play: 40 words in 40 days

This morning Sam woke up early. He was ready for school 40 minutes early. That’s right I said 40 minutes. 

I asked him, “What do you want to do?”

I want to play with you.

I must’ve looked stricken because he said, “I’m sorry.” 

“What are you sorry for?” I asked him.

“I don’t think you want to do that,” he said. My heart broke in two.

Truth: I did not want to do that. My face did not lie. And the desire of my heart is to be present with my kids. I want to play with them.

I don’t know how to play.

So I did the only thing real mothers do. I lied.

Go get the clay! Let’s make something together.

Before you think this was some heroic gesture, I could stomach playing with clay more than Beyblades or cars. I’m sorry. I have not finished my coffee yet. I have on my fluffy robe. My eyes still feel crusty.

And so we made a monster.

I said, “He is a cute little monster.”

Sam corrected me. “He is a fighter headed to war.” He grabbed a toothpick sword and pierced him. Then some red clay for the blood.

I gulped my coffee.