On Tuesday night, six-year-old Marie came to me, her features twisted in an attitude of abject misery, with the bitter report, "None of my sisters played with me at all today. All I did all day was math!" (Lest you feel too sorry for the overworked little tyke, her math lesson had taken place eleven hours earlier and lasted all of fifteen minutes--besides, she loves math!) Now, it was almost 8 o'clock, and I suspect her bout of sorrow was a mixture of exhaustion and the fact that her sisters had spent the last two hours before bedtime immersed in the game, The Settlers of Catan, recommended at the award-winning blog of my best friend, Lissa. Poor Marie was feeling left out to say the least.
Not wanting her to go to bed in the throes of despair, I comforted, "Oh, Marie, I'm sorry you didn't get to play much today. We should have a tea party with your dolls tomorrow. Would you please be sure to remind me? I'd love to play tea party with you."
In an instant, the color returned to her cheek and the sparkle to her eye. She ran off like a shot to retrieve her tin tea set, calling over her shoulder, "I'm going to put it at the foot of my bed to remind us." As if the all-night clatter of tea cups would not be enough to cement our plans, she returned with her diary and a fat navy blue magic marker. "Mommy, would you write something down for me?"
"Sure, Sweetie, what would you like to say?"
"Dear Diary, I am going to play tea party with the dolls with Mommy tomorrow. Martha and Raggedy Ann and Night [Marie's stuffed dog] and the big baby who has no name and Raggedy Andy and the tiny Raggedy Ann baby will all be invited. Love, Marie"
Smiling at the entry with evident satisfaction, Marie closed her diary and carefully laid it next to her tea set. It struck me that she was like the businessman in town for a crucial meeting, setting his alarm but requesting a wake up call from the front desk. I was half expecting her to tie a piece of Raggedy Ann's yarn hair around her finger as well. She kissed me goodnight with an air of complete contentment.
Surprisingly late this afternoon, Marie remembered our plans. We sat on the floor as she served tea from empty cups and muffins, scones, and chocolates from empty plates. Her brother, Patrick, kept tossing his tea cup in the air and baby Maureen, though trying to be ladylike, upset Marie's elaborate display more than once. Still, it was a merry party I wouldn't have missed for the world, and, more importantly, our hostess beamed throughout.
As time goes on, I am realizing more and more how important and unrepeatable these moments are with the children. I have been trying to say "yes" when they let me know they want my company. "Yes" when Patrick requests to sit on my lap while he watches a Kipper video, "yes" when Theresa asks to read me three chapters in a row of "Howliday Inn," "yes" when Agnes slips downstairs to have a chat past bedtime, and "yes" when Margaret needs me to choose the colors for her latest artistic masterpiece. Nothing could be more important or worthy of my time.
It is an honor to be on the A-list of such great people.