and because I can’t actually see their advice in motion, how do I know if I’m doing it right, or if  it’s not right for us or if it just plain-old doesn’t work?

For 2 successful years, I’ve sought parenting advice from people I know. More specifically, I seek advice from people whose parenting skills I’ve observed or whose fruits of labor I’ve witnessed and by which am impressed. I watch family and friends. I gather tidbits from strangers and imaginary characters. I’m piecing together my own how-to manual fit only for my head and my family and am creating a ragged quilt that won’t be able to be wholly passed on to any one person because of the rough edges, holes, rips, revisions and shimmery, hard-to-distinguish parts.

Books make me a better parent, but that’s only because my books allow me to escape daily life. I need that escape more than I need a stranger’s advice about my family who might be just a little bit like theirs – if I do it right.