(1) In The Blessing of a Skinned Knee, a parenting book that I like very much (probably because I already agreed with most of it, rather than because of what it taught me), Wendy Mogel says something I recently have been musing on. Recalling a mother who feels reluctantly obliged to spend time watching her son play video games, because he enjoys having here there and she wants to be involved in his life, Mogel advises that parents shouldn't do things with their kids that they themselves don't enjoy doing.
She doesn't mean skip the teeth brushing or the diaper changing, of course, but rather, parents shouldn't feel that they need to be their child's playmate in leisure activities that they, as adults, find tedious.
What do you think of that idea?
It makes sense to me that everyone in the family will be happiest, of course, when engaged in activities that all enjoy. But presuming some differences of opinion will inevitably arise over what counts as "fun," does a parent ever have an obligation to do things with her kids that she herself dislikes? And if so, when? And how often? And for how long?
To start, I have to think that there's an age qualification here. Mogel's book is primarily about school-aged children. I imagine few adults derive deep personal satisfaction from reading word-a-page board books 17 times in a row or repeatedly stacking blocks only to have them knocked over. Yet most parents understand that those are valuable and even necessary things to do with a one year old, who isn't ready for bike rides or Harry Potter.
But what about those older kids? Once they are able to do a range of things that you also find pleasant, can you bow out of all activities but the mutually enjoyable ones? (And is it then fair to ask the kid to participate cheerfully in grown-up fun, like museum visits or long car trips to see people they don't know?) I don't think a family should be run as a democracy, and like Mogel, I think it's important for children to understand that they don't get to call all the shots and that they have to do some things without complaint (like take a long car trip now and then, or play alone) for the good of the whole. Parents do plenty of things without complaint for the good of the whole every day, of course, from dishwashing to the bedtime routine. Do their obligations extend to playing with older children?
I'm thinking about it these days, because I have a confession: I don't enjoy playing pretend. I used to, from about 1977 to 1987, but I don't now. And Edith, given her druthers, would have me join in games of pretend every day. As I feel my heart sinking at an invitation to unicorn training camp or a fairy princess ball, I find myself wondering what my obligations as a good parent are. I think it's great for Edith to live out a rich imaginary life--and it's no doubt developmentally important. But at this point, do I need to be her companion?
When she has peers around--similarly inclined ones, at least--imaginary play flourishes without me. So obviously having friends around would be ideal. But in this age of scheduled playdates rather than spontaneous neighborhood fun (even in our friendly neighborhood), it's not always possible to get in time with other kids.
Of course, we hope Edith and Alice will increasingly be playmates to each other. They often are now. But at 3 1/2 years younger, Alice isn't quite ready to enter into all Edith's pretend games. In fact, Edith is pretty good about tolerating a little sister who violates the rules of the imaginary world or runs off mid-game. I understand it when she finds Alice a less than satisfactory companion at the ball.
I also think it's important for children Edith's age to learn to amuse themselves, but is it fair always to ask that of them?
And if I should play unicorn training camp, how long do I have to play? When is it okay to say no?
Why does juvenile fiction never depict parents playing school with their kids? Is that a clue to what's appropriate? I don't remember my mother ever joining in games of school, or Little House on the Prairie, or highway cops. (But that same mother will now spend hours on end at Edith's fairy princess balls. Am I misremembering the past, or do grandparents play a different role?)
I come back to the question of age, too, because I instinctively feel that I should play along for awhile with Alice when she's tending her baby dolls and wants me to join in. But that's a less intensive thing--it doesn't last as long, and the imaginary world isn't as fully realized, and she's mostly looking to me to be a version of myself, modeling what one might do to care for a baby or offering admiration when she performs the same role.
So. Do you play games with your kids that you don't enjoy? Do you draw limits? Is there anything you won't do? Is it reasonable to tend a first grader's needs, and to read to her, garden with her, hike with her, and have mother-daughter dates to Starbucks, but to send her off on her own when it's time for the imaginary creatures to get their airing? Is it fair always to try to re-direct them to something you want to do? What about with a third grader? A fifth grader? Can whole days pass on which you don't play with your kids but just care for them and the household in practical ways?
***
An alternative essay question:
(2) For those of you with multiple children, or opportunities to be around multiple children, how do you keep the noise level in check? How do you teach them to speak quietly, not to interrupt each other, and actually to stop talking now and then? How do you convey to them the need for some moments of mental retreat, some pauses and room for breath every few minutes--for adults, at least?
Maybe not all kids are as voluble as ours (we've noticed that the family of six on our block has shy, fairly quiet children who can all be playing the yard without anyone talking, which may explain the parents' courage in continuing to add to their number). But if a typical school playground is any guide, most kids like to make themselves heard.
Of course, the joke's on us: We spend so many months encouraging our babies to talk, stimulating them to respond, asking questions to encourage their participation. And then suddenly there's cacophony! So having taught them to speak for themselves, how do you teach them moderation in all things?
Edith understands the ebb and flow of conversation these days. She values it, too. As she says, "Sometimes you might think I'm just doing nothing, but actually I'm enjoying the thoughts in my mind." It can be very pleasant to be with her one-on-one, around town or on a drive.
But Alice is one of those souls who best enjoys something when she's sharing it with you. She had a friend over yesterday, and I noticed that almost every sentence Alice spoke started with, "Ellen,..." directing Ellen's attention to something Alice was doing or that she wanted Ellen to do.
And when we have both daughters together, the overlapping conversations and general volume is quickly chaotic. We love and value our children's thoughts and their willingness to share with us, especially knowing it may not always be so. We're glad to have a lively family. But how do we now teach the value of calm, of listening to others, and even of silence?
