Last night we hunted for treasure. I didn’t know what the treasure was, but was along for the ride to find out. Your Mom drew up a map that included climbing a tree, swimming across a pond, jumping over rocks and building a house — all within the confines of our small living room.
We imagined and acted our way through all of those tasks within minutes. The treasure was an imaginary photo of you and Matteo, you told me. We pretended to hang the photos on the wall nearby.
The night prior we pretended to be elephants. We crawled around the upstairs playroom looking for food. Matteo occasionally rode my back like embarking on an Indian safari. Your elephant name was “Ooo Ooo,” and you pretended to be an infant elephant. Whenever I would “trumpet” loudly, you would let out a higher-pitched, quieter squeal to match. You pretended that I had elephant milk and wanted to nurse, which was a little over-the-top because, you know, I don’t have that kind of equipment.
This kind of imaginative play has been off the charts. You almost constantly imagine something happening around us and tell us so. Your Mom and I rarely get a word in because you’re talking so much, providing so much detail and describing the action happening we can’t see.
You do dip back into the real world occasionally. I dropped you off at pre-school this morning — a treat for me — and confidently walked into the classroom, greeted your friends and started crafting. You didn’t bother to say goodbye when I dropped you off. As you know, grown-ups come back. I picked you up a few hours later. After some polite chit-chat about our respective school and work days, you jumped right back into telling me about how your imaginary baby needed to put on her seat belt in the car.
Keep thinking big and dreaming big. That’s what’s it’s all about. Fasten your seat belt, and hers.