The Fun Parent

I used to be the fun parent. I think we both were, once upon a time. Somewhere along the way, however, he took on the role of “fun dad” and I slipped into “rule enforcer”. I don’t like it one bit.

But I tolerated being the parent who shouts, “HATS, DRINK BOTTLES, WHY ARE YOU SITTING ON YOUR BED NAKED EXCEPT FOR ONE SOCK, IT’S 8:53??!” every morning, because it was a necessity. Someone needs to keep the house in order and get everyone to school and work on time. I even tolerated my husband and children not so discretely referring to me as “the party pooper”. Thanks, Arnie and Kindergarten Cop for that one. However this week I overheard Miss 7 explaining to someone that I always poo at parties for some reason and honestly enough’s enough. I don’t want people believing that about me and I certainly can’t afford to get uninvited from any social occasions right now.

So I took this week off nagging, reminding and yelling.

Monday was lovely. My husband and I both worked from home so he was there to shout about hats and get them to school. We had a Valentine’s lunch at Kate Jones together and I got a lot of work done. At 2.45pm he suddenly pretended to be in a very important meeting and although I wished that I’d thought of that first I admitted defeat and did the school run. We had sausage sandwiches for dinner because nobody ordered groceries.

Tuesday started wonderfully because I had told everyone I had an early meeting and we all had to be out the door super early. I only felt mildly guilty when I dropped them at school and headed to Bill’s Beans for my “meeting” which involved me buying a hot mocha and an iced mocha for later but pretending they weren’t both for me. I breezed through the day on a caffeine high and we ordered groceries together in the afternoon.

The wheels fell off on Wednesday when the kids realised I hadn’t washed since Saturday and there were no clean uniforms. Lunch boxes were filled with pretzels and rice crackers. When they complained, I pointed to the nectarine tree in the backyard and told them to help themselves. Forced to forage their own morning tea like wild animals, the children inquired if the groceries were ever arriving and with perfect timing, the truck pulled up as we left. I texted Miss 13 a photo of my bright and colourful fruit salad lunch. “U suck” she sent back. I replied by correcting her spelling, something that always delights her.

Thursday was better, there was food at least, and it was sports day so they were even in clean clothes. I made sure Miss 7 knew to eat her apple in front of her teacher so she could see her consuming actual nutrients and I made her look until she’d found a school hat. She has seven. We found three: one rolled up in the drink bottle section of her bag, one in the cup holder of the couch, and another in the cup holder of her car seat. “If you roll them up tight Mum, they kinda look like drink bottles”.

Today was Friday. We were all late, tired from not going to bed early enough and I don’t know if anyone brushed their hair. Or teeth. But we had barbeque and coleslaw rolls for dinner, a twilight cricket match, and then a family gaming session. As Miss 7 kissed me goodnight, two hours later than normal, she said, “this week was fun”.

I’ll take that.