Back in 2003 I optimistically signed up for Parent Effectiveness Training. My first born daughter had been one of those ‘good babies’ that you sometimes hear about, the kind that grow into adorable two year olds and sweet little three year olds, with barely a tantrum to speak of. I was riding the wave of smug parenthood when my second daughter came along and introduced me to the fine art of the Supermarket Special. It was right there, in the cereal aisle, watching my daughter throw her little body to the ground in dramatic, dying-swan fashion, that I realised I had been kidding myself. I actually didn’t have a clue what I was doing after all. My attempts to calm her down, to entice her back into the pram, to gather her up in my loving arms and show her that I loved her in spite of the violence of her tantrum, were all in vain. I stood and watched her writhing about on the floor and wondered if I could be any less effective.

So when a friend told me about Parent Effectiveness Training, I eagerly enrolled. The course promised techniques and methods to tame the most ferocious toddler-beast. At the very first class I met a dozen other bewildered, haggard, ineffective parents, all keen to regain the upper hand. Our instructor was a sweet and softly-spoken woman who didn’t seem to possess the vocal range required for yelling at children. I wondered what magical powers she possessed that made it possible for her to maintain decorum in her house full of toddlers without needing to raise her voice. The Ineffective Parents in the room leaned forward to listen to her wise counsel. She spoke about patience, about negotiation, of discussing alternatives but not compromising on boundaries. She said it worked wonderfully well in her house, and she was sure we could all learn from her experiences. We looked at her incredulously and wondered if she even had children.

Some parents might find the PET model works well for their families and I am not here to argue the merits of one theory over another. But what I will say is that there are few places more validating and supportive than a Community Centre room full of parents at the end of their collective rope. When our softly-spoken instructor invited comments from the floor, well, you might as well have tried to hold back the tide. Everyone had a story about their own special brand of ineffectiveness, and everyone was grateful for the opportunity to tell it like it was. We all attempted to out-do one another with stories of how spectacularly we had failed in our efforts to be Effective Parents. We shared our stories and offered up pure unadulterated empathy. We were there to learn how to be effective, but the most valuable lesson we learned was that we were not alone in our ineffectiveness, and that there was always some poor bastard who had it worse.

And so it is with great joy and gratitude that I join the ranks of the Imperfect Parent. I know that I am among friends here, and that my stories will elicit nods of recognition, virtual hugs of understanding and perhaps the occasional softly-spoken disapproval. Australians are known for their laid-back approach to life, their she’ll-be-right attitude and their penchant for questioning authority and taking well-intentioned advice with a large grain of salt. As a parent this attitude has possibly landed me in a nappy-bucket (diaper pail!) full of hot water on several occasions but it has also given me a sense of humour that frankly I couldn’t have survived without. Thank you for joining me on this journey, thank you for overlooking the extra vowel in humor and the ’s’ in realized, and thank you to the editors of The Imperfect Parent for allowing me to embrace my ineffectiveness and my imperfections. It’s going to be therapeutic.

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