On Hide and Seek

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

This morning I played hide and seek with Loren. It’s one of his go-to games lately.

I tucked myself into the pantry, leaving the door slightly ajar. A little voice called out from the opposite end of the house, “Ready or not, here I come!” I heard his soft footsteps shuffling over the wood floors, and then I saw him. For a brief three or four seconds Loren came into view. I watched him from the half-inch crack of open pantry door, a look of pure excitement and glee on his face, an open mouth smile and wide eyes, chin slightly raised and jutting forward. Just thrilled to be there, playing a game together. Seeing him like that filled me with so much joy. It put a smile on my face, too.

The funny thing about parenting is my kids are my best teachers.

Loren kneels down in the mud and digs for buried treasure. He hands me the shovel, “Now it’s your turn, Mommy.” I play along, digging, and gasping at the invisible treasure we’ve unearthed. “What did we find?” I ask him. His eyes widen, he stumbles over his first few words eager to spit them out, and he shouts, “Chocolate coins!” (He saw this on one of his favorite episodes of Peppa Pig!) We sit there together, beneath the hedgerow of pines, and we pull the coins from the treasure box, greedily gobbling them up and asking for more. 

Kai runs down the hill toward the creek, excited for me to hoist his body into the swing. He counts each push with me, “seven, eight, nine…ten!” before throwing his head back and marveling at the intricate constellations of branches and leaves above us, the color of the sky, and the shape of the clouds. I slide into the yellow swing next to him and try it out, throwing my head back until my hair brushes the ground and a “wow” escapes my throat. 

This morning, Loren teaches me how to play hide and seek. “Now it’s your turn, Mommy. You stand here and I hide. Count to eleven.” So, I do. He sprints off as I close my eyes and cover them with both hands for effect, because sometimes he stops to make sure I’m not peeking. “One, two, three…” I call out.

I don’t always want to count to eleven. I’m not always in the mood to feign surprise when it’s his turn to hide and I open my eyes to see him standing right in front of me. I’d love to retreat to my bed and read a book for an hour, take a nap, or go for a walk…alone. But I hang in there and play the game, relishing in the momentary break a good hiding spot provides me, because it means something to him. And I think it’s meaningful for me, too.

I never disappear for more than a moment. He needs to know that I’m available, that he’s moments away from finding me. And he knows if he looks hard enough, I’ll be there.

He’s recently started calling out “eek, eek!” like an animal engaging in acoustic communication whenever he can’t find me right away. I play my part, calling back “eek, eek!,” affording him a clue to help him find me. After a couple rounds of volleying the phrase back-and-forth and a few minor course corrections, he finds me.

The game continues until I suggest an alternative. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be, nothing else he’d rather be doing. After a few rounds of play, I feel the same. I’m in it.

He teaches me how to play. So, I keep hiding, I keep looking, and I keep acting surprised when I find him standing right in front of me. And when I do, I catch glimpses of pure joy from the narrow crack in an open door. And that’s not a terrible way to spend my time.