Father Notes: Play Time

I've been feeling a bit disconnected from Shea lately, like I've been working too much and not having enough unstructured time with her.  Unstructured time is the cornerstone of our relationship.  With so much always going on with the family, I've always taken it upon myself to make sure to spend those aimless afternoons with her without an agenda.  Tonight, I found some of that time and I can't even explain how much I missed it.

After I picked Shea up from my mother's house, we came home to find only the dog waiting for us.  We'd beaten Tracy home.  As we came into the house, I asked Shea if she wanted to change out of her school clothes and get into something more comfortable.  She looked a bit sweaty.  She asked if I wanted to come upstairs and make sure she picked out something that was "appropriate" (her words).  She instantly pulled out a purple sundress, and I said, "Why not?"

After she changed her clothes, she asked if she could show me something.  I agreed and she led me out to the backyard.  On the way out the door, I grabbed my wife's camera on a whim.  When we got outside, Shea stood on the tiny paved path between the lower yard and upper yard and simply gestured at the strawberry plants around her.

She wound her way amongst the bushes, careful to not step on any of the ripened, or unripened fruit, until she had collected a good handful.  She offered me up a couple of strawberries like they were the greatest candied confection one could find. Which is kind of true, as strawberries from one's own yard, warm from a late Spring day, dance along the tongue like few things can.

After our quick after school snack.  Shea led me on a walk around the yard, warning me to watch out for dog poop as we walked.  We simply strolled around the yard, looking at the spot where the old play structure used to be.  We talked about maybe setting up garden boxes in its place, and Shea wanted to make sure she would have some say as to what we planted.

Shea then asked me if I wanted to play a game.  Here are the rules as I understand them:

1. I stand in a patch of dandelions while she stands in a patch of dandelions across from me.
2. When she says go, I am supposed to reach her dandelion patch while simultaneously preventing her from reaching mine.  We are on opposing teams.
3. I can't tag her right after she tags me, although the tag element and what it meant to be "it" still eludes me.

This game basically involved the two of us running past each other and standing in the opposing teams dandelions for about 10 minutes.  Somehow she won, and then I attacked her and the whole thing devolved into a tickle fight.  Afterwards, she shoved flowers into her toes and presented them to me as flower flip-flops.

Once she regained her wits and grew bored of the flower flip-flops, she spied a hula hoop left forgotten on the grass from a couple of days previous.  She lit up with an idea.  "Watch me, daddy," she cried from the middle of the lawn.

She spun that hula hoop better than I remembered.  She actually kept the thing afloat for a couple of seconds, which is a grand improvement from where she began.  After she got tired of the hula hoop around the waist, it was around the arm.  When she got tired of trying to swing it around her arm?  We concocted a game to see how many ways we could throw the hula hoop to each other from across the lawn.  She rolled it.

Threw it overhand.

Tossed it like a frisbee (not a resounding success).

Two-handed-over-the-head-axe-toss.  Look at the intensity of the preparation!  This was serious business, people.

At this point, I've lost many people to the overly sentimental musings of a father, but there is a point to all of this.  The point is this.  We had an amazing evening with Shea that night.  She came inside, did all of her chores, ate her dinner, obeyed everything we said, and was in a good mood the entire time.

Our children crave our attention and our time, and most of the parents I know give it to them, but we don't always do it in the free-associating, agenda-free format that kids prefer.  Shea loved careening from one activity to another to another with no sense of a plan.  She wanted to be free of restriction.  She wanted her mind to dance and play from one pleasurable moment to the next without me saying, "Five more minutes," or, "You can play with that after you do this, that, and the other."

The whole endeavor probably took 30 minutes, an instant, an eye blink, a mere pittance of time, but it made all the difference.  I could keep this blog post focused on Shea and how it did great things for her behavior and temperament, but I think the real winner in this situation was me.  The two of us played in the grass together, barefoot.  We ate sun-kissed strawberries and played a game that had almost no rules and no real objective.  Then, we played catch back and forth with a hula hoop.  All of those things, every one, was like an aloe to my often stress-burned heart.  I came inside after playing with Shea, kissed my wife, made a fresh dinner by her side, had a snuggle before Shea went to bed, and simply found myself connecting with my wife.  Talking, at ease, and decompressed from the day.  Play time is important.  Not just for Shea, but for Tracy and I too.  I got a dose today, and I think I'm already jonesing for more.

Thanks, Shea.  You did good, girl.