Being the Not-So-Fun Parent
I've been called "not fun" in the past - so what does that mean as a mom?
“I can’t do that,” I thought. “I just can’t change direction on a dime like that and come up with something ‘fun’ when my kid is on the verge of having a meltdown - and often, I am too.” I was reading a post by a great blogger who is an autistic mom of autistic kids. She was describing how she handled one of her kid’s meltdowns with tremendous grace and humor.
I sighed and wished that my brain was built differently, like many times in my life.
I flashed back to the common room in my co-ed fraternity, during a party.
“Why don’t you drink something, Shannon? You’re no fun. You’d be fun drunk,” one of my frat mates mocked, slurring her words. She waved the arm not holding a beer in the air at some invisible fun version of me.
I winced, backing away. “Uh, I just don’t want to,” I mumbled, trying to justify my actions. There were many reasons I didn’t want to, none of which I wanted to explain and argue about.
After wandering around the party and finding no one to talk to, I went up to my room and blasted music. I am fun, I thought. Just not the way they want me to be.
Thinking back further, I recall standing on my neighbor’s driveway when I was in early elementary school. Bigger, older kids - all boys - surrounded me. I don’t remember what they said, but I began to cry. Big snotty, heaving sobs. The bus approaching, I tried to get it together with little luck. “What, you can’t take a joke, Shannon?” they’d comment. “You just need to be able to take a joke.”
And then there’s all of the more minor times in-between, when I didn’t get a joke or was told I was too uptight. If only I was more relaxed. If only I didn’t follow the rules so closely. If only I didn’t take myself so seriously. If only I was willing to laugh when other people were being mean. If only I was someone else altogether.
But I’m not. I am who I am as a person and a parent. I knew I was fun in my own way then and I’m still fun in my own way now. I laugh loud, I write down my kids’ best quips, and I share in their imaginative play. I may not be fun in the way other parents are, but that’s okay. My kids love me for who I am, not someone else. Just like I love them for who they are.
Remembering that being genuine with my kids is one of the greatest gifts I can give them helps me move through this anxiety. It reminds me of my strengths and the power of relying on others when I run up against my weaknesses. That I don’t need to change my personality to be a good mom.
So when my older kid said to me the other day, “You’re no fun” because I didn’t want to play along with his procrastination, it didn’t sting quite as much as it would have in the past. Instead, I rolled my eyes at him and replied, “Uh huh, go take a shower.” Because being fun isn’t everything, but loving my kids in my own way is.
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