Pet Rocks [England is evil 8]

Sometimes I think we can be more direct as bloggers at the weekend, when traffic is lower, maybe more rambling, perhaps less slick and maybe more frank?

After several aborted attempts he is eventually lured onto the beach, despite the sand. I cannot fathom the derivation, but the new game, of his own making, works a treat. After nearly an hour of this play, it would be easy to think that his retrieval skills are unmatched.

His phrase is, “I went digging and guess what I found?” whereupon he presents me with a rock with an exceptionally surprised expression on his face and a little gasp. Then it’s my turn to say, “Wow, just as well I brought the bucket!” If I fail to look sufficiently surprised he gives it another go. He is patience personified. I have rarely seen him so content at play with something other than ‘electronics.’

For many this would be dull, especially the constant repetition. It’s probably the sort of thing you do with a toddler, but I really don’t care. I’m sure most parents love to play with their children, but for me, everything is always a group activity. If my other children were present my attention would be divided, and the ‘play’ would be a stresser. Who is doing what? Always on edge waiting for the next meltdown, the next disaster, the next unforeseen and unanticipated danger. May I’ve just forgotten how to relax?

I know we all have them, those sweet moments of perfect intimacy. It’s these tiny huge moments that slip through my fingers. Just for now, for me, one on one, is such a precious treat.

I’m so happy I could cry.