Yesterday was an unexpected day. Vacations and illness left me without the class of 3-year-olds I’d planned to play with for 3 hours. And since Manchild has also been feeling a little lethargic, a little under the weather, we decided to lay low and chillax.
With nothing else to do, the boys hung together. They got out the jar I’d filled with song titles I was going to use for pre-school and sang every song on every scrap of paper – even the ones they didn’t know.
When the mail came with their magazine, they sat down on the couch together and Manchild read stories from it to his brother.
They took turns playing on the iPad when they decided to cash in the minutes they’d earned.
And they mostly left me alone.
It took some willpower, but I mostly left them alone, too. Much as I wanted to interject myself and tell them what a good job they were doing, or how pleased I was that they were playing so well together, or how nice it was that they weren’t running and screaming through the house, I resisted.
It was their day, their time, their decisions. My approval and encouragement were neither asked for nor needed. And I know that the best way to kill the joy would be to offer my opinion.
Best to stand back and let them be brothers all on their own.