by EM RUSCIANO.
I saw a headline today that put the fear of a small furry seal being approached by a great white, into me:
Holy crap balls, I thought. That’s a thing? I mean that’s a thing they can bust you for or use against you? Instantly I thought back to all the times I’ve put chewy in as a snack or tried to wrap soup in foil. (Yes. I really did that. The result was not pretty – no tiny teddies survived that day.)
As I apprehensively clicked on the article, what I read was much, much worse.
It appears a custody battle has gone down and the mother in this situation felt that her child should not be living with her estranged husband because he did NOT cut up their son’s fruit, allowed him to eat chips and ice-cream and put plastic sandals on him.
The providing of jam sandwiches and clothing issues were also sited as misdemeanors on the part of the father.
Where are we? www.PETTY.com
I just can’t. I don’t even know where to start with this one, so I’m going to put it down and walk away from it for now and pick up another angle.
I suspect part of this mother’s issue is fun-parent-anxiety.
Let me explain.
I have a few friends who have separated from their husbands and they inevitably complain about not being the “fun parent” any more.
Being the fun parent is kinda like being Carrie Bradshaw. What I mean is, everyone thinks they’re the fun parent, even if deep down you know you’re not, you still wish you were.
Most women who like Sex and the City, like to think that they’re Carrie, when perhaps they’re really Miranda (with a touch of Samantha thrown in when cocktails are involved).
If you have custody of your child during the week like “Lunch Box Mum” probably has, then your job is to keep the engine running. The enforcing of routines is your role. The doing of homework is your responsibility. You become nobody’s favourite robot: Nagg-a-tron. (That is what I call myself when I am attempting to discipline my children.)