I haven’t blogged in a really long time, mostly due to the
fact that the great state of Ohio has no interest in educating my children. During
the month of January, my kids only had 17 scheduled days of school. Three of those
days were modified as either an early release or morning delay for snow. One
was cancelled entirely. So for the month, my kids had 13 regular school days.
What did I learn during those other 18 days sequestered in
my home? I learned that I hate playing with my kids. I really, really hate it.
I love my kids, but playing is just not my thing. I will help them with their
homework. I will support their plethora of after-school activities. I will
balance their meals and ensure they have proper rest. But please don’t make me
play pretend – not Barbies, not stuffed animals, not toy trains. I spent enough of my life playing pretend.
It didn’t start
that way. We chose to have kids. I didn’t make any large life mistakes, just a
series of small compromises. When we had our first child, I sacrificed a little
of my career and worked part-time. When we had our second child, I sacrificed
my entire career and we moved so that I could stay home.
As a stay-at-home mom, I’ve felt like a failure. My identity
has always been synonymous with accomplishing goals. When I clean mashed banana
out of the sofa four times a day, there is no reward. What is the goal in
raising a child? To survive until bedtime without cracking open a bottle? I
thought that I could fake my way through mommyhood until I realized that there
is no finite endpoint in child-rearing.
I spent years pretending to be happy. I’d sob on the kitchen
floor when my husband left for work in the morning because I was jealous and
missed my job. Then I’d host play dates, help with preschool parties, and attend Bunco groups, all while feeling
completely out of place. For a while I even volunteered in my kids’ classrooms.
I did anything to fit in with the mommies. And there is nothing wrong with any
of those things; I just didn’t enjoy any of them. What began as small
compromises consumed my entire life.
I’ll never be content to live through my children. I don’t
want to be a member of the PTO or spend my evening frosting classroom party
cupcakes. I don’t get excited on snow days. I do not want to host a birthday
party for a plastic cat. I’ll never care more about my kid’s sports team than I
do about my own workout. I’d much rather balance the checkbook and prepare our
taxes than perform any child-related activity. Any process excellence expert
can tell you that cutting a kid’s food into crazy shapes is a waste of time. According
to society’s stay-at-home mom standards, I suck. I’ll draw you a fishbone
diagram to prove it.
Is that a bad thing? I don’t think so. I love my kids for
whoever and whatever they want to be. I will support them, but I will never try
to live through them. I don’t expect them to compromise their lives for my happiness, nor will I compromise mine for theirs.
Maybe having a mom who is comfortable with herself will be
beneficial. I hope it frees them to be the people they want to be and that they’ll
never feel forced to succumb to outside expectations of who they’re supposed to
be. Or maybe it will just result in a large therapy bill. But either way, now I can handle it.
