It Will Be Different

Last night, Lynden asked me to play with him and I said: "Uh, I don't know. I don't play very well."

What the hell is wrong with me?

This weekend something will be different, there will be a few changes, a reasonable makeover in the home. I realized that I don't play well because I don't play.

Ever. At all. At any time. Never do.

This weekend I will play and the kids will see me do it. They'll see me do more than move this pile of dirty stuff over to there, put these clean dishes away and pile up those dirty ones, move this box to that corner and get sweaty while vacuuming. They'll see me play. I'll play with the sewing machine, make notes for myself, hang up a bulletin board in my craft space. I'll play with new embroidery stitches because I've got a new project on deck and I need to relearn and teach myself new tricks. They'll see me play at my pottery wheel or see that I am going out to play at the pottery studio because I've had pots down there for a month just sitting. We'll play at the library, where I'll find books on sewing clothes and new throwing techniques. 

Don't get me wrong. I play, I toddle this toy around and make it talk and I rock that baby doll to sleep and change its diaper, but I don't do it with any zeal. I've got no zest for play, because I've forgotten how. (Boo hoo.)