There’s a photo I keep propped up on my dresser. I’m not sure why I haven’t put it in a frame in the last eight months it’s been there, but something about the spontaneous, unplanned, unframed nature of the moment this photo contains is one of the biggest reasons it has a place in my every day life.
It’s a picture of me playing with my oldest, Ella, when she’s around 20 months old. This is an ordinary moment, a thing I did and still do a lot on a daily basis. Yet it’s one of my most cherished pictures ever. (Please note the original artwork taped to my wall. I used to worry about hanging art on my walls, but God knew that wasn’t my forte; hence, he gave me Ella. I have countless pictures of princesses and fairies and unrecognizable doodles taped up like an endless border in my house, right at a kid’s eye level. Maybe it looks weird, but it’s not going anywhere. Okay, I’ll probably take it down by the time she’s ten, because “let them grow up” and all that conventional wisdom will demand it.)
I guess you could classify me as a “playing mom.” I like to play with my kids. Or at least, I like it once I get it down to it. You know 
how it goes: you have a million to-dos and and you’re exhausted with a headache and you just want to finish your coffee before it’s ice cold, but your three-year-old finishes up her breakfast, looks at you, and says, “Is it a good play day?” What that means in my house is “Are you too busy for me today?” Because let’s face it, our children have no concept that almost every single thing we do is for them. They don’t know that all that laundry and cooking, hours at a job, hours at a desk, all of that is pretty much for them. Also, they don’t understand that mommy is happier when she has a sense of accomplishment in her days. What they understand is tiny princesses with annoying rubber dresses that come to life if you play along with them. They comprehend monster trucks that drive over bumps in the carpet like they’re Himalayan mountain ranges. They think forts in the living room are the pinnacle of life. It’s not hard, but then again, it is, this speaking their love language. It takes putting my mind in a different state, suspending the idea that getting something done is important, and pretending our dolls and teddy bears are feasting on gooseberry pie and cherry cider for no reason I can understand (what the…what do gooseberries even look like? Are they edible?). The trick is to let them take the reins and tell me what they think would be fun, and truly believe that nothing is ridiculous. Unless they start laughing, then it’s allowed to be ridiculous…
And the thing is, I love it. At the end of a play day, I am absolutely more satisfied than I can explain. My small children know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I love them. I have dirty dish piles, dust that hasn’t moved in weeks, piles of clutter in the corners that I keep meaning to tackle, and I have joy despite all of that. I know it will be there tomorrow, but by tomorrow, my kids will not feel like they have to whine their way into my to-do list. Tomorrow, when I say, “I’ll come be a dragon after I finish these dishes,” they’ll believe me, because I proved it today. I proved I love them in their language, and it’s not so much of an uphill battle to maintain that faith if I am consistent in the time I spend with them.
A couple of years ago, a mom I deeply respect and love told me that she doesn’t remember ever playing with her children. That admission saddened me so much. This is a stay-at-home mom who spent countless hours homeschooling her children and “plays” with her teenage kids all the time now. But she doesn’t remember playing with them when they were small. Her kids remember it, though. They tell me how she played with them. I want my kids to remember that I played with them, and I want to spend so many hours playing with them that I cannot help but remember it, too. Because those are some of the happiest hours of my life.
So my photo of a good day to play stays propped up in my bedroom, and I look at it every morning as I get dressed. I look at it and remember that every day is a good day to play.
and I delighted in filling in those boxed, pre-made Valentine’s for each other. (Funnily enough, my husband gave me a Valentine’s Day card when I was about 7 because we were at the same church Valentine’s Day function for kids. I still have it, though I have no idea why I kept it since I really had no feelings for him until ten years later. It has a skunk on it, but I ignore that part.)Then I spent a few early teenage years taking the knowledge that I have a Lover of My Soul very seriously (shout out to 
8. Gather your small children and read one of those books like 
10. Don’t forget your significant other if you have one. I’ve noticed that even couples who scoff at the holiday want this day to be at least a little different from other days, deep down inside. Pick up a pizza so your wife doesn’t have to cook, clean off your husband’s night stand, shave your legs or face, I don’t know. I’m sure you can think of something that doesn’t involve the schmaltzy stuff you’ve sworn off.
There’s really nothing better to read on a cold winter’s day than a book by Jan Brett. Her Scandinavian-inspired illustrations contain furry animals and rosy-cheeked children and beautiful, warm-looking boots and skirts and mittens…ah. It’s almost enough to make you think you’re warm yourself. Our favorite right now is 
Another book we’re enjoying this week is
Finally, we just discovered 
For longer chapter books, we love to re-read chapters of Little House in the Big Woods and Little House on the Prairie to make us appreciate our modern comforts and imagine what it’s like to be really cold. We haven’t made it to The Long Winter because I’m just not sure Ella can handle the…longness. I’m thinking Ella and I will read a 
After you read some books with your kids, you need some music to get them (and you) dancing around and burning off energy/calories. We’ve been listening to the Frozen soundtrack in every waking moment for a week now. I took Ella (4) to see the movie on Sunday, and she had the whole soundtrack memorized by Wednesday. It was her first movie theater experience. We had to do a good bit of processing all the drama in the first few hours after the movie, because Ella is a very perceptive and emotionally sensitive 4-year-old (in the best possible way!), but then she decided she was a fan. Can I just say how thankful I am for a Disney Princess movie that features warm clothing? Now I can say, “Anna wears long sleeves!” when I’m trying to convince Ella to put a shirt on under her dress-up dresses. She even wears tights and boots! Awesome.
My Barnes and Noble closed two weeks ago. I’m a little heartbroken. No, I didn’t really own it. But I’ve lived in the suburbs of a the same small, American capital city my whole life. I’m not even 30, and I feel like I already make those old-timer comments like, “I remember when there was nothing here but trees, and now there’s a Walmart!” This January, many of us in our suburb are making sad comments like “Remember when there was a Barnes and Noble here last week where we used to mix and mingle and be?” Or “remember when we were in high school and college and we would go and browse for an hour in that Blockbuster store that closed down last month?” For better or worse, it’s the end of an entertainment era in my hometown. I spent many a pleasant evenings in that Barnes and Noble, surrounded by books and coffee and my family or my friends, and later my boyfriend who was then later my husband, and most recently my children who loved that store. There are lots of memories there. Rather, there were lots of memories there.