Skip to main content

Carpe Candy Crush

Yesterday I broke the cardinal rule of parenting. I have officially become "that mom." You know the one. The one who doesn't care about her child's safety. The one who didn't hear the curse word. The one who is missing angelic smiles and musical laughter and precious moments I will never get back.

The one playing Candy Crush Saga on her cellphone in the indoor playspace.


What's remarkable is not that I have become that mom. In truth, I have already been that mom a few times at the playground. No, what's remarkable is that I still feel guilty about it. That I want to hide the screen when another parent sits down behind me, even though she immediately pulls out her own phone. And the one other parent in the room who is not carrying a newborn (a dad!) is on his IPad. 


Why is it that we are so ashamed to enjoy a moment of beautiful, mindless entertainment if it is before our child's bedtime, even if they are perfectly happy playing by themselves? Do we really need to be present in every moment of their lives? Every single moment? 


Glennon Melton of Momastery.com once wrote a wonderful blog post about the ridiculous pressure to enjoy every minute of parenting, before it passes us by. (http://momastery.com/blog/2012/01/04/2011-lesson-2-dont-carpe-diem/) It's not enough to clothe them and feed them and sing the Itsy Bitsy Spider while wiping their beautiful baby butts, we have to love it all too or we are terrible, terrible parents.


Dude, have you seen Yo Gabba Gabba?? Carpe Diem my ass!

Besides, its not like I didn't try. I climbed the rock wall with my daughter. Twice. (And by the way, for someone who claims to be an athlete, I stink at rock climbing.) I even sat down next to her and asked if she wanted me to join in her game. "If you want to mommy", she said in a dismissive tone that clearly said she couldn't care less. Yeah, yeah lady. Whatever floats your boat. She never even looked up from the castle/tower/spaceship thingy she was building

A few minutes later she made a friend her own age and the two girls ran off together, up and down the slide and all around the playspace. I did not see her for an hour.

Which left me lying by the wall, my head balanced on a yoga ball (sounds awful but was actually quite cozy), with nothing to do but play Candy Crush. (Damn those regenerating chocolate squares!)

Then my battery got low. So I wrote this blog post. With a pen! On a scrap of paper that I had gotten from the guy behind the front desk.

Next time I go there I will bring my laptop.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Dear Ronda Rousey

I am not into celebrities. If you want to know what Snooki named her baby, or who in Tinseltown got married and divorced this weekend, don't ask me. I do not consider the people prancing around on my television role models for my daughter, representatives for women-kind, or at all relevant to real life in any way. So twerk away Miley, I do not care. But I am a martial artist. I learn arm bars and rear naked chokes. I throw punches and knee kicks. I work on traditional katas and do pushups and try to pass the guard and sweet Jesus, I even occasionally throw low kicks which other people check with their shins. (  http://www.latimes.com/sports/la-sp-ufc-20131229,0,7356884.story#axzz2os6WWXVl ) I am not a professional fighter. But I am a woman who loves to fight. And as such, I was thrilled when Dana White finally allowed female fighters into the Octagon. Seeing you armbar Liz Carmouche was incredible. And I could watch you Judo toss people onto the mat all da...

November 20th

I am going to tell you a secret.  The name of your school does not matter. The patch you wear on your uniform does not matter. The belt you tie around your waist, the color of your gi, the medals on your wall, none of these things matter.  All that matters is the sweat on the floor. Period. I am not saying that you should not be proud of those things. You earned them and they deserve to be celebrated.  I am not saying that all dojos are the same. They aren't. But none of that matters. What matters is that you did one more pushup that night. When you thought you were done, you did one more.  What matters is that you kept fighting, even though he had you pushed up against the wall and for a moment there you were pretty sure he forgot who you were. He certainly forgot how small you were, yet you kept fighting, or at least you kept your hands up and waited for the bell to ring. You didn't quit. What matters is that you went to class. When you would really ra...

Blogging About Promotion is Inappropriate

As a kids karate teacher I am often trying to get my students to not focus on promotion. Don't get me wrong, a new color around your waist is an excellent motivator. But I hope the kids will ultimately come to class because they love karate , not just because they are punching the clock (so to speak) on their way to a new belt. When I first started studying jiu jitsu it was all about the thrill of something new. I just wanted to learn how to do all these awkward techniques with their odd Brazilian names . I didn't care that I was a white belt, on the contrary I loved it. It had been a long time since I was a beginner. About 8-10 months into my training a bunch of the people in my class got blue belts. I knew I wasn't ready for a promotion yet. But still, when the woman who was my partner almost every day got her new belt tied on right next to me I felt a little wierd. Ok fine, I was a bit envious. She was definitely better than me, but she was not that much bett...