In Which Our Protagonist Makes a Shocking Admission

Something about stay-at-home motherhood feels terribly indulgent, (much like this venti pumpkin spice latte I’m enjoying in Starbucks right now) even though it’s terribly hard work.  Yes, I’m currently sitting in Starbucks, typing away at my computer, pretending mightily that I’m a very important person, writing the next great American novel, or the solution to the middle East conflicts, maybe.  Why is mommy-blogging not enough? 

Part of it is very simple.  I just need a break every now and again.  When my oldest daughter was a baby I felt very, very guilty for even wanting a break. I thought it meant I didn’t love her enough.  I always thought about the moms I knew (or thought I knew) that didn’t seem to need breaks.  They took so much frickin joy in their kids they made me sick with guilt.   I’m going to admit something now that I’m not actually sure is a great idea on a public blog.  Something I’m terribly ashamed of. 

I don’t actually like playing with my kids that much.  I find it, well, boring. 

Wow.  That was hard.  Now don’t get me wrong.  I love my kids more than life itself.  I’ve never loved anyone or anything like I love my kids.  It’s an unimaginable love.  Did I mention I really, really love my kids?  (Or, super love them, as my almost-four-year-old would say).  But when I take a block and give it back to my one-year-old over and over and over again sometimes I count the minutes till bedtime.  And pretending to be a princess kinda makes me want to die.  Ok, that’s a bit of dramatic hyperbole.  But playing with kids is hard, hard work.  It’s not cognitively engaging, it’s repetitive, it’s not productive, at least not in the sense that I have a pile of something I made or folded at the end of it.  But I do it, maybe not quite as much as I should, maybe I sneak glances at my phone now and again, but there I am, handing blocks to my baby and twirling with my four-year-old.  Who wouldn’t need a break from that?  I yearn to be more productive, to contribute to society in some way.  People say my contribution to society is that I’m raising great kids.  But what if all they do is raise great kids?  Then I’ve just contributed to over-population. 

So the above admission might seem a little strange to people who know me.  I’m a teacher for goodness sake, and I think a lot about education.  But somehow, when it’s not my kids, play is more interesting.  I analyze it.  I look at development.  I find it cognitively engaging.  I think I’m a bit afraid to do that with my kids.  I’m afraid I might find some developmental deficiency.  (Cue my mother, rolling her eyes). Or maybe I just already know them so well that their play isn’t all that revealing on a day to day basis.  Whatever it is, I find myself having to force myself to play with my kids.  Luckily, I’m more successful at forcing myself to play with my kids than I am say, at forcing myself to clean the bathroom.  But I think I’m getting better.  Maybe I just find my four-year-old more engaging recently.  I like teaching her things.  I like, as her preschool teacher puts it, “doping her play.”  I’ve been saving the tops of baby food pouches (thank you, pinterest), and today I poured them all out on the table and started sorting them by color.  My four-year-old, predictably, stopped what she was doing, and came over to me.

 “Whatcha doin’, Mom?”   

“Oh, just sorting these baby food tops.  I want to know if there are more purple or more green tops.”

“I want to do that!” she said as she practically pushed me out of the chair.  That’s play doping.  And man, it’s fun.  I’m sure there’s some psychological reason for that, but I think it’s disturbing, so I’ll let that one go. 

And I hope that play-doping is enough contribution to society. I hope I can somehow dope compassion and intelligence and ambition into play.  If anyone has any idea how to do that, please let me know.

But I still need a break sometimes.  I need to sit in a café and pretend I’m an adult, after pretending to be a princess all day long.  I’m deciding right now, I’m going to forgive myself for that.  Time will tell if my kids will forgive me.  For now I’ll just put a dollar in the therapy jar.