Confessions of a Bad “Player”

 

Some people simply know how to play better than other people.  My husband is one of them.  Tim’s middle name is “epic” fun.   He is energetic, spontaneous, and always up for an adventure on the fly.  He is also the kind of guy who get’s on his knees and plays blocks with the baby, dukes out Madden with our boy untill the wee hours of the morning and delights in Scrabble with our daughter.

I, on the other hand, was not blessed with the “gaming” gene.  I’ve got the bookworm gene, and the cuddling/nurturing/smart-ass gene…but games, not so much.

And while I am no expert in birth-order traits, I think “us” more structured “type A” personalities can blame growing up as an only child or as a much older first-born.  It’s hard to play games (other than Solitaire) when you are the only kid around.  (I guess my imaginary friends don’t count as companions either?)

Anyway, it was no skin off my teeth as a little kid, because I thought I was a grown-up.  By the age of four, I read the newspaper with my Lucky Charms and coffee, scavenged for antiques with my parents, and conversed with adults effortlessly.  Basically, I wasn’t ever a childlike kid, I was an adultified kid.

It’s not a bad trait –this grown-up kid mentality, but when it comes to child raising it makes a big difference in  attachment and children feeling connected and cared for by their parents(according to my Yoda-like counselor).

So, to sum up my counselor’s theory, my kids don’t really care how many books I complete this year, or about my husband’s heavy workload…they just want us to play blocks and chase and Barbie.  That’s so un-adultlike of them. 

My lackluster game skills have never really been an issue before now.  My oldest teen son is pretty mature (AKA another adultified child) and the baby has my husband to play with, but my middle girl child has become rather demanding.  And now it’s come to a crux, because it’s partly my fault. 

Apparently “play” is Faith’s love language and that’s just awesome, because I stink at it.  And, though I excel at sophisticated grown-up play –Vegas and cocktails, wit and politics, this kiddy frolic stuff sails right past me.

Vegas anyone?

So, I can continue to justify my lack of folly and claim my parents didn’t play little kid games all that much with me either (which is fine, I mean they had jobs to do and they did lots of cool stuff with me it’s just they weren’t five-year-old companions) or I can choose to own it and figure out how to be more silly in a childlike way. 

Ummmm….painful!  But do I really have a choice if I am to move towards my girl with love?

And so I am now entering a challenging season of being more intentional with my darling middle munchkins (and just for the heck of it, I’m throwing in some pre-school hijinks for the baby too). 

For the last few days, I have played Matchbox cars, painted ceramic magnets, used crayons, tried not to punch Mr. Potato Head after I put his arms back in for the forty-fourth time, cut-out paper icicles, decorated sugar cookies, and watched Mickey Mouse Clubhouse over and over and over.  I also played in the Jacuzzi with the baby, chased Faith and Kolby around a fountain until Kolby barfed (all over my shoes) and have read an endless stack of baby books.  I have listened to toddler music until my head hurts and made Barbie do the splits about a hundred times.

I wish I could say it was easy.  Sometimes I actually find myself hoping someone (anyone) will walk in and see me on the floor playing so I can get props and hear, “well now aren’t you the loving mama!”

And I’ll be so demure and bat my eyelashes…”You know, I am really into crafts and being an organic mother.  I even make my own baby food.”  I’ll say this as I pull my fourth baby out of his sling as I simultaneously play puzzles with my toddler and make macrame necklaces with my tween.

And then my nose will grow like Pinocchio because I am a big fat liar.

I envy the earth mothers.  It is so hard for me to just sit and play.  It’s like someone is taking away my efficient identity and things that need to get done are falling through the cracks.  We already have one playful person in the family -epic funmeister Tim, so somebody has to keep us track, right?

But I’m learning (very slowly and awkwardly) that being present with my children is not about checking tasks off a list –it’s about getting rid of the list.

Nothing enormous has happened since I began my big “PLAY” effort last week.  My daughters and my teen didn’t fall on their knees and thank me for my efforts.  But, what I have found is that I feel closer to my kids.  Faith smiles more.  Kolby loves having a new playmate and I feel better knowing that I am making an effort to engage my kids in a way that speaks to them and in a language they can discern.

And sometimes love means ripping out our selfishness and cutting it off at the knees…and somewhere in all this pruning, reconnecting with our lost inner child. 

Game on ♥

Do you have a hard time being present with your kids?  Do you know your kid’s love languages?  What can you do today to see the world from your children’s perspective?

First Crush

“So Brayden, I hear you think I look like I princess,” said my daughter Faith to our young neighbor.

Brayden gulped and sat up in his chair. “I, um did I say that?” He looked at his mom in panic and gave her the mini eye roll for letting the cat out of the bag.

It was no secret that Brayden adored my ten-year old daughter, but this was the first time he had been caught in the act of his crush.

Faith gave a tinkling laugh and tossed her long golden locks over her shoulder.  Four year-old Brayden looked dazed as if fairies had dusted him with smitten powder. He squared his shoulders and looked at his dad with newfound determination, ready to slay dragons and fight for his princess.

“Dad, I don’t think we can be friends anymore,” Brayden stated, now serious and reflective in his demeanor.

“Why not bud?” Brayden’s father Tyler replied.

“Well dad, I don’t like boys anymore so we don’t have anything in common.” Braden suggested.

Tyler nodded his head and played along with his boy, “its ok bud, we can still be friends. Because guess what?  I like girls too!  That’s why I married your mommy.”

Brayden looked relieved. “Oh that’s good dad.”

Tyler looked at his son with a proud smile and recognized this was the big moment Brayden needed to court his girl. “Who are you going to marry Bray?” he asked.

Brayden took a deep breath and owned his intentions, taking his first bold step towards manhood. “I am going to marry Faith!” he exclaimed with a swoon and a giggle.

And the table erupted in glorious laughter and a bit of wistfulness.

Because we all remember our first crush.

Poignant. Powerful. Piercing.

It made every day better just to catch a glimpse of our beloved.

Later that evening Faith tucked our little pajama clad Romeo into bed and read him a book.

And without a word, his contented smile and beaming face told the story of his heroic romance.

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