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"You need to play more with your children," my four-year-old says in between fistfuls of wheat thins. She is perched on top of her father's almost-brand-new pool table. He would have a heart attack if he saw her, but luckily he is at Home Depot and I'm too busy on the computer to be concerned.
"What did you say Sweetie," I say without looking up.
"You need to turn off that computer and play with your children. If you don't we're going to grow, and grow, and grow, and then we won't be here to play with anymore," she says through a mouthful of crackers.
"Give me just a few more minutes Honey," I say totally distracted and not engaged at all in what she is saying.
"You know why watch so much TV? Because you and Daddy are always on the computer," she says this time with no crackers in her little rosebud mouth. The box of wheat things is in between her legs as if she is guarding it. For some reason this statement stops me dead in my tracks and I turn in her direction.
"You don't think I play with you enough?" I say sadly.
"Never. I just want to play with you more. I really, really love you," she says as she rustles in the bottom of the box hoping to find a stray cracker in between the folds of the plastic packaging.
"Okay, you're right. But you may have to remind me," I say feeling my heart constricting knowing that God is now speaking through my four-year-old. I expect a lightning bolt any minute.
"Play, play, play Momma. Turn off the computer," she says again for emphasis.
And I do. And I will.
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