I'm deeply suspicious of people who play hide-and-seek with their kids. They make me feel supremely inadequate because I do not play hide-and-seek with mine. Or games of any kind. Not if I can possibly avoid it.
Is there a word to explain the sinking feeling I get when a child asks me to play? It's a heavy mix of guilt and dread that occurs somewhere in my chest and is difficult to shake.
When you're a kid yourself, this is unfathomable. Why wouldn't everyone want to play? All the time. Preferably while eating ice-cream. However, it's a rare adult who genuinely enjoys activities designed to amuse four-year-olds. Tea parties? Puzzles? Fairies? Lego? Trains? Ugh.
Mia Freedman. Picture: Jason Ierace.
As a child, I thought the best part of growing up would be having my own money so I could buy lots of dolls. Funnily enough, when I became an adult I didn't want to. Instead, I spend my cash on things that didn't exist back then, like iPhone apps and laser hair removal, which, frankly, are more diverting than Lets Play Bob The Builder And Barbie Get Married.
Let's be clear: I love spending time with my kids. I love talking with them and pottering with them and baking with them. I love watching them play. I just don't want to play with them.
I've always carried the shame that this play aversion is a blight on my parenting credentials. That I'm not a Proper Mother. Worried, I cautiously began asking other mothers if they liked to play. "Hate it," replied one friend with a seven-year-old who notes the guilt has eased as her daughter grows up. "We can now watch MasterChef and The Sound of Music together, take the dog for walks and we share a love of basketball. I've never missed one of her games. Her nanna fills in the gaps with gardening and craft activities, and her dad is a builder. He takes her on-site and gives her a hammer and nails so she gets to play while also learning a trade!"
That certainly sounds better than KerPlunk.
Like many, I reserve a particular level of loathing for board games. My friend Kerri articulates it brilliantly. "My son loves Monopoly and because I love him, sometimes I agree to play. It's excruciating. Firstly, I'm crap at it and can't suppress my competitiveness for long enough to tolerate being thrashed. Also, it takes 17 hours even if I try to lose. I know I should just enjoy the quality time, but there are so many other things I'd rather be doing. Like working. Cleaning. Stabbing myself in the eye."
We recently bought a trampoline. I thought this was genius because the kids could jump on it without my direct involvement. I could spectate. Or write this column. It even had a net around it so they couldn't fall out and wouldn't require constant close supervision.
That has to be a winner if you hate playing, right? Bahp-BAH (or however you spell the "fail" sound from a game show).
A typical exchange goes like this: "Mum, will you come and jump with us on the trampoline?"
"No, darling. Mummy doesn't jump." It took a few months for that message to get through.
Now, we're at the "Watch me, Mum! Mum! You're not watching! Mum! MUM!" stage. And I'm always torn. Can I bring my iPhone and look at eBay while I pretend to watch? I mean, I've seen them jumping so many times and it's invariably the same. Up, down, up, down, etc.
Did our parents feel the need to play with us? Or did they just get on with their lives while we amused each other or - God forbid - OURSELVES?
I don't remember playing board games with my parents, so I checked with my mother who confirmed it. "Oh darling, you never play with your own children, there's too much else to be done. Grandparents are for playing with. You have the time then, so it's less of a strain to slip down to their level and do things like spend the afternoon at the park."
Ah, the park. Please don't make me go there and push a swing. I bumped into a friend last year with her toddler and within 30 seconds she blurted out:
"I need to get another job". She'd left her last one 18 months ago when her daughter was born. "If I have to go to one more bloody park, I'm going to lose my mind. It's death by park!" Yes it is.
"I live less than 20 metres from a park and the other day I took my three-year-old son there," confided another mother who was slightly mortified to realise she'd never done that before, even though she is home with him every day. And he's three.
"Oh, but his dad takes him and does all that. We have a great time together, but he just potters around playing while I'm working on the computer or cooking. He's quite independent. I've taught him to be that way by not dropping everything to play with him whenever he's bored. Is that bad?"
Bad? I'm taking notes.
This column appears in Sunday Life magazine every Sunday. Mia writes daily at mamamia.com.au, and you can follow her on Twitter at twitter.com/miafreedman.
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