So, I didn’t think I could play another game of “guess who.”
T’is the end of the first term school holidays. 2 weeks off our routines, intersected by a chocolate bunny feast. This holiday season started with a trip to the bush and followed up with a trip back along the coast. There’s been canoeing and swimming; sleepovers and cricket; surfing, dune rambling and a fair slog of pedalling between our little house by the sea and The Dunes Cafe. (Which may have the best hot chocolates going around.)
And then, there’s been “guess who.”
This flip the face board game -which my youngest lad has taken a liking too – has filled most waking hours for him and I this week. Self exiled from the world while we quarantined our rumbly bellys, we turned to each other via this question / answer game. It’s kinda cool because you don’t have to be able to read, you can get away with making crucial tactical mistakes and it’s first to 5. Meaning a speedy get-away at games’ end.
Plus 2 of my walking hearts are in Qld with my in-laws. Laying down precious memories of “the worlds” and their beloved grandparents. Leaving my world and that of my youngest lads’ a little lonely. So we turned to each other.
Via guess who.
I asked him just before, while we played behind the couch, what was his favourite part of this holiday. At first he shook his head at me – concentrating to guess as to whether I was Neil or Graham – and then he stopped. He stared. Fixing his eyes on my soul.
I rattled off all the awesomeness of his last 2 weeks. Seeking validation for all the experiences we had shared. All the diversity we had seeked. All the time we had spent.
He looked at me straight. With that all knowing, all loving gaze.
“This. This is my favourite part.”
Think seated twists, throat openers and inversions.
When we practice being present, when we practice being here, it reminds us of where we are. Whether watching a sunrise, watching a wave break or watching our small ones concentrate on a board game – awareness reacquaints us with the vitality of life’s field. It makes us remember what it feels like to be open. To be humble. To be thankful.
To be where we are.
When we fail to notice where we are at, when we fail to notice what we have in front of us – we steal from ourself the very experience that it is to be alive. What it is to be aware of this time. What it is to be intimate with this space.
What it is to love this moment – and all that we know in it.
My youngest lad can’t remember much of his easter break. And in a few hours, I might hear some memories from my daughters.
But then again, I might not. I might just play another game of “Guess Who”. I might practice being here – fully here, with my small folk. Because they’re so good at it. I’ll be trying to guess who they are, trying to be the first to 5.
While I give thanks for who I am. And give thanks for who I have. For the lessons they teach me. For the wisdom of their souls.
As I try to guess who – asking if my youngest lad is wearing a hat.