The Day I Stepped out of the Drudgery of Mothering and Remembered How to Play
‘Mummy, all you ever do is washing’.
I’d heard this feedback from my 6 year old a few times now and I’d always found a cute retort like, ‘well, would you rather go to school in the nuddie’?
‘Daddy is more fun than you.’
Same deal. Ignore, ignore. I’m the mother after all and he still comes running into my arms and curls up in the foetal position, all 26kgs of him, if he sees a ladybird.
But then I got the combo:
‘Mummy, all you ever do is washing and daddy is more fun than you.’
Wait, what?
6.5 years of hanging out washing, care-taking it to ensure maximum sun exposure, checking the weather, having it rained on, bringing it in, not quite dry, taking it back out again, ignoring it for a day, folding it, jamming it in draws, another load on, checking for wet beds, stripping beds, washing mattress protectors, remaking beds. Repeat for endless days. I’m starting to get a clue about why I’m not fun.
Children are experts at something that adults are often terrible at. Telling the TRUTH.
Even though I had a supportive partner, for some reason I sentenced myself sole responsibility of the granddaddy of household tasks – the washing. Some days it felt like it was consuming me.
And for what? Recently, I had to explain what an iron was to my sweet boys. They had never seen it function and I knew their fascination with it would not be fed with my response.
‘It makes clothes flat’, I said. They screwed up their little faces in confusion and we all had a bit of a giggle. I am wearing the same 4 t-shirts on rotation at the moment. Would it really matter if they all turned grey? Perhaps the gold standard for washing could be lowered for now or forever. Perhaps I’m free.
So, it all changed last Saturday. Washing task has been delegated back to the man of the house (with 6 year old helping). Thank you boys!
When I woke up Sunday morning, I had to adjust the pavlovian response to be well, no response. I walked past the beds, past the laundry made a cuppa tea and took the little truth teller to the beach.
Lots of squealing, kicking balls, throwing sand, getting caught in a fishing line, running away from scary starfish, dog paddle race, finding shells, building sand castles.
I was PLAYING for the first time in ages.
I witnessed my little boy’s joy and I paused and thought - this is what mothering is. The lightness, the giggles and the simplicity of two hearts connected. Somehow under that pile of washing I'd forgotten how to do the most important part of my job as a mum and what my son needs most: PLAY.
