Yesterday was the third day in a row that I had a child at home because of conferences. It�s not that we have three conference days. It�s that my kids are in different school systems. The union high school district had conferences on Friday. The elementary district had conferences yesterday and Monday. I patched together child care as necessary and I took some time off. That wasn�t the real problem. The real problem was boredom�and I don�t mean mine.

In theory, I believe that boredom is good for kids once in a while. A child whose parents are too quick to amuse her or to rescue her from boredom is done a great disservice. One of the most important lessons to learn is how to avoid boredom for one�s self or, if that�s not possible, how to cope with it constructively. A lot of life is spent waiting around for something: a kid to get out of the school building (usually last), a husband to finish making himself beautiful before going out, a bailiff to call your case (again usually last), or a receptionist to bring you back for your doctor�s appointment (usually late). Much of the rest of life is spent doing the boring paperwork associated with all of those tasks and many more. In theory, I believe in allowing boredom. In practice, I find living with bored children difficult.

After my younger one came home from a sleepover yesterday morning, I had an opportunity to put my beliefs into practice. Day-Hay started out well. She commenced the game of Dialing for Play Dates. Unfortunately, she lost. No one could come over. As Day-Hay is a social kid, I knew she craved social interaction and was bored without it. Kat was at school and that left me but I really didn�t plan on playing. I planned on trying to finish sewing a new winter dress for Day-Hay before she outgrew it. Her boredom got in the way�sort of.

Don�t misunderstand me. Day-Hay didn�t sit at my feet like a cat, getting underfoot until I tripped over her and had to pay attention. She didn�t come downstairs near the sewing machine and pick a fight. She didn�t actually do anything wrong. With a minimal amount of urging, she got a long-term school project done. She then spent a little too much time on the computer (but who am I to complain about that.) No, the problem was me. I knew she was bored and I kept waiting for a problem to develop that I just couldn�t ignore. I kept waiting for her to interrupt me. I kept waiting for her to get wild or whine. I waited so hard I couldn�t concentrate and had to stop sewing before I had achieved what I had intended. I waited so hard that I couldn�t concentrate on the file memos I had planned to write for work. The boredom vibrations coming through the air fueled my restlessness.

In other words, Day-Hay succeeded and I failed. She handled her boredom constructively and I didn�t. I should have been proud or, at least, pleased. She�s maturing and I usually embrace that. I�ve never needed to be needed and I�ve always been fine with being wanted.

Okay, I lied. The real problem wasn�t boredom after all. It was parental pessimism. Mine.

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