Let’s Get Ready to Rumble!

I blame the book Playful Parenting. I read it when I was a new inductee into Mommyhood. Actually, I read a slew of parenting books in those early months. I think was I looking for that non-existent user manual for children. Now that I am a grizzled veteran, I know to take all parenting books and their contradictory theories on how to raise your children and use them as bonfire fodder. S'mores, anyone? Aside from its title, I don't recall much about Playful Parenting beyond the author's advocating of nontraditional play with children (e.g. wrestling with girls). His argument for doing so seemed sound. He believed it would help make them more confident and comfortable in their bodies. Given my issues with body distortion, I wanted to spare my daughter that particular angst, so I began to playfully wrestle with Alice who loved it.


The point to this back story- a few Sundays ago John was heading to the airport, so it was just me and the girls. They were playing in the living room while I puttered around the kitchen cleaning up after dinner. I smiled as I heard gales of little girl laughter erupt regularly; at least until the laughter was interspersed with odd thumping noises. I generally try to leave well enough alone when they are contentedly playing. I did not hear limbs being severed or screeches of terror. Still, my curiosity was piqued, so I decided to investigate.


I stood in the doorway of the living room and watched aghast as my two girls (ages 3 and 1) wrestled together. The World Wrestling Federation had nothing on these two. I decided to reprimand Alice, the oldest who should know better. As Alice lay prone on the floor, I lit into her for treating her smaller and more fragile sister so roughly. I should have known better. While I listed the reasons why wrestling with Angela was the wrong thing to do, Angela, who was kneeling next to her sister, decided stand up and then body slam Alice. While they laughed uproariously, I muttered, "Never mind" to Alice and walked out of the room. Angela can fend for herself, which now leaves me time to decide what their professional wrestling names should be. Any suggestions?

In Favor of Adulthood

The other day while I was on Facebook, I noticed a new group. I don't recall the exact title of the group, but it went something along the lines of wishing to be a child when the most difficult choice was deciding what color crayon to use. I smiled and thought of those idyllic childhood days until my attention was diverted by a crying Angela who stood in front of the two steps transitioning from the kitchen to the living room. Normally, she is such a happy go lucky soul; however, of late I have noticed an uptick in crying. Frustration has reached an apex for her. She is caught between desire (to get up the stairs) and her limitations (not being able to coordinate all the body parts necessary for this feat). As I watched her struggle with the step, I realized that group on Facebook had it all wrong. Adulthood is the better stage. No, I am not being sarcastic, droll, or any derivation of those words. I am being 100% honest. I prefer bring an adult.


Yes, as an adult, one faces major stresses and responsibilities (think mortgages, bosses, parenthood), but it's not like childhood is devoid of stresses and responsibilities. While it is true that kids play all day, remember that play is their work and that work is exhausting physically and mentally. I can personally attest to the physical exhaustion of play. On the days Alice is home from school, we are on the go, go, go. I work out simply so I can build the endurance to keep up with her. For Angela the physical aspect of play is all consuming as she works on refining walking skills. Can you imagine the constant stress and frustration felt by the bourgeoning walker? The fact that she keeps trying despite constant failure awes me. Then there is the mental aspect of play. All that "common knowledge" that we have stored in our craws came from somewhere. Imagine constantly being bombarded by new things, experiences, and stimuli. Kids deal with this on a constant basis. Add to this limited language/communication skills and is it any wonder that they have tantrums? As adults, we have the words to express how we feel for when we are frustrated, sad, tired and so forth. We have also learned coping mechanisms for when we experience these feelings (that is the hope anyway); but, kids have not developed that side of themselves yet. There is also the extreme of this- no words at all. Angela can say and understand the words: Mama, Dada, and Pup (for Pug). She can point to things that she wants. She can laugh to express approval and scream/cry to show displeasure. Imagine dealing with those limitations on a regular basis. That does not sound idyllic to me.


There is also the issue of personal autonomy. Yes, due to adult responsibilities, it is limited, but it is worse for children. I realized this the other day when Alice told me she wanted to stay home and play with her trains. I needed to get to the grocery store to pick up dinner. Guess who won? Kids are dragged everywhere regardless of whether they want to come along for the ride or not. When presented with choices, the choices are limited to the ones that I provide. Ideas like ice cream for dinner are rebuffed along with extended bedtimes (little do my children know that John and I frequently indulge in an ice cream dinner). This highlights the next stinky thing about childhood- learning the lesson that life is unfair and people are mean. As adults, we know this already. Again, we have built coping mechanisms for this. When I encounter a stuck up mom on the playground, I cease trying to be friendly and walk away (probably thinking the word "bitch" as I do so). I don't take things like that personally. Kids can't help but take it personally. I periodically deal with this when Alice tries playing with the ubiquitous "mean girls." How does one explain this phenomenon to a 3 year old? They don't get that some people are just mean, and no matter how friendly you are, they will still be mean.


So give me adulthood with its ice cream dinners and knowledge. Heck, I will take any stage that does not involve going through puberty again. That will be a post at a later date I am sure.