Doing What Kids Ought to Do

Years ago, we lived in a back-to-front cottage. The back door faced the long driveway that led to the road, and the front one turned towards an endless paddock of chewing-the-cud cows.

Around the cottage was what the real estate woman had called a yard: “It’s nothing fancy,” she’d said on the day when she’d shown me the house. Her yard was my garden, and my garden was my kids’ magical world. They loved the untidy grass, the crabapple tree, the row of pine trees and our vegetable patch.

Some days, my girls, dressed in faded cast-off adult skirts, hitched up their trampoline wagon to the plastic chair horses, and set off over the wild garden prairie. Or they squeezed into the pirate baby bath ship and set sail on the waving grass seas. Four girls piled onto a tricycle meant for two and hurtled down the hill, screaming with excitement, sometimes hitting the tree at the bottom before tumbling to the ground.

My kids climbed trees, stirred crabapple and grass and dandelion stews, and vied with each other to make the best cubby house ever under the pines. The girls created tiny fairy gardens under bushes, and the boys showed the girls how to make bows and arrows.

My kids chased escapee cows back through the sagging wire fence. They discovered mushrooms in the shade of the trees after the rain. They collected red and yellow autumn leaves and crunched on frosty winter grass. They observed seedlings breaking through the soil in spring and threw water bombs at each other in summer. They listened to the birds, ate snails when they were babies, picked flowers and dug in the dirt.

My children acted out stories they’d heard and made up ones of their own. They turned into adults as they pretended to get married, be parents, go to work, fight bushfires, and travel overseas. They followed dreams, becoming famous singers and artists, dancers and explorers. My kids ran and bounced and chased and skipped and climbed, testing the capabilities of their bodies. They imagined, discovered, experimented, pondered ideas, solved problems, resolved disputes, and worked as a team.

My children laughed and talked and wrote scripts on the fly: “You say this, and I’ll say that.” They tried out different accents, walked tall on high heels, limped along on their sticks.

They soaked up the delights of each day.

They were as free as the wind that blew over their wild garden prairie.

They created magical memories: “Do you remember…?” they say, their eyes lighting up.

Oh yes, I remember those precious days when my kids did what kids ought to do.

The days when they played.

And learnt a million things.

Photos

I don’t have any photos of those fabulous playing days. I didn’t get a digital camera until after Gemma-Rose was born. And even then, when it became quick and easy and inexpensive to photograph whatever we liked, I didn’t think to capture the magical moments forever with my camera. Maybe that was good. My kids were free to play without the distraction of me trying to photograph all their games!

I took the top photo four years ago when Imogen, Charlotte, Sophie and Gemma-Rose and I were enjoying a breakfast picnic. We’d just had a magical time together recording a music video at the river on a frosty morning.

These days, I have plenty of photos of my kids’ adventures. I have loads of videos as well. If you’d like to hear the story behind the music video photos, here’s a vlog that I filmed after we’d made the video, Safe and Sound.

And here’s the music video:

While I was watching the video, and soaking up the memories of that glorious morning, I was thinking about how creativity has its roots in play. While my kids were playing, they were laying down the foundation for all their future creative pursuits.

One last thing: did you hear Imogen is going to make some more music videos? Imogen and I spoke about this in my last podcast, episode 179: Unschooling, Plot Holes, and Twonk.

So, are you happy for your kids to play for hours and hours each day? What are their favourite games? And how do you play? Oh yes, we need to play too, don’t we? Playing isn’t just for kids!