I cherish my time with my child very much. I am happy to see her and sit with her. I am thrilled to play games with her (most of the time) and I am in heaven when she "helps" me in the kitchen, or wash the car, or clean the house, or etc.... Of course, whenever she asks "Daddy, can I help?" I instantly know that the task at hand is about to take twice as long to complete if it is even ever completed.
When I was about 5, I once "helped" my Dad change the air filter in the car. This was a simple process; unscrew the wing nut, lift up the filter cover, take out the old filter, put in the new filter, put the cover back over the filter, screw the wing nut back on; 5 minutes! Until his dying day, my Dad reminded me constantly that it took him almost an hour and a half to change that air filter. He gave me a hard time about it, but thirty years later, he still cherished that moment.
So, I get to relive these moments with my kid. And that's the key for me, time. Cherished moments in time spent with my kid. I've got to make the most of it now because in a few years she'll want nothing to do with me A.) because I'm her Dad and B.) because, as I've already been informed, I'm a "BOY!!!" followed by an "ewwwwwwwwwww."
Now, the catch 22 for me is that when she is with me, I want her to have as normal of a life as possible and part of that is the whole growing up and playing with friends thing. Where we live, she is surrounded by her school friends as well as kids in the neighborhood that she has gotten to know. We live over by a playground; this is like pre-tween mecca! So we have an almost Norman Rockwell-esque scenario where I am in the kitchen cooking looking out my kitchen window occasionally catching a glimpse of my child playing but constantly hearing the giggles of the kids. It is a nice memory. It reminds me of being a kid.
When dinner is ready, I step out the front door and say "DINNER'S READY!!!" After about three more tries she'll come home and eat. Why three tries? I have no idea? What kid doesn't want to come in from playing to eat? Oh yeah, me and every kid....
Of course, the self-centered Dad in me wants my child to stay home and not play with friends so that we can spend more Daddy-Daughter time together, but the kid in me knows that she needs this. The kid in me wins out most of the time except for when it comes to AC outlets. Well, of course, the kid in me loses often enough to the adult me but the outlet thing is pretty serious.
Yup, when I was a kid, before knowing what electricity truly was, I was flipping a light switch, in one of those poorly planned light switch/ ac outlet combos that used to be prevalent in bathrooms, when I missed the switch and stuck my finger into the outlet.
I got lucky and was fine, but I got shocked. Of course, all I could remember was the fuzzy sensation all down my arm and I ran out excitedly telling my Mother, "Mom, Mom, I went to turn off the light in the bathroom and I think I shook hands with Chewbacca!!!" It was that fuzzy! So, as much as I'd really like to shake hands with Chewbacca, as an adult, I've learned that this is a bad idea.
So I need to let my child grow up and experience real life.
Is this why the Playdate was invented? I have absolutely no recollection of such a thing from my childhood. You either had friends nearby to play with or you played in your room. Now we schedule appointments with other parents to get our kids to play. It's a great concept, don't get me wrong, but it is such a new concept that spell check doesn't even like the word Playdate. Ergo the word is encased in yellow.
My little girl likes to have Playdates. I like it when she has them too, especially when they are at my house. This way, if she needs me I am there and in the meantime, I can listen to all the giggling and fun, while I rest on the couch. Other parents, who have their kids 100% of the time and even have multiples, tend to be grateful for the break. I understand entirely. Even I could use a break during my "Daddy Weeks," I just don't want them. "I'll clean the kitchen next week!" is what I tell myself. But then next week comes and I have too many dishes to wash, so I just toss 'em instead!!! Sure... why not?
There is a problem that I am now learning about Playdates. See, as previously mentioned, I am a boy and I have a girl. When girls get together they make high pitched squealing noises. These noises hurt my ears; I may be part dog. These noises also hurt the dogs ears especially when the dog hears the noises that sound like "let's dress her up... where's the dog?" That big dog finds a way to hide like a cat.
Then there's the Barbies.... I was never prepared for Barbies. I know from experience that dolls are okay, especially G.I. Joe Dolls with Kung Fu Action Grip or whatever. And Evel Knievel Dolls who really do ride their own motorcycle. These dolls go outside where the action is (unless it's rainy, or cold, or hot, or something good is on TV).
But, Barbies? Barbies, get dressed up and down. The play all over the house, and sometimes, they have a spa day, in the only bathroom in the house.
 |
| It is hard to Pee on a Barbie Spa day. |
Also, during these visits, I am expected to eat, a lot! Usually it's plastic and make believe food. This past Saturday, whilst watching History Channel, the visiting friend played "waitress" while my daughter stood back in her room and played "cook." The waitress would come out and ask me what I wanted to eat and I would name anything I could think of. Then she would go back to the cook, find out what plastic foods they had and come back and tell me what my choices were. I knew what they were. I am the customer every other weekend, but it's still fun.
After my dining experience had ended, I had the waitress ask the cook to come out so I could compliment "the chef." My daughter came out.
"Chef, I just wanted to compliment you and your waitstaff on another delicious and well presented meal."
"You didn't eat your peas."
"Yes, I did."
"No, you didn't, I know you and I can see them right there."
"Who are you my Mother?"
"Eat your peas."
"I did. I ate the peas, the yogurt, the sandwich, the strawberries and the pretzel."
"I don't believe you, I can still see them."
"Baby, It's all plastic. You can see all of it."
"DADDY!"
I ruined the moment by stepping out of character too soon. On top of that, I missed so much of the documentary I was watching that I now do not know who won World War II.
Also, when girls come over, there are a lot more Easy Bake Oven moments than I EVER had in my youth. I had all of none in my youth.
Playdates with boys still happen from time to time. Technically, these are not Playdates as boys are rarely ever requested play guests. Playing with boys usually only occurs when the parent(s) of a boy happen to be hanging out; but it happens. The boys find themselves playing with the Barbies and even giggling at high pitches that should only be hit by castrato tenors.
This past weekend, I had a moment from my nightmares when my girl and another girl were playing with a boy in her room. Luckily, it was the boys Mother who went in to check on the kiddos. She came out all casual and giggling.... "They're Playing Doctor!"
There is a small nerve in every Daddy's brain that goes into instant DESTROY ALL BOYS mode whenever they hear the words playing and doctor combined with their daughter. Luckily this mode was curtailed by how casual and unaffected the Mom in question was about it. "No really, they have a belt around his arm for his blood pressure, a stethoscope to listen to his heart and they're taking his temperature on his forehead."
Kids are just practicing for real life. Running outside and playing with friends is a way to become more responsible and more independent in the real world. I have to let her have a real childhood and grow up as much as it kills me.
Maybe the games they play are there to help them grow up and figure out their future careers? Perhaps the waitress/ chef gig will help her get the doctor gig?
If that's the case, I'd really like her to start playing "Multi-millionaire philanthropist who pays for her Dad's life of luxury!"
sweet :)
ReplyDelete