I’m Bad At Playing
I can read or cook or organize or make laundry fun. I can draw and do dishes. I can laugh and sing during bath time or in the car. We go out for lattes and walks and adventures. We visit the library. We run errands. But I’m bad at playing.
I get bored with trains. I end up organizing Legos instead of building. I hate the messes of crafts. I don’t love the playground. I’m bad at playing.
I found myself with too much of a headache to do anything but sit on the couch after school yesterday. The only way Roozle would let me get away with sitting, was to play. I told her I couldn’t read and didn’t want to have to move, but if she could come up with something that wouldn’t make my headache worse, I’d do it. She grabbed her ball and a few laundry baskets. Next thing I knew, we were playing throw a ball into a basket three billion times for an hour. It ruled.
Of course it meant that the house is a mess and the dog didn’t get walked and we let go of the meal plan for the night, but sometimes letting go of all of that is just what we need.