The other day, I overheard Penny say to a friend, “Let’s
play categories.”

The friend said, “What?”

“Categories.” Penny looked to me for help.

I explained, “In our family we play a game called
categories, where we pick something–like colors or books or things that go–and
then list as many of those things as we can in a row.” All of a sudden I felt a
little self-conscious as it struck me that even the games I play with my
children are on the serious side. One of Penny’s other favorites is “words.”
She makes a request: “Say words, Mom.” Which means that I come up with as many
three or four-syllable words as I can, and she repeats them back to me. “Arugula.”
“Deciduous.” “Invertebrate.” “Ontological.” No, really, we have loads of fun around here.

Later that day, I looked out my kitchen window. We live on
the campus of a boarding school, and I saw a student hiding behind a tree. The
campus was in the midst of “Splash,” an annual event in which every participant
tries to douse another player with water and thus eliminate him/her from the
game. I would never have played in high school. I wouldn’t play now. It
wouldn’t be fun for me. It would feel like a waste of time. It would feel
stressful to think of how easily I could lose.

But as I watched the kid out my window, waiting for his
target to emerge, I smiled. I loved his ability to disregard other
responsibilities and obligations and simply wait, attentive only to the moment.

We still play categories. I’m still at my best as a mom when
we’re reading on the couch or writing letters or talking about school. But I’m
trying to learn the value of play, of experiencing the joy of the present
moment, of catching a glimpse of eternity by delighting in right now.