Recently, I confessed to one of our talented Educators that I had forgotten how to play. She assured me that this was not the case as she has worked with me for some time and can attest to my playful tendencies. What did this mean? Was I unable to play with my 6 year-old son because I wanted to play with kids my own age?
This may be a new manifestation of Mommy-guilt which revealed itself the last time I played with Nate. I noticed that whenever we played, he took the lead. I was engaging in play but in a purely reactionary role, as if play was too tiring to embrace completely.
This weekend was different. All of us buzzed around the house, readying for holiday guests. Nate decided to take a break and called me into his playroom and I succeeded in putting him off a few times. He called again and I dropped what I was doing as, once again, the inescapable news from Connecticut invaded my routine. This weekend, play became a kind of meditation, where nothing beyond the remote controlled dump truck and backhoe existed.