On a recent, lazy Sunday afternoon, I was busy with some chores around the house and my husband had brought some work home from the office and was working in the basement. The kids were bored. The novelty of their new Christmas toys was starting to wear off and it was too cold to send them outside to play.
My oldest asked me to play hide and seek with them. I was folding laundry that was piled up to my chin and turned to look at him like he had lost his daggum mind. I suggested that he play with his little brother and sister instead.
“It’s more fun with you.”
“Well, yes, honey, most things are, but I really need to get this done. Maybe you could help me fold this and—“
He left the room before I finished my thought.
I went downstairs later and all three kids were wrestling in the family room. There was a lot of noise. Screaming, crying, yelling. I was about to do what I always do when they start roughhousing and tell them to stop before someone got hurt, but then I stopped and really listened.
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