photo-19Little Brooks and I are still enjoying our summer. I’m on week two of grad school which means I’m still working out the kinks of balancing copious amounts of reading with being Momma to Brooks and Wife to Daddy Brooks. And Runner of Errands. And Patient. And Spanish Tutor. The list goes on. You get the gist.

All these hats I wear, and many more, are not complaints on my part. I count them all blessings, truly. When I begin to grumble at the running errands part I remind myself that I’m grateful to have a car in which to change the oil. Or that I can afford the ink for my printer which allows me to tutor and to perform well in grad school. When I begin to feel like a pin cushion from nightly fertility drug shots I remember how inexpensive this has been for us, and I breathe a sigh of relief and say a prayer of gratitude and thanksgiving. I could go on, but the biggest thing is that gratitude tinges the ins and outs of my day, and that makes the busy seasons not only enjoyable, but one to cherish, because, as the saying goes… “this too shall pass.”

Admittedly, one of the hats I wear that I’m not the biggest fan of, because it’s just not my thing is Player of The Talking Game.

What is The Talking Game you ask?

The Talking Game is a game of talking. B, who loves loves loves to use his imagination to concoct all sorts of things, both in his sketch pad and writings, also loves uses that creative brain of his to come up with novel games in which talking is the only form of play. Admittedly, a few weeks ago the game included maps and sketches and a log to keep track of play, but Brooks prefers bouncing a ball or walking or skateboarding from one end of the house to the other (yes, we allow that) to putting pen to paper in our game play.

I’ll let you in on a little secret: I really dislike The Talking Game.

It’s not my favorite thing.

Secretly, when Brooks joyously finds me in the house and with a look of pure bliss and expectation asks if we can play… I groan while plastering my face into a smile followed by an enthusiastic, “Yes!”

Obviously, The Boy does not read my blog.

Sometimes I’m just too tired to be creative, because by definition the game involves back and forth talking in which we both create scenarios for each other and responses to aspects of the game.

But B LOVES this game. He relishes it. It’s like Christmas morn for him, that moment when you run down the steps and realize the jolly old elf has struck again. And the truth of the matter is that I’m grateful for these moments of play. Not at first, obviously. I get my silent groan out and my frozen smile and inwardly wish one of the dogs would accidentally pee the floor so I could rush to take care of that instead (obviously, when I say floor, I’m hoping the pup would choose a bare spot of floor, uncarpeted, and so far from any other piece of furniture it has no chance to spread enough to wet anything else).

I remember, then, that some day, Little B won’t be home to play the Talking Game, that maybe… he won’t want to. I remember that this too is a season. I remember that these moments of play are cherished by him, that that hug he gives me at the end might really be an indicator that he realizes deep down Momma does this out of love, pure and simple. I remember to stay in the here-and-now, enjoying the moment for what it is, and as he zips through the house (he tends to move a lot when being creative) I watch him and relish the gift God gave me when we were blessed with Brooks.

Being grateful really changes the way I view things, from that oil change that seems to take too long to what seems like too many doctor’s appointments lately. But mostly, it reminds me to see the ins and outs of life in my little family as the blessings that they are.

I remain, grateful always.

Advertisements