Dear Husband,
I hear congratulations are in order! I was just informed by our 6-year-old that out of the two parents in this home, you’ve won the “Most Fun Parent” award. Nice work! I came in third.
I’m not sure what the actual criteria was for this achievement, but our son clearly found me lacking in the fun department. Weird, right? Because I know “clean up your room” and “put away your dishes” are super-enjoyable activities.
So, I don’t mean to question your “fun methods,” but I find your fun methods questionable. To be clear, I’m referring to your No Pants Tuesdays, Spaghetti Ceiling-Toss Wednesdays, and Hyper-as-Can-Be Thursdays. I’m not sure how this teaches our son valuable life lessons, but even as the spaghetti rains down from the ceiling, I hear his laugh and know you’re bringing joy to our only child during this not-so-fun time.
As we’ve discovered, social distancing is a lot less with the social and a lot more with the distancing. I’ve tried my best to stay in touch with our kid’s BFF’s through phone calls, video chats, and the occasional handwritten letter only to discover the distance inherent in those styles emphasizes his feelings of loss. I do my best to reassure him that this won’t always be, but my words fall short. Where my words fail, your playful spirit reaches him every time. I suppose I get why you won this coveted honor.
Maybe this is a good time to mention that your role as the “fun parent” sometimes grated on my nerves — like that time when you two actually played cheese graters as musical instruments. Your constant playfulness made us late for playdates and got him all riled up before his bedtime. This transformed my fun role as "The Keeper of the Schedule" into a stern job that I resented.
It was hard for me to hear my usual gorgeous Sleeping Beauty-like soprano voice transform into the bass tones of an evil dragon when trying to get your attention for dinners and bedtimes. I took on the villainous role of the Party Pooper to your Party Superhero. Our kid totally preferred your easygoing manner and it stung.
But now the tables have turned. Our only child has a playmate while we’re playing it safe at home. You’re right there with him when he needs you to play Captain Underpants or Captain Hook. I’m glad he has you — especially since I’ve now come to grips with the fact that I’m no fun.
The truth is, I think of myself as a “fun mom” who throws a great pre-bath dance party followed up by an equally awesome post-bath teeth brushing soirée. I’ve come to realize, though, my version of fun isn’t as sought-after as yours. While I might make life’s mundane moments a little more lively, your type of fun makes life a lot more livable. I’m good with this trade-off.
Let me tell you, I’m loving the fact that I don’t have to fake being the high-energy entertainer that I’m just not. I can focus on my strengths, which happen to be:
- Scheduling
- Comforting
- Explaining life complexities
- List making
This realization has taken vast amounts of pressure off me. I’ve learned to love the way our roles suit us — especially when my son needs a playmate to provide him with joy, stability, and pasta-throwing skills. Thanks for being that guy. Now go play. You have 10 minutes until bedtime.