All the difference

I don’t like playing with my kids. As awful as that sounds, it’s really not. I’m not saying I don’t ever play with them. It’s just that I don’t enjoy it. The horror, I know. But it’s the truth and it took me a long time to not let that guilt me. It’s almost like I don’t get it. The whole point of the playing, especially with boys toys. For example My son would like me to sit with him for hours and set up army men, and little forts, and stage the vehicles, and so on, only to literally drop a bomb and blow the whole scene up in .5 seconds. And then repeat. It’s not fun. 

I don’t want to crawl on the floor for some imaginary recon mission. I’ll build your fort but I don’t want to hide in it with you. I’ll draw pictures for you to color in, but for the love of all things artsy, do not ask me to share my markers. No you can not use the ones I bought for MY adult coloring books. And no I’m not ripping a page out of that book for you either. I like to color. And I like to watch you color. I also like to keep our creative time and space completely separate. 

Games. Glass of vodka and cards against humanity sounds delightful. Candy land, shoot me. Not really, I mean I’ll play it, but it’s agonizing for me. The kids cheat. They cry if you call them on it. They change the rules as they go so you have no chance of ever winning. And once is not good enough, no we have to “play” it 500 times. 500 boards of nonsense. Until I am absolutely bored out of my mind. 

I tell my kids several time a week, I made other humans to play with you. Bother them. Really it’s what they are here for, companionship. Now go forth and play... with each other. 

I used to think this was a major shortcoming on my part! Who doesn’t like to play with their kids?! I’m guessing more people than are actually admitting to it. It’s ok. Admit it. You hear that little voice whispering, play with me, and you cringe, and smile and you play because you suck if you don’t. And none of us wanna be the sucky, no fun, I don’t wanna play with you Mom. But I am her. And I finally accept that. I accept it because there are other areas that I excel.

So while I don’t love games (or even sports really), I will be my kids biggest cheerleader from now until they too are grey and old. This year in particular has been a rough one. Man oh man has having 3 kids in school left me feeling like I have met my match. Mom vs. school, and school is totally kicking my ass. Or is it? 

However many shortcomings i have owned in this Mom game, they have not defeated or defined me. But, here’s what has. I have always been my kids biggest fan, their number one supporter. At different times that has meant different things. For one kid it meant therapy to help him navigate this unfamiliar place where Mom can’t be there to hold his hand. It was telling him 1,000 times a day, whatever you need to get through this is what we are gonna do, and meaning it. For my older son it meant being a shoulder to cry on, and ear to listen, and a trust that he could tell me anything. It meant biting my tongue, and letting him make mistakes. It’s letting him see that we love with him through all the imperfect days. 

Sometimes it means taking a step back, and others it’s going all in. I will go to bat for these boys a thousand times, until they can knock it out of the park on their own. They know that. And that has made all the difference. They also know not to ask me to play clue, I f%#%^ng hate that game.