I stayed home this weekend. So did Tracy. So did Shea. We stayed home all weekend. We watched movies, played Candyland, snuggled, napped, relaxed, and simply talked to each other. It was great.
Oftentimes, I feel like I'm missing out on things. I feel like my life keeps me sequestered behind closed doors and my friends and acquaintances are all out doing things that are exciting and important. What I fail to see a lot of the time, I think, is that these moments in my house are important and exciting.
Shea is growing more and more everyday. She's developing a real storytellers gift. Most of the time we spend together nowadays is playing make believe. We play princesses, horsey, superheroes, ninjas, etc. She sets up elaborate scenarios that must be overcome and her narratives must be followed precisely. This is not improv, people. She'll set all the players on the stage. "Mommy, you go here. You're Miss Martian. Daddy, you go here. You're Superboy." Then, when she's ready, the action begins and we all launch out into our predetermined roles. Most often so that she can play the hero herself.
While I used to think that I was locked in my house, locked away from the excitement of the world, I think I need to start thinking of the rest of the world as being locked out. They don't get the chance to save Miss Martian from Ursula the Sea Witch with a mighty karate chop. The lines between reality blur inside the walls of our house and if you look just right, you might just glimpse a technicolor reality that trumps our own.
Darling Kyle,
ReplyDeleteWherever you are, that is where life is. I think the most challenging thing, no matter where you are or what you are doing, is to be in the moment. I can't tell you how many times I found myself at a supposedly fun place (I'm thinking of David Foster Wallace right now) wishing I were somewhere else. And recently, in Venice, one of the most beautiful cities in the world, I found myself projecting out of it-- back into the sad stories of my past-- or into the narratives of the future. I love to think of you and your beautiful girls snuggling and watching movies. Indeed, what joy.
And just a note on your comment about the seriousness of Shea's play. I have long believed what Derrida said-- that all academic work should be serious play. When I first explain this to students, I ALWAYS ask them to freewrite about the play of children-- either their own play or the play of children they observe. It is VERY serious.
I just applied for a teaching job at Clark (down in your neck of the woods!) and one of the supplemental questions asked me for my teaching philosophy. I wrote about almost exactly the thing you just described with Shea-- then moved on to how it relates to the classroom, of course.
Creative work is play, but there are rules, and it is the most serious of joys.
Brilliant blog entry, Kyle. Thank you so much!
Peace,
Jen
It's nice to hear you're not underestimating the power of those lovely, domestic, cherished moments. What some people wouldn't give... :-) Glad I'll get to glimpse a little of that magic soon.
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