“Can we play Fortnite?”
This is what my six-year-old asked last week. He’s only in first grade, so my husband and I were kind of horrified that he had already taken an interest in this video game. Though our son has never played it, we’ve heard that it is gobbling up countless hours for the teens and preteens around the neighborhood.
My husband asked what he meant and my son replied, “Yeah, I want to play Fort Night. Like, how about on Tuesday nights, we make forts? Can we play Fort Night?”
This stage is wild. 95% of the time, my house looks like a pack of rabid wildebeests have stampeded through (the other 5% is when we’re out of town, destroying someone else’s house).
This stage is inconvenient. Every errand takes twenty years with young kids in tow. I’m constantly racing to squeeze in work at odd hours of the day. In the last six years, nearly every appointment I’ve made has been affected by a sick kid.
This stage is hard. I haven’t slept consistently for years. I’m exhausted all the time. The needs of allthepeople seem so relentless that, at times, I feel like I can’t even catch my breath.
But this stage is also pretty amazing.
Everything is interesting.
Everything is exciting.
Everything can be magical, even a giant pile of couch cushions and pillows, slapped together enthusiastically on a Tuesday night. Fort Night.
In the nitty-gritty of parenting littles, I pray that I never lose sight of the wonder, the thrill… and the glory of a good fort.
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