Wait, guys! Mommy wants to play!
Mine instead happened this week, courtesy of a cute little blond with blue eyes that beckoned "come play with me."
OK, so it wasn't just the eyes. It also was the trampoline. And the miniature Jeep that really works. And the Nerf arsenal. How can a mom with a ball, bat and glove compete?
To their credit, the guys humored me for about a half hour. It was clear after 15 minutes of batting practice and playing catch, though, that they weren't feeling it. Big Guy started squirming. "Mom, I just don't want to play baseball today."
What?! You don't want to play baseball? He must be catching the evil barf bug that's been going around, I thought. This kid never turns down baseball.
"Are you feeling OK?" I asked.
"Yeah," he replied. "I just want to play with my friends."
Oh. So that's all it is. You're not deathly ill. You're just blowing off your mom.
Boots, seeing my face fall, tried to rally. "I love playing with you, Mommy! We can stay and play catch." A half dozen tosses later, he was over it, too.
It was one of those "be careful what you wish for" experiences. After all those times I've complained about their noise and shoo'ed them as I've tried to work, I finally was being left in peace. Peace, I discovered, can be lonely. Maybe I should get a cat. Isn't that what abandoned old ladies do?
I suppose I should be thrilled that they've found playmates to replace the four who are leaving in the coming months. Still, it's a good thing I'm not nearly as unhinged as Joan Crawford or those baseball gloves would be on the breakfast table with the same regularity that Crawford served her kid the bloody steak.
You're going to play with me, dang it, and you're going to enjoy it!
Naw. That (sniff, sniff) wouldn't be right. I should encourage (sniff, sniff) independence. I should be thrilled that they're (sniff, sniff, HONK!) playing peacefully with their peers.
I should also go to the shelter and check out the kittens while I'm at it.
Copyright 2011 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.