One of my pet parenting peeves

One of my pet parenting peeves
31 July 2014

Most of the time, being a parent is absolutely awesome.  Well, some of the time.

When my kids are being cooperative, behaving, being helpful, cute, undemanding, etc.  Then they’re positively delightful.  Charming to be around.  A real pleasure.

No, seriously.  I really do actually like them.  In fact I love them.  Adore them.  Pretty much all of the time.  Well, some of the time…

However, there are a few downsides.  A few icky bits, that I just really don’t dig at all.

But of all of these not-so-great-bits, one is my absolute-very-worst.

Playing police man.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, if I actually had the authority of a whistle.  A snazzy uniform.  And one of those silly little hats (always had a thing for hats).

But as a mom, I don’t get any of those side benefits.

Still I’m expected to police rather a lot of the time.

And it is te-e-e-d-i-o-u-s.  So boring.  So dull.  So soul destroying.

I signed on for cuddling them.  Feeding them.  Dressing them when they were little, and merely supplying them with clothes and clean laundry as they got older.  I’m Mom’s Taxi.  Social calendar organiser.  Homework checker and coordinator with school and teachers.  Sport’s supporter.  Greatest encourager.  Purchaser of gifts for Christmas and birthdays.  Making sure they’re showered and clean, and that their teeth get brushed.  I look after their health.  And do my best to ensure a good education.  Disciplinarian.  Party and event coordinator.  Payer of EVERYTHING!!!

But somehow, somewhere, I missed the small print.  I swear, if I’d seen it, I might have reconsidered, this whole having-a-kid-malarkey. 

Thou shalt play policeman, lawyer, judge and jury, in all disputes with siblings.  Thou shalt be obligated to pick sides.  And punish accordingly.  Preferably with death.

 

The policeman bit.  Which basically boils down to picking a side, and choosing a favourite child.  Particularly difficult, as one is usually not present when the so called crime is being committed.

But like any good public servant, worth their measly pay, I’ve decided to do the honourable thing.  The right thing.

I’ve gone on strike.  For most of the past sixteen years.  Pretty much for my entire parenting stint.  I DON’T DO THE WHOLE POLICEMAN ROUTINE.

In fact, I’ve stopped just short of organising a march.  No, a rally.  Making huge big placards.  Rhythmic toy-toying.  Printing t-shirts.  And possibly teaming it up with a fetching little beret.  It seems to be the in thing right now…

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