Unexplored Territory

Saturday, February 17, 2007

Are you a fun person?

I like to think that I am a relatively fun person. On my own terms, though. If it doesn't appeal to me, I won't partake in it. Basic human nature, or a coping mechanism for those times when my mother would "force" me to do something, telling me all the while "just do it. It will make you a stronger person."

Case in point: I am known in these here parts (my house) as the "not fun" parent. Now, the kids won't outright say this to my face. But it is pretty much an unspoken sentiment.

WOO HOO!!! It's snowing outside!!! WOO HOO!!!!! Let's go get our snow pants and boots and let's.... oh yeah. Mommy's home. We'll have to wait until Daddy gets here.

Did I like to play outside when I was kid? Sure did. Loved to make snow forts and tunnels and all that stuff. We had an awesome next door neighbor who let me play in his backyard because our's ... well ... for lack of a better term ... it sucked. My Dad was into early American antiques. He was into the presentation of a house. He wasn't into the functional aspects of having a six year old at home. So our backyard consisted of a concrete patio (where there once was one of those aluminum-sided swimming pools that sat in the shade ALL DAY long, never to have its water warm up to anything swimmable, and it was directly underneath TWO large evergreen trees .... needless to say that pool was used very little, and it only survived one summer because when my father found the ring that the pool created on his concrete patio ... well that was all there was to the pool)...

Shew. Where was I?

Oh yeah. The backyard. A concrete patio and brick walkway that ended up at an urn at the end where my mother would sometimes plant geraniums. And weeds would grow. Our backyard was the place of eternal shadow because of the trees. It really was just a gloomy place, so I didn't spend too much time there.

I would go next door and build forts and tunnels and have all sorts of fun. Our neighbor didn't care at all ... he was a really easy-going dude ... and my first crush... I loved him. Maybe because he was around more than my mortician as a profession father, and was more accomodating... who knows.

Psychobabble aside, I did have a fun time in the snow. I didn't have any bad memories of going down a hill at breackneck speed, being thrown off of my sled and breaking my arm. I didn't get lost in those tunnels, only to be rescued by the paramedics. So really ... there is no psychological underpinning of why I no longer like to go out in the snow.

Now ... it is too cold. It is too wet. And I just don't like to play in it.

So that makes me the "not fun" parent. My kids are anxiously awaiting the return of their father who was called into work this morning to fix some switch that was making all of the cash registers go offline. Translation: nobody knows how to do the job but Ace. Job security? Maybe. Pain in the ass? Most certainly.

So ... how about you? Even if you are in an environment where you don't get a lot of snow *dudes... you know who you are* how are you on the meter of "fun parent"? Or "fun person"?

Maybe that will be New Years Resolution for next year. Not this one, though. I have all those books to read... and I can't switch Resolutions in the middle of the year.

So I will just keep being the stick in the snow. The others ... let them have all the fun.

Labels: playful parent, snow

I'm a mom of three peeps ... Queen Bee, The Door Man, and the Chandelier Monkey, and wife to Ace, the Helpful Hardware Man. I created this space to get away from the people known as my inlaws, and because life with three kids and a hubby is all Unexplored Territory.

The nine-year-old who seems to be growing older every minute, has an opinion and a comment for everything, and has a true servant's heart.

The seven-year-old who loves the organization of things, will someday be someone's therapist because of his kind soul, and will more than likely be living with us until he is 40 years old.

The five-year-old with the 13-year-old attitude, who has a dictator's personality, asks you to watch her all the time and say "hold on" to keep your attention, and will someday come home on the back of some dude's motorcycle with 10 tatts and a body piercing or two.

The man of the house, the fixer of things, the winner of prizes, and the only person in his family to escape the South.