I Want To Be More Like Daddy Today

I imagine a lot of homes are structured like ours.

Mom’s primary job is Keeper of All Things Home and Dad’s main daily occupation is his . . . well, occupation.

It’s not that it can’t be reversed and work just as well and it’s not some special requirement for Mom to work full time at home.

This post is not a social commentary about your family’s choices.

It’s really just an observation about our family.

And the difference between the way my husband and I tend to spend time with our children.

I am home alone with the kids a lot.  I handle the majority of their educational planning and their basic, overall weekday care.

I teach the kids.  I read to the kids.  I fix the kids lunch.  I help the kids learn how to bake peanut butter pie.  I review spelling words.  I show them how to fold laundry.  I make sure they clean up their bedrooms.

And that’s all good.

But I was reminded this weekend of how seldom I remember to just play with our kids.

It was our usual lazy Sunday morning.

(The Lazy Sunday Morning is one of the chief reasons we love attending the evening service at our church.)

We had lounged in bed, had eaten glazed muffins for a late breakfast and I was just rousing myself to fold a few clothes and considering picking up my novel.

Kevin strolls by me, coffee mug in hand, sweatshirt on, headed for the front door.

“The kids want me to hang outside with them for a while,” he told me.

From the laundry room (or laundry space, I should more accurately say) I could hear laughter and giggles and joyful screams.

I left the boring stacks of clean clothes to investigate.

It was a beautiful mayhem in the driveway.

Kevin was pulling a few of the kids in the wagon around an obstacle course of sorts.  He had charged them admission (two rocks each) for the ride and was engaging them with details like a professional tour guide.

The non-wagon-riding Keiglets were involved in the game as statues or other various forms of entertainment along the route.

It was simple.

It was Sunday morning.

It was perfect.

Kevin pulled that wagon around and around the same circle for more times than I could keep up with.

Fox would leap with joy as he waited for his ride, clutching his little rock payment.  (The same rock accompanied him to nursery later that evening.  He might have even slept with it.  He’s a natural hoarder.)

London and Mosely could not stop laughing as they careened their bikes along the path pretending to chase the wagon riders.

Hawkeye was both statue and reckless bystander, driving his bike into the Suburban, the basketball goal, the legs of everyone near and far around him.

And Finnian pretended she had a camera in her hands throughout the ride, snapping pictures of Wildwood (the edge of the driveway), the Statue of Liberty (first me, then Fox) and the Great Wall of TR.

I spend so much of my days instructing my children.

Pushing them along from one task to the next.

Talking at them more than talking to them.

I want to play more.

To engage and pursue.

To enjoy.

Like their daddy did yesterday.