I am not the fun parent

I am your mother, not a jungle gym.

I am your mother, not a jungle gym.

Dear children of mine,

I love you. I love to cuddle you, snuggle you, bake with you, read with you and shop with you but I do not want to play — nor do I want to do any or all of the following: go tobogganing, play Barbies, skate (indoors or out). If these are activities you are interested at this time, please go ask your father.

I decided a long time ago that I am not the fun one. I am so many other things, the one who cleans up your vomit (your father can’t go near the stuff without making an even bigger mess), the one who makes you brush your teeth, the one who lets you get into bed with her at great personal risk to her own sound sleep. But I am not fun. This is me, and like it or not, this is all you’re getting. I’m like an indoor cat and you are energetic outdoor puppies. I love when you’re with me, I enjoy our time together, but when was the last time you watched an indoor cat play fetch?

I know, I know. I’m the meanest mommy in the world. That’s OK. I’m cool with that. And I love you.