One of the realities of my 3-year-old daughter’s Monday-Wednesday-Friday preschool schedule is that she’s home with me two days a week.
I can look at my busy days and see this as a hindrance – and I sometimes do – but today I choose to look at it as a beautiful opportunity as I work. She’ll be 4 on Dec. 1, and I know that very soon she will be involved in so many of her other activities that I won’t have this to view.
It helps, too, that she’s been playing by herself awfully well today, so I’m able to be quite productive while caring for her. It’s a good day at Daddy Daycare.
With that, I get the chance to listen to her “conversations” and hear her disgust as I walk across the “soccer field” to get me a drink from the kitchen. I get to listen to her explore her own personality and her own imagination, and I’m thrilled.
Channing just asked me to hurriedly take off her medical knee pads – otherwise known as her sister’s old soccer shinguards – because her imaginary playmate just fell and hurt her knee. “She needs them more than I do, so can you help me?”
As I did, I couldn’t help but think of that time 40-some years ago when my mother walked into our back yard to ask me what I was doing. She’d been watching me play football for some time from the kitchen window, so she was enthralled as to why, all of the sudden, her 6-year-old son was on his knees not playing football with all those imaginary players anymore.
“Because, Mom, I tackled this guy so hard that I hurt him, and I have to do surgery if he’s going to live,” I told her as I sliced and stitched and repaired my opponent’s ailments right there on the 50-yard line.
That’s why it’s fairly easy for me to stop writing this piece about the American Royal and help Channing as hurries to help her imaginary playmate. After all, we can’t keep playing if we have no one to play with us, can we?