31/07/2017
Make Time to Play
By Cathy Kelly (née Park)
"Mum, will you play with me?"
When I'm working to finish an email, or staring out the window stalking a slippery thread of thought, this question tends to make my heart sink.
But with this request, I'm faced with a choice. I can get impatient at the interruption. I can agree to play, but begrudgingly, as though it's a chore. Or I can accept wholeheartedly.
Accepting the invitation means putting all my grownup stuff aside and either playing Lego 'goodies and baddies' (Jack always makes me lose), or chasing him round the garden, shouting Star Wars-ish things like "Chewbacca! Get reinforcements! Luke, use the force!" or playing hide and seek in the house, trying not to notice the dust in the corners.
This is not easy to do, when there are all sorts of grownup worries pressing in and my 'To Do' list is disturbingly full.
But I remind myself that Jack isn't going to want to play with me forever. There'll always be stuff To Do but he won't always be six. And for now, because he still thinks I'm the best thing ever (not counting Lego, of course), I put aside my list.
If I play with Jack and allow myself to be curious about his world for a while, I see his face light up. I hear his delighted giggles and squeals. It helps me unwind, have a laugh, and enjoy my lovely little boy. It's good for him and it's good for me.
So I close my laptop and we play.
This morning we built a house against the back of the couch with blankets and a clothes horse. We sat inside the cosy space, enjoying the morning sunlight filtering through the woolen weave. Or at least, I did. Jack was too busy scoffing the biscuit snack I'd brought - because what's a house without treats?
I thought nostalgically of that delicious shivery feeling I'd get as a child, setting up my own house. I remembered arranging cushions and blankets, trailing a small lamp across the lounge to light up the tent-like interior and carefully choosing the books I wanted to read.
I'd cosy up into a corner, book and biscuit in hand, and let the musty silence fall around me. The grownups' conversation outside sounded distant, yet still audible (which suited my eavesdropping tendencies).
This Sunday morning, I sat on a cushion on the floor, one blanket drooping uncomfortably on my head, and looked around the house that Jack built (with a bit of help). At first, all I saw with my grownup eyes was a rusty clothes horse, blankets draped haphazardly and biscuit crumbs on the floor. My list popped into my head: Must vacuum more often.
But then I told my boring grownup brain to shut up, squinted my eyes a little and just for a moment, I was back in my secret blanket house, reading the Famous Five, with the world turning slowly outside.