That’s what I heard, last night. My husband had taken the boys downstairs to play so I could do the dishes in peace. He mentioned he felt like a nice “family night playing together downstairs”. I haven’t actually played with the kids for a while. I let them run around and play while I’ve been busy with Christmas preparations. It takes a lot, to get this house ready for Christmas, because I have to do it in such tiny little increments of time. A few minutes here, a few minutes there, after the dishes are done, before I fold my fifth load of laundry for the day….. 😉 So playing sounded nice.
I was listening to all the clapping and all the “Yay!”s as the boys bounced balls, made baskets and ran cars down a long, narrow tube. They were having a blast. And then, as I was scrubbing the floor (I have to do that after each meal and snack – the twins feed themselves. Nothing more needs to be said.) I heard my husband say, sternly, “I can assure you, that is not “Yay!” and I literally LOLed! (I love “LOL” because, really, did you really ‘laugh out loud’? Don’t write it unless you really did it!) Yes, I really laughed out loud. It was hilarious!
And I thought to myself, “ahhhh…….”
This is it. This is the time in each of my boys’ lives when my husband falls madly in love with them. And I absolutely love it. Up until now, they were infants. They didn’t do much. They didn’t react much. And they were (and still are!) a lot of work. It is harder for a man, I’ve learned, to bond, with such a small, helpless little creature. Us moms seem to do it right away. But we carried them for nine months and felt them grow within us. There’s a connection there. A man, he watches it happen. And knows the child is his. And loves it from the get-go. But that connection isn’t the same.
I’m not sure exactly when it happens for my husband. But I can see it. He raced home from work the other day because it was snowing so beautifully outside. He wanted to get the youngest three dressed up to go out and play. (It is sooo much work for me to do alone.) By the time he got home, it was getting dark. And I had to be the fun-killer, by pointing out that I needed him to shower and go pick up the 11 year old from basketball practice. That night, in bed, he reminisced about a winter wonderland he took our oldest out to play in at night, back when we lived in town. Seventeen years ago. Maybe 16 or 15. He was probably two or three. It was so much fun. Such a good memory for him. Such a fun age.
I realized, as I finished scrubbing the floor, that my life is about to get a little more fun. My husband has always been the fun-initiator. He has always been the one to tell me to put down my work and play. He is the one who has taught me that playing with the boys is the absolute most important thing we can do. And what can be more fun, than playing with the man I love, three big boys, a three year old, and two bubbling little twins? 🙂