My daughter’s favourite activity to play with me is role play. I’m not a huge fan because honestly, it takes a lot of effort to pretend to be a plastic toy that does the same thing over and over again. It’s only after a lot of begging from her that I’ll begrudgingly agree to go upstairs, sit on the floor and get into character.
Typically, after five minutes, I have lost all enthusiasm and my characters have gone silent, merely grunting and agreeing with whatever she is saying. Then after 10 minutes, I’m done and I’ll make up an excuse to leave.
Recently, we created a scenario that took place at a pawnshop.
She plays Rubble from Paw Patrol. Rubble makes money from selling pieces of Duplo that look like things. I’m Mr. Goat, the pawnshop owner who likes to barter but always gives in to whatever price Rubble wants. The conversation often goes like this:
Mr. Goat says, “What do you have there, Rubble?”
Rubble has a curved piece of Duplo in his hands and says, “A chair. I want $1,000 for it.”
Mr. Goat will act surprised, “Oh that’s too much. How about $1?”
Rubble will protest, “No, $1,000!”
Mr. Goat will concede, “OK, $1,000.”
One night as our story was transitioning to the pawnshop, I couldn’t find Mr. Goat.
I remember seeing my daughter play with him downstairs with all the other farm animals. My creative juices start to flow. Maybe I’ll develop a new storyline with a new character and have an exciting adventure with it?
I pick up a plastic giraffe and say in my high-pitched play voice,
“I’m Mr. Giraffe. Mr. Goat is on vacation visiting his family at the farm and he told me to take care of his pawnshop until he’s back. So what do you want to sell today, Rubble?”
She retorts as Rubble, “You’re wrong. Mr. Goat isn’t on vacation.”
I’m confused so I ask, “Oh really? Where did Mr. Goat go then?”
She says flatly, “He died.”
I’m surprised but intrigued because she only understood the concept of death recently when my parents’ neighbor passed away.
I carefully inquire, “How did Mr. Goat die?”
She responds nonchalantly, “He went fishing and caught a shark. But the shark ate him and now he’s dead.”
She just killed off an iconic character without notice.
It was like the Game of Thrones writers killing of Ned Stark in the first season. I thought we were just getting started with Mr. Goat. I didn’t even know he liked fishing. And where did the shark come from? I have so many questions!
I couldn’t help myself and I started to giggle.
My daughter looks at me like I’m a weirdo laughing about death. My giggling turns into cackling and tears are now rolling down my face. She asks me why I’m laughing and I say between breaths, “You made mommy laugh.”
She gives me a wide smile and joins in on my laughing. She says, “I love when you laugh, Mommy! But I really love making you laugh.”
I give her a warm hug, “I love laughing with you.”
From that day on, I decided to dedicate a part of our bedtime routine to role play. It’s the moments like these that we remember. Whatever happens during the day, whether I’m able to be fully present with her or not, I know I will have this time to share a laugh with her. And maybe kill off a character or two?
