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In most multi-parent households, you’ll usually find the good cop and the bad cop. You know, the chill, fun parent who your kids love and the one who sucks the joy out of life because they are the disciplinarian.
I
bet you can’t guess which role I get most of the time, right?
You guessed it, I’m the mean one. I’m the one who says no because of bedtimes on school nights or because I am the one to remind them that we do live in a civilized society and therefore they must not be heathens. Okay, so less those terms, and more like “If you don’t stop acting like a jerk right this instant, you'll never play the PlayStation again in your LIFE.” (Said in that maniacally menacing whisper-yell that parents pull out for public venues.)
I’m
sure there are a lot of homes like ours, with “meanies” who are just trying
to keep their kids happy, safe and healthy but come off as the killjoy villain
in their children’s eyes. And I think that’s how it should be. Stop trying to
be your kid’s best friend. They’re 8. They still make friends based on their
favorite color and cartoon characters. They don’t need more friends; they need
the cruel task master who cares enough to make them go to bed at a decent hour.
And sure, if you get technical, we might be doing it partially to get them to
bed so we can have a minute to breathe and think an original thought, but we
ALSO want to make sure their brain and body get a restful night sleep so that
they can grow up and have their own pint-sized torturers, I mean, kids,
someday.
And
while I am the Cruella DeVille who forces sweatshirts and seasonally
appropriate clothing on my children, makes them drink milk with dinner, and
torments them with vegetables at meals, I sometimes wish I could hang up my
Cruella hat and be the cool one. The fun one. The one that my kids love best. I
guess what I’m saying is…. I want to be my husband sometimes. I mean, not BE
him. But be the good cop. The one who doesn’t overthink every little consequence
of an action. Who can roll with the punches and be spontaneous. (Shudder) Ok, so
maybe not that last one.
Because my husband is the good cop in our house. He’s a giant pushover. A walking teddy bear. A gooey marshmallow. The worst part is that our kids know it. Even when he tries to take one for the team and “be the bad guy”, they know that “I talked to your mother about it and we decided no" is just code for the evil momster vetoed that hard. So, I’m still bad cop even when good cop tries to play bad cop so bad cop can be good cop.
Hold on a minute, let me read that back. No, I’m pretty sure that’s what I was trying to say.
Don’t get me wrong, my husband can pull out a stern Dad yell when he needs to. (Unlike the Mom yell that becomes background static, they actually hear it. It’s truly a miraculous sight to behold.) But generally, he’s just the Starsky to my Hutch. (To be honest, I never watched that show, so I don’t even know if that’s the relevant simile I’m searching for. I guess just substitute your own appropriate fictional comparison here.)
I think that’s why grandparents enjoy their grandchildren so much. They get to be good cop all the time. They may have to deal with small moments of discipline, because they aren’t lawless barbarians, but generally, they’re just the entertaining ones. The ones who build blanket forts in the living room and let them have snacks and drinks on the brand-new living room carpet. The ones who don’t care if they have a piece of candy 15 minutes before dinner if “you promise to eat your dinner”. (It’s a lie. They have to say that for posterity but they don’t actually care if you eat all your dinner. They’ll totally make you a kraft mac in 45 minutes when you say you’re hungry.)
While I (hopefully) have many years before I can be grandparent-good-cop, maybe I can get some practice in every now and again in the present. Live on the wild side and tell the kids, “Well, I would’ve been okay with it, but your father said no.”
And then we’d laugh and laugh and laugh and they’d say, “C'mon mom, can we, pleeeeassee?”
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