rent-a-kids
Playing Opossum
“Just wait until your father gets home!” was a line Martha never used on our children. Early on in our marriage we had discussed how important it was that the kids look forward to me coming home. We believed that statements like that would create the opposite effect. Looking back I think we were right.
During the early “daycare” years it was very common for there to be “rent-a kids” still on site when I rolled in from my work day. It was also inevitable that as soon as I stepped through the door the kids wanted to wrestle. Most often this would include three to six kids all slobbering over themselves in the hope of literally jumping up and down on me.
Some of my fondest memories are from these times. We’d all roll around on the floor tangled in huge human knots for the better part of half an hour. Giggles, laughter, and the occasional high-pitched scream were the language of the moment. Dickens was right. “These were the best of times.”
I did have an infrequent problem when it came to these wrestling matches however. Some days I was simply exhausted. I don’t mean that end of the day weariness that was the norm. No, this was different. I was literally too tired to play. On top of that, I knew I was grumpy. That’s the worst. I have a mean grumpy.
It was hard to turn them down even on days when I felt like this. It was impossible to say no to those eager little faces. Yet, I knew it was only a matter of time before my grumpy was going to get the best of all of us. I really didn’t want that to happen. Thank the Lord, the answer presented itself rather simply one day.
I gave in to the usual requests and begging to be the target of their assault. I lay down on the living room floor waiting for the ritual sounds of running feet, the short silence that came while they were airborne, and the sudden shock on impact that usually sent them tumbling off the other side of my pummeled body. What usually followed was me slowly rising like a monster from the deep and chasing after them. This day I didn’t move. I lay there still as stone. The sudden silence in the room was proof that this was something new, and uncertain. It was a challenge not to smirk.
The whispers began immediately.
“What’s your dad doing?” asked David
“Don’t know,” answered Aaron.
At this point all the kids began to talk to me, trying to get me to chase them. Nothing happened. I was still and silent with only one eye slit open ever so slightly. I could hear them sneaking closer.
“Touch him. I think he’s dead,” said one of them.
I felt a tentative poke from a foot on my foot. Then I felt a firmer tap from another foot against my side. More pokes came as their confidence rose. Suddenly there were kids all over the top of me punching, pulling, kicking and I even got a bite from one of them. Still I lay motionless and silent.
They were scared now. The pleading began for me to wake up. They began to think I might really be dead. I was surprised that they hadn’t lost interest yet. I guess I figured they would soon, so I did the unexpected at this point. I reached out suddenly and grabbed an ankle tightly in my hand. The shriek from David was heart-felt. I’d totally scared the pants off the little bugger. He squealed and squirmed. wriggled and twisted while hollering for help from his stunned friends. They all grabbed him and started pulling against my hold, or grabbed my hand and tried to unbend my fingers. It was all I could do not to burst out laughing and ruin the effect.
Then, just as suddenly I released my hold and went limp again. Now it was game on for real. The kids loved it. It became a favorite for all of us. What they didn’t know at the time was that all I was doing was getting some much-needed rest while I lay there on the floor. To them I was playing dead. For me I was simply sleeping or close to it anyway.
I had tripped over the answer and it worked brilliantly. The grumpy had been defeated and one of our favorite games invented simply by playing opossum.
Curls & Capes 