Play

Recently my son has started to really play - not just brooming cars and building towers, but accepting my invisible keys with a knowing smile and unlocking his toy car with them. At the park, we stand in the little shop area and I ask Moses if I can please buy some muffins, so he bends down, picks up some woodchips, and hands them over, then I pretend to eat them and hand him some “money”, which he takes and pretends to eat (we’re still working on this part). I love it! I can’t wait until he has the vocabulary to match his imaginings, when our shop sessions will get even more creative and fun.

However, I think my involvement in our play went a little too far last Friday, when I found myself trying to distract Moses from the Duplo house I was building so that my handiwork would not be interfered with by someone who apparently thinks motorbikes can sit on outdoor tables and an animal trough can double as a bed. They can’t, so don’t come near my outdoor setting, dude. Gosh. After putting Moses down for his nap, did I rush around making the most of the kid-free-time to cross to-dos off my list in preparation for the arrival of guests later that evening? No, I did not. Did I grab a snack and relax with a book or throw on a load of washing or sit at my laptop and write a brilliant blog post? No, no and no. Did I pull out my camera and busy myself with designing and arranging cosy Duplo scenes as if I was an apprentice photographer on my first assignment with Duploland’s Home magazine?

Inappropriate?

Better?

I may have done that last one.