Posted by peskypippi | Posted in Childhood, Children, Game, Memories, Mother, Mothering | Posted on 06-12-2013

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When we play the game of hide-and-seek, do we want to be found? Or not?

It’s like this. We want to hide so well that we are found last. But when we aren’t found, we start to worry a little.

The other night, we played hide-and-seek. All of us. The kind where you feel giddy when hiding, and you hold your breath when you hide. Upstairs, downstairs! The game went on for an hour! We hid behind doors. In dirty laundry. In baskets. In showers. Behind sofas. In the pantry. Behind the curtains.

Ready or not, here I come!

It reminded me of the time when I played hide-and-seek with my grandmother many years ago. I had hidden deep, deep in one of her closets. A closet like the one in The Lion, the Witch and The Wardrobe. I was tucked behind and under clothes. (Almost touching the trees and snow.) My grandmother looked and looked. She couldn’t find me.

At first, I was like “Hee hee, I’m an expert hider!” Then, after what seemed like an hour, she stopped looking for me. Did she forget about me? My feelings were hurt.

My grandmother had stopped playing to get dinner started and she knew I’d come out “sooner or later.” I did. And I was sulking. “Oh, Sweetie, you’re such a good hider. I didn’t forget about you! Have some mashed potatoes.”

Fast forward to our game. I was “it.” And the last one hiding was my daughter. I looked everywhere. Behind doors. In dirty laundry. In baskets. In showers. Behind sofas. In the pantry. Behind the curtains.

I couldn’t find her anywhere. None of us could find her. We all yelled for her. Come out come out wherever you are!

She didn’t come out. And we stopped looking. Time to start making dinner. Twenty minutes later, my daughter emerged. She was behind a chair, in a box, under some blankets–an expert hider. Her face was flushed and her hair was sweaty. Except, her feelings were hurt.

I knew that feeling. And I wished, wished, wished I had taken more time to find her.

Because mashed potatoes don’t help.

My girl.

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