So last night it came back. The pain. I’ve had it only once since my surgery last year, so I think it is from a different problem I have. The thing is, this pain wears me out for awhile, even after it passes.
“Kids, you need to stay upstairs where Mama can see you.”
And they are up here playing and I am resting. And blogging.
It’s a small miracle, really. We’ve had quite a battle lately about acceptable forms and amounts of entertainment. I do not know why, but “play” and “toys” have become four-letter words to my kids.
“How about a craft? Go Diego? Outside? Let’s make something in the kitchen instead…”
But never toys or playing in their designated spaces. I am not complaining, per say. It just troubles me. That my children think I need to facilitate all their entertainment. I remember spending whole days in my little room with my sister. Reading. Playing dolls. Dress up. Lots of things. I thought maybe I was just seeing my childhood through rose-colored glasses, so I asked my mom what she remembered. Our stories coincided.
I know part of it is my fault. We live in the 21st century, where we can plunk kids in front of a tv or computer. They are happy and we are happy. But it lacks thinking power. Creativity dies. So this week the kids tv watching will be nominal, if non-existent. They will have no option but to play. Thus, I am hoping to undo a parenting mistake… by God’s grace.