My (former) problem with Chilli Heeler

When we first discovered the show Bluey, like millions of families, we fell in love with the Australian Heeler family.  There are as many reasons to love and adore this show as there are viewers - I have laughed and cried more times than I can count while watching their family inhabit the same kind of world I do… the world of little kids.  And recently, a friend helped me rediscover the truest gift the Heeler family could ever have given me: the joy I had lost in playing with my kids.

Let me start with a confession:  I don’t enjoy play.  I don’t like make-believe.  I struggle to use my imagination.  I can color and use play-doh like a pro, but I don’t like being bossed around by a 5 year old telling me “Say this… no not like that, like this!”  My days are filled with statements like: “Mom!  I’m a puppy and you find me on the street and I have no mom so you become my mom,” or, “You’re a horse and I’m going to ride you!  Run faster!”  I have spent hours and hours willing myself to engage and find the actress deep down inside me so as to elicit the delight I wanted to see in my kids, my daughter in particular.  I have tried and done my best to play ALL. THE. GAMES.

But I found myself… tired.  Distracted.  Watching the clock as time seemed to drag on, glancing at the overflowing sink, unfolded laundry and unanswered emails.  I found myself wishing away the playtime because there was so much more to do.  And it filled me with guilt.  Why couldn’t I be more like Chilli? Why couldn’t I be a fun mom? 

While Heeler family adoration is (rightfully so) immense in our culture right now, there is also no shortage of commentary about how Bandit and Chilli are setting up parents for failure.  The games they play.  The entertainment they provide their kids, leaking its way into our homes and filling them up with unrealistic expectations.  My kids have wanted us to play Tina what feels like a million times.  I watched Chilli act like a chicken at dinnertime, and instead of giggling, I felt resentment.  I’m just not like her.

I brought this up with some mom friends recently.  And there on a park bench, surrounded by screaming kids and a sense of my motherhood doom, one friend changed my life.  She said, “Ya, but each Bluey episode is only like 8 minutes, right?  So if you can play for 8 minutes, you’ve basically done what they do.”

The conversation turned and everyone moved on, but I was FLOORED.  Why had I never considered this before?  

I had unknowingly put myself in a position where I was choosing between endless play with my kids or not playing at all.  I was filled with irritation or guilt, depending on which way I went on a particular day, and neither of those are the feelings I want when it comes to parenting.

So, I did an experiment.  I started to set limits on my playtime, but I did it in a way that was exciting to my daughter.  I would say things like, “Oh gosh, I have to start dinner in 10 minutes, but I want to play with you first!  What game would you like to play?”  And, much to my delight, she was filled with delight.  Her imagination would come pouring out, and instead of dreading the game, I felt joy in connecting with her.  I galloped like a horse throughout our house with her shrieking on my back.  I winnied to the best of my ability and she doubled over laughing.  She tied me up at the barn (a.k.a the couch) and fed me apples (not so bad, actually.)

And then, a few minutes later, I went to make dinner.

It was miraculous.  Fun, even.

She was THRILLED, and I was happy too.  What I had shown my daughter in those 10 minutes was “I love you.  I see you.  It brings me great joy to be with you.”  That is what our kids need from us, whether we communicate it over an entire day of being together, or just a few minutes of focused time doing what they love.  

And now, many months removed from that day at the park, I still am finding joy in playing with my kids.  I give all that I can to their imaginations.  I try to immerse myself in their world.  I see their twinkly eyes and hear their giggles and I let them boss me around.  I pet my “dogs,” ask them to do tricks for me and feed them treats.  And then I feel the freedom to give them a hug, say thank you for playing, and excuse myself to do the other things that need my attention.  Because that’s part of being a parent too.  And here’s what I have discovered: they never needed me for hours, they just needed all of me for whatever time I could give.

I am overwhelmingly grateful that this shift happened inside of me, because I know soon enough they won’t want to play with me anymore.  I know one day I will look back longingly at my days playing Pet Store and wish that my little babes would play one more time, so I knew it was the last.  I think I would treasure that last game, and wish it would go longer.  There will come a morning when I don’t wake up to Brixey the Raccoon, Buttercup the Bunny, or Francie Fox, but rather an angsty tween who doesn’t want to talk to me.  I know it’s coming.

So for now, like Chilli and Bandit, I play.  And I’m so thankful for their example, because this mama needs some more ideas for games.