Pretending: You're Doing It Wrong

It's really cool to watch your kids take an interest in something.  The boy is really in to reading right now and loves science.  The girl has taken up drawing and writing.  The baby is still just a lump of meat that I stick in front of the t.v. all day. 

But "Hooray" for the other two and their ability to overcome my poor parenting skills.  Maybe there is some value in overloading your child with t.v. in the developmental years.

While I'm glad that the older two are showing interest in non-digital, non-HD hobbies, I'm also slightly annoyed:  

Now I have to play with them. 

And, I don't play pretend well.  Between the three kids, a 30-year mortgage, and a degree I'll never use, I'm out of imagination.  I used to imagine that having kids would be a great idea.  Imagination is what landed me here.

Here.
Among the dirty urine-soaked underwear scattered on the floor.

Here.
Making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the kids' lunches every morning.

Here.
Standing on the tattered ruins of a carpet caked with ground-in Pop-Tarts.
(At least our house smells like Brown Sugar Cinnamon)

I have no imagination.  Or, at the least, I use it incorrectly.  Leah reminds me of this every time we play "Restaurant".  Her new found love of drawing has led to her carrying around a clipboard full of paper everywhere she goes. 

She likes to pretend she's a waitress and she always asks me:  "What do you want to eat?"

To which I respond, "A bacon cheeseburger."  "We don't have that."  "Okay, I'll take a steak."  "We don't have that either."  "How about some soup?"  "Sorry."

"Sorry?  You're sorry?  What kind of crap pretend restaurant is this?  I just wanted a nice fake meal in the comfort of my own home and now you're sorry?"

"Can I get you a drink?"

"Yes, I'll have some tea please."

"We don't have that."