Listening

As I sit, writing at the table, I soak up the sounds of my home. The squeak of my rocking chair; the crinkle of pages as James rocks and reads his book; the sound effects Sean makes as he flies his airplane through the apartment, and the soft thump it makes as he lands it on the end table.









I have been called militant, even ridiculous, about my selection of mostly wooden and natural toys, but I wonder: do moments like these exist in a house full of battery operated, plastic toys? And how can a child use their imagination fully when the toy plays almost by itself, moving and making all the sound effects on its own.
Now, I am not passing judgment here, we have our share of plastic action figures and video games, and yes, the boys do watch tv. I do, however, try to limit these things, because I see the value of their play when they are engaged in their simpler toys.

An hour later, the spell is broken; to be heard now is giggles and growls and the stomping of little feet as they chase each other through the house and wrestle in a colorful blur of playsilks.