It’s funny how things come back to bite you.
I wrote a piece a while ago about the benefits of a little deprivation now and then. As only a graduate of a liberal arts college can, I went on and on about how giving things up makes you appreciate what you have. I should have kept my mouth shut.
“Play” means lots of things with a toddler: pushing toy trains around, variations of peekaboo, running in circles shrieking “Doc MacStuffins” – all these count as play. A game is nothing more than a convention established, added to, and modified. Its very organic, like an ensemble-created piece of performance art. Except without all that pretension.
There’s been a common theme in Little Man’s games of late. I’ll be working the pirate bath toys, they’ll be riding their boat in the tub, when Big Bad Barry the shark, to great gales of laughter, capsizes the stalwart vessel and then drags it down to the sudsy depths. The pirates then commandeer any number of maritime devices from cups to fish to frogs to papa’s feet, all of which suffer the same fate.
Or maybe I’m working some bit of train cargo meant to fit on one of the cars. The cargo tries to get on the train. The train doesn’t stop. Many giggles occur in conjunction with this. The cargo continues to pursue this sysiphusian task with iron persistence and a cunning wit (if I do say so myself). The train, to the uproarious amusement of certain people, does not stop.
You can, no doubt, begin to grasp the through line here.
Endless frustration on my part is, apparently, hilarious.