I love the show Modern Family. When it first started, I got some chain emails about how negative the show was and how we (Mormons?, “God-fearing people”?) should email ABC and tell them we were boycotting it and blah blah blah. Well, nothing piques my interest more than censorship, so I went online, watched one episode, and I was hooked. The show is brilliant and witty and satirical.
In one of the last episodes we watched before Christmas, Phil and Claire are arguing about the fastest route to a restaurant, so they decide to split up and see which route is the fastest. Luke hears them saying they’re splitting up, thinks they’re contemplating divorce, and rushes to go with his dad because he’s the fun one. Claire explains to Luke: “When I met your dad I was fun, too, but I had to give all that up because you can’t have two fun parents. That’s a carnival.”
I could’ve delivered those exact same lines myself except I’m not that funny or witty. I like to think of myself as a fun person, but when it comes to parenting, Brent’s definitely the fun parent and I’m the practice-the-piano, do-your-homework, empty-the-dishwasher, pick-your-dirty-socks-up-off-the-floor, brush-your-teeth, it’s-time-for-bed parent. I don’t know how that emerged, but we’ve definitely cemented ourselves into those roles.
I don’t like it. When our kids are grown and out of the house, they’re not going to remember that I lovingly washed and folded their socks into “lards” (that’s what we call them at our house). [Shh: they won’t remember the “lovingly” part because there’s no “lovingly” about it, but that’s not the point.] They’re not going to remember that it was me that went to the store for milk at 11:45 p.m. so they wouldn’t have to eat their cold cereal dry. They’re not going to remember that they were able to wear clean clothes to school because I made them pile up all their laundry and sort it into piles every Thursday afternoon so that I could wash all of it on the weekend and they could fold it all on Sunday night. They’re not going to remember that the reason their teeth didn’t rot right out of their mouths was because I made them brush their teeth every night. They’re just not gonna remember that stuff.
But they are going to remember that their Dad sat down-right on their level-and played Barbies with them. He even dressed Stuart’s and Marin’s terrible Bratz dolls in their tiny hoochie-mama miniskirts and feigned interest in choosing which shoes to attach to their feet nubs. They are going to remember that he painted their fingernails and toenails and let them paint his. They will remember that he jumped on the trampoline with them while I was inside making dinner-probably grumbling all the while that no one was inside helping me.
Clearly I’m missing the boat somewhere. Twenty years from now, I’m afraid I’m going to be standing in the laundry room holding a lard, wondering why they all went to the carnival without me.
This is hilarious, Heather!
Yep. Though Bart’s “fun” drives me insane sometimes.
Oh, and Modern Family is fantastic. Thank goodness for Hulu, though, b/c I miss about 1/2 the episodes, but that is besides the point.
I was thinking these same thoughts last night as I folded laundry, after an afternoon of doing homework and chores with the kdis, and my husband had the kids in stitches by having the littlest pet shop animals say things I’m sure their creators never imagined. : )
Yes . . .
Your blog makes me realize that the “Disneyland Dad” phenomena is not limited to divorced families.
This is a great post, but I have to defend myself a bit. My approach may be different, but I value the “normal” time with the kids as much as the “disneyland” time (if not more). I think that spouses that only swoop in for the vacations or special events etc. really miss out. I don’t think that the fun vs. enforcer roles are nearly as pronounced in our case as they appear to be (or that Heather thinks they are sometimes). What our kids have picked up on is that Heather is bothered by the perception that this might be the case–and when they want to get under her skin, they make it seem like that is how they perceive things (our 14-year-old is particularly good at this).
Love you, Brent. ;)
And yes, I think you’re right. The kids say things like: “Oh, well, we all know that when we want something, we need to go ask Dad because he always says ‘yes.'” (And it does seem to be a purposeful parenting strategy of yours to say “yes” as much as possible, right?) And because of your long commute, I am the one more likely to be at home pushing the chores, piano practice, homework. Your time right now is more limited, so when you come home, they are thrilled and expect to have fun–even if for a short time.
And so, D & S readers, that’ll be about enough of your peek into Marriage Therapy 101 from the Olson Beal household. ;)
The nice thing about being an aunt . . . I’m the ultimate carnival maker. I swoop in with presents and good times. I even make the mom become a carnival lover because. . . she’s not a mom to me. She may be 36 but I can tickle her at any time because she’s my baby sister. I can make her paint and read a good book and I help her get the lards done so that we can go to the aquarium all day.
Those nieces and nephews don’t know that I can only come around every 6 months because it takes too much time and money for me to be the carnival maker to come around more often. :0) I’m exhausted after a few days and have to go home to rest. I think my sister is tired too. . . and ready for her mom routine again.
Oh, Angie, I loved reading this. I especially love that you help her get the lards done.
This is what I remember about my mom – that she got up to make me a hot breakfast before early morning seminary (yes, a breakfast that might be pancakes or french toast or scrambled eggs). I remember her taking care of me when I was sick. I remember that she taught me not only how to cook but also to make a mean pie crust. That laundry, mending, and a myriad of other life skills were at my fingertips when I left home. And I really really appreciate those things. Not only the knowledge but the fond memories of working alongside my mother as she taught me. (Though the knowledge itself seems more and more rare after living with dozens of roommates over the years who did not receive that kind of training.)
I really don’t think that being the serious parent means that your kids won’t have fond memories of you. I’ll admit, neither of my parents assumed the carnival role, but if my father had been that way I don’t think that would at all lessen the fact that I look back on those days and recognize and appreciate all my mother did for me.