I Don't Wanna Play With My Kids

Yep, it’s true. Call me cranky, but I don’t enjoy playing with my kids.

Don’t get me wrong – I love being with my kids. I have, after all, chosen to homeschool them, which constitutes the automatic forfeit of seven free hours a day. If I didn’t enjoy their company so much, we’d all be in a lot of trouble.

It’s the getting-down-on-the-floor-and-playing bit that I’m not very good at. Never have been – probably never will be. I find child’s play a bit – well, boring.

Truth be told, I believe that young children who learn to entertain themselves are much better off than young children who are constantly entertained. So I really don’t feel all that guilty for not wanting to play with Hot Wheels and homemade modeling dough.

Okay, so I haven’t even made any homemade modeling dough lately. But let’s not split hairs.

About a year ago, a fellow writer was compiling a book on how we play with our children. I really wanted to contribute to her effort – not only did I respect her as an author, but I felt I probably had something to say on the matter. What I actually discovered was that I had nothing to say at all.

Because I don’t like playing with my children.

Maybe it’s just child burnout. Face it – my entire day (and most likely yours, too) consists of tying shoes, filling tummies, quelling disputes, teaching phonics, folding tiny undies, cleaning boo-boos, doling out chores, reading stories, giving hugs, and finding lost blankies. Toss a baby into the picture and you’ve also got poopy diapers to change, a drooly face to wipe, an entire house to baby-proof, and five million repetitions of “Pat-a-Cake” to recite.

Doesn’t that make you tired just thinking about it?

When all is said and done, I’m more than happy to send my children off to their own little corners of the world so that they can indulge in wondrous fantasy play – without me. My girls come up with such involved and bizarre stories that I couldn’t begin to join in even if I tried.

And Jonathan? He’s perfectly content flying one of his hot air balloon models for three hours. (That’s three whole hours of no fights with his sisters. Who would want to mess with that?)

Call it self-justification, but I don’t feel that mommies need to play with their children on a regular basis. Read to them, yes. Have the occasional tickle-fest, yes. Be silly and sing songs and laugh together – yes, yes, yes! But I’m talking about sitting down and playing with a Brio train set for an hour.

In the words of Larry the Cucumber: “Nope. Not gonna do it.”

Hey, maybe you like sitting down and punching out paper doll clothes with your five-year-old, or playing Candy Land with your preschooler, or making home-made puppets out of your husband’s old socks and helping your children put on a stellar production of My Fair Lady for your extended family’s viewing pleasure.

More power to you.

As for me, I’d rather read Little House on the Prairie to my girls and then watch them run outside and play “Laura and Mary” in the tree fort. I’ve given them the inspiration – they do the playing on their own.

I did buy a pack of Uno cards for my kids last year, and I even taught them how to play. But then my youngest decided that the cards made good garage doors, and pretty soon most of them were folded to the point of no return.

So much for Uno.

Now, you may think I’m making excuses, but it really is difficult to play with creative kids (assuming I’d want to play in the first place). They have their own ideas, and, believe me, they are big ideas. Board games have rules, so after a few rounds they lose their charm. Puzzles, once mastered, are boring. But a game of “robbers stealing food from poor people and tying each other to trees” – now there’s something that will hold their interest until suppertime!

What mom could ever come up with that, anyway? The best I could do would probably be hide-and-seek. And they don’t even play that the normal way.

No. They don’t need me to play with them. They need me to clap for them and affirm them and encourage them and caution them and remind them to wash their hands after they’ve gone poop – but they don’t need me to play with them.

I don’t even like to push children on swings. In fact, I’d love to see somebody invent a self-swinging playground swing for infants and toddlers. Maybe some folks find it enjoyable to push a gurgling baby in a swing while the sun is blinding you and your four-year-old wants you to watch him on the merry-go-round. I find it absolutely, mind-numbingly tedious.

I’d much rather videotape my husband pushing the gurgling baby. At least I’d be doing something creative.

So, what do I do for fun, you ask? How do I enjoy my children if I refuse to play with them? Well, I enjoy watching them while they’re sleeping, but I suppose that’s not what you’re after.

I enjoy singing songs with my children in Spanish. I enjoy making up knock-knock jokes that actually make them laugh. I enjoy telling them stories about my childhood (and they love hearing them). I enjoy snuggling on the sofa and watching “Barbie as Rapunzel” with them. And I enjoy speaking “Ubby Dubby” with them. (If you don’t know what “Ubby Dubby” is, you didn’t grow up watching “ZOOM.”)

So you see, I guess I “play” in my own way. We enjoy each other’s company, and we’re all madly in love with each other. And they seem to like things just the way they are.

Recently, my daughter Rachel has been asking me (repeatedly) to play Scrabble with her. Last week she whooped me by twenty points (I’m still not sure how that happened). Even though Scrabble is probably my favorite board game, I find myself inwardly groaning every time she asks me. Maybe it’s because she’s only seven, and the word level isn’t exactly stimulating. Maybe it’s because she keeps asking me how to spell words before she actually places her tiles down.

Or maybe it’s because she whooped me by twenty points last week.

At any rate, I now have to search within myself for the reason for my reluctance. My guess is that, because of her age, it still feels like “child’s play” to me. A few years from now, a game of Scrabble with Rachel might be the highlight of my weekend (especially since Eric refuses to play with me). But for now, it’s something I have to make myself do, if only to make her feel loved.

So, to all you kite-flyers and ball-throwers and baby-doll rockers – go to it! If you’re loving it, keep doing it. As for me, I’ll wave from the window while my children run past in their latest flight of fancy. I may even whip up a costume or dig up a necessary prop. But then I’ll settle back into my own world – preferably with something chocolate – and savor the time I have to just be me, however short-lived the moment may be.

Of course, if Eric wants to play, I’ll drop everything. But that’s an entirely different topic…