My dad died 16 years ago this March 11, and I wrote a little letter/tribute to him and posted a few pictures. In my letter I spoke about the thousands of hours he spent taking me here and there and watching me play just about every sport from baseball to wrestling. I wrote about the sacrifice it must have been and was. But now I’m not so sure.
A colleague asked me about my weekend and I told him it was far too wet for golf so I spent the entire weekend with the family. We also took the opportunity to go to the park behind my mom’s house where the water had accumulated into small ponds, just perfect for jumping in. Remember Connor is a mudder and Josie is his shadow. So I was explaining to my colleague how much fun it was just watching Connor and Josie get absolutely filthy and wet. I also said, “In this world of 30 second news cycles, instant messaging, and short attention span marketing it sure is nice to see basic joys being displayed. Simple pleasures like jumping in a rain puddle. And it sure is neat to relive some of those joys through the eyes of your children.”
Ton of bricks alert! Yep, as I was giving him the explanation about how much fun it was playing with Connor and Josephine for two straight days in the rain and mud, it hit me. How much fun was my father having watching me play? Of course there is an element of sacrifice and I don’t want to take it away just because he might have been having fun too, but think about it. As you can see in the pictures, Connor is having the time of his life, and there is no TV, no cartoons, no props, nothing. Okay, he is pulling a wagon, but for the most part it is just a kid in the rain. And when Josie tried to wade in as deep as Connor, of course she fell, got wet, cold and cried a little. But then she laughed it off and was back in the stomping business. It’s made me think more about how structured his play is at times.
We let him dictate what he’s going to play with quite a bit, but I’m certainly guilty of steering him in certain directions that may have been more convenient for me. I think I’m going to try to be less invasive and more observant for a while. Of course, he still can’t do anything that is going to potentially kill Josie. For example, I had to throw away a hose he was using as a whip after watching puss in boots. Yes he decided that he was puss and Josie was a horse. No children were injured in the writing of this blog, but disaster was definitely within a few inches. So it’s not “anything goes” but we’ll see how this plays out. He’s a smart boy and Josie is hitting a fun growth spurt.
In fact, Josie knows about 40 words right now that she can independently say without prompting. By that I mean she can repeat and mimic a lot more words, but those 40 she initiates. So for those veteran parents out there, remember when your toddler was starting to use words to direct their environment? For example, Sunday afternoon we were out in the back yard. Josie was in her swing. She said, “Connor, blue” and pointed at the blue swing. I asked if she wanted to get in the blue swing (we have yellow and blue). She said, “No, push (while tapping the front of her yellow swing). “Connor blue!” I asked if she wanted Connor in the blue swing (meanwhile he has a shovel and is building an even muddier pit than three days of rain could create). She said, “Yes, Connor blue.”
Connor didn’t want to stop playing his mud game, but it was cute to see Josie directing traffic using the words she has. So while Nita was making dinner last night I was out on the playground with the kids again. They were working off the sugar rush from the train cake Nita made for snack and I was just watching my little kids be kids. So I ask was it a sacrifice when I was having so much fun playing with them? I’m not so sure. Now before all you folks with tweens pile on with “wait til you have to drive all over blah blah for blah blah practice,” I know. There are definite sacrifices at all stages. But y’all don’t forget to have fun too during those moments, those magical moments that never come back. It’s allowed.
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