Teaching an Old Dog an Old Trick

Today my daughter tried to teach me how to play.  Play what?  Just play.  It seems I've forgotten, or I never learned, one of the two.  But whenever she asks me to play with her I go into a bit  of a panic and always seem to find something else to do.  Something more important, like check Facebook or pretend to clean the kitchen, or watch television.  Something always more important that her, at least that's how she sees it, and rightly so.  I was terrified.  But I did it.

I let her put make up on me.  I put on a party dress.  I put on high heels.  We danced around the kitchen and acted like children.  And you know what?  I had fun.  The house stayed standing and the only one who laughed at me was my daughter.  My daughter who is wise beyond her years.  She saw that I was struggling.  She knew I was so far out of my element that all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and hide.  She asked me why I couldn't play.  I told her it was because I didn't know how.

I tried as best as I could, without coloring her wonderful opinion of her grandparents, to explain to her that when I was a little girl I was never really allowed to play.  That there was always better things to do.  I should be cleaning or doing something productive.  There was no time for play.  So now, when it comes to having fun, my instant reaction is that there are better things to do.  But soon, my daughter won't want to play.  Soon she will want to do everything on her own.  Too soon, she won't need or want mommy around anymore.  I will have missed it.  So I better get over my issues and get down on my hands and knees and learn how to play if it kills me.  It probably won't.