It’s been a while since I complain-bitched about anything related to parenting and that is unacceptable, so here goes …
Not long ago I came across an article that proclaimed parents who play make-believe with their children are happier than those who don’t, and it made me so sad, and kind of angry, too. Because no matter how hard I try, I will never be that parent. Shocking, I know, coming from someone who lists Walt Disney World as one of her top vacation destinations. But I simply do not enjoy playing make-believe. Never have, never will. There, I said it. Sorry, not sorry. Judge me if you like.
I know that’s not something a mom of two young children is supposed to say, but I can’t help it. It’s just not my forte as a momma. And yet, it’s always felt like some sort of prerequisite to parenting. When I signed my children’s birth certificates, was there some sort of microscopic clause that I missed stating I must sit down on the floor and pretend play with my kids? Geez, I certainly hope not because I’m failing miserably.
I think about this a lot. I feel terrible that I don’t enjoy make-believing, but am I really doing a disservice to my children if I don’t live inside their heads with them? Aren’t children wired to use their imaginations to create fantasy worlds outside the realm of everyday life—and to play in those worlds amongst themselves? Since when did parents become hours-long toys for their children? Or entertainment directors forced to envision and plan a recurring wonder wheel of fun-filled, interactive activities? Admittedly, I have played this directorial role before. Remember my Halloween and Christmas scavenger hunts, my homemade pin the spider on the web/hat on the elf games, etc.? But those were special holiday-themed maybe-traditions that I came up with to bring some happiness and cheer into an extremely heavy and depressing year. What I’m talking about here are run-of-the-mill everyday activities.
And speaking of Christmas (#foreveraChristmasgirl), I’m reminded of the scene (which I hate) in The Santa Clause where the mother hears her child laughing and playing nicely in his bedroom but then as she opens his door to spy on him, she gets this stunned, concerned look on her face because he’s pretending to be Santa driving his sleigh! What?! Since when is it worrisome that a child uses his imagination?! It irritates me to no end; I love when my children play together like that (and leave me to my parental duties) and I encourage it as much as possible! Ask my daughter: Whenever she complains about boredom, my immediate response is “Yeah, well, boredom is good for you—go use your imagination.” Harsh? Maybe, but I think harsh lessons are called for sometimes. It builds character and fosters creativity and independence.
When I was a kid, I don’t remember my parents engaging me all day long day after day after day—nor did I want them to. My brother and I were more than content to spend hours outside exploring every inch of our neighborhood and playing with all the other kids. You don’t see any of that nowadays (I appreciate this isn’t our children’s fault, but it isn’t ours either!). My husband comments all the time about how he never hears the happy sing-song sound of children laughing and frolicking in our neighborhood. That deeply saddens me, but I suppose it’s par for the course because society (and technology) has significantly changed the way we parent.
And then, of course, there’s the whole pandemic, which pretty much upended everything that had already become the “normal” way of parenting—i.e., pretty much the exact opposite of what our parents’ generation did. I don’t know how today’s parents feel, but I’ve gotten to a point where the physical, mental, and emotional demands of my children thwart any effort or desire on my part to engage outside the nonnegotiable duties required as a parent. Believe me, I know how horrifying that sounds. But after living Groundhog’s Day for 10-plus months, slugging through 17-plus hours a day (if we’re lucky) of working, virtual schooling, homeschooling, never-ending chores, mealtimes, not to mention the constant battles of exhaustion, mental fatigue, anxiety (ours and our children’s), the lack of anything even remotely resembling self-care or the support of a “village,” what else can we expect?
In the grand scheme of things, I doubt my babes will even remember or care that I didn’t walk them around the house on a leash (they like to play dog/owner). And even if they do, I think I’m OK with that. (Side note: I have no problem being the kennel owner and putting out bowls of treats or water, though, so that must count for something, right?!)
What I think it comes down to is that my children simply want to “be” with me. It doesn’t matter what we do. And since there are so many other activities I enjoy, I have no problem taking make-believe off the table. What sorts of activities, you ask? Well, for one, I love to read. Ask me to sit with you and pore over a stack of books, I’m there. Challenge me to a game of Candy Land or Sorry! or Stone Soup (a fun, simple matching game), I’m down. Pull out crayons and coloring books and I will sit for hours just coloring away (it’s so relaxing and cathartic!). You wanna have a picnic in the living room while watching a movie? Awesome, let’s do it. You wanna play “house” by folding the socks or unloading the dishwasher, go for it! You wanna play “chef” by making your own lunch or snack? Have at it! Just please do not ask me to sit on the floor and play make-believe. Please.don’t.do.it. It’s just not in me. I’ll take care of all the important “parenting” stuff, I will sit and listen and indulge you in heart-to-hearts, I will love you to the moon and back infinity, but please don’t subject me to the overwhelming, brain-frying, madness-inducing boredom of make-believing.
All joking aside, though, I do not believe that my children need me to play make-believe with them. Do they want me to? Yep. Do they need me to? Not in my parenting book. What they need is for me to be their mom, not their entertainment guide. They don’t need me to tell them how or what to play when, where, or with whom. All they need is a safe, secure, happy, loving environment in which to let their imaginations soar.
And I’ll be that momma hovering in the background with a big smile on her face and a glass of wine in her hand, fist pumping and quietly cheering them on. Now, doesn’t that sound like the happiest parent in the world? It sure as hell does from where I’m standing.