In a recent column that argued for the value of letting children get bored, Pamela Paul explained that boredom can spur creativity and help children learn coping strategies. And you could argue that getting up in the morning and face another day with the boredom of parenting can also be beneficial for adults, although I'm not sure it necessarily pushes us in creative directions. Of course, too much trouble can be bad for children. But if being a bit bored helps kids grow up from time to time, it probably also helps parents become adults.
It is also often true that parents are boring. I know, I've been there. Once upon a time, I thought that potty training was interesting. I do not speak of professional responsibility; it's still part of my job. As a pediatrician, I often have the opportunity to examine the subject, sometimes with very anxious or upset parents, and as for infant sleep and the eating habits of toddlers, I always try to listen carefully and advise wisely, and remind me that everyone That's why my job is so interesting.
No, I mean, once upon a time – or in fact, three times, once with every child – I thought this training in cleanliness itself was the most fascinating subject in the world and it was worth worth discussing at adult social gatherings (yes, I'm afraid I'm talking about dinner). Fortunately, my children were at daycare, so I had a group of parents who were looking after children at about the same stage of development and we could meet each other during brunches and potlucks and to be obsessed together. (I will say that I hope to have kept a little perspective and not inflicted this too much on other adults, but I'm sure some have been caught in the crossfire, and I Thank you for your patience.)
Then, of course, every time my own child went to the next stage, the toilet training was removed from my list of topics of conversation interesting.
My two older children went to a cooperative daycare, each family was responsible for a morning or afternoon of "work day" once a week. You were there, under the orders of tirelessly gay wardens (and always engaged), block a corner or zipper jackets to go into the yard, singing the song of cleaning, encouraging everyone to finish eating a piece, because there It was time to leave for the potty.