From the time Lucy was old enough to talk she had no patience for make believe play. She didn’t understand the purpose of dress-up and didn’t know why you would make dolls talk when obviously they cannot.  If a vivid imagination is a sign of genius then I’m not quite sure what to say about Lucy’s intellectual abilities.

Max, on the contrary, has always had a robust imaginary world. He can spend hours with a handful of army men and a couch. He has perfected the sound effects, different voices and all the accouterments that come with pretend play.  His stuffed friends get sick and need help, his bed is a pirate ship one day and a space ship the next. The conflict emerges when these two worlds collide:

Max: “Freddy bear is sick and so I put a bandage on him”

Lucy: “Does he have bones?”

Max: “yes”

Lucy: “If he does then why is he filled with fluff?”

Max: (frustrated) “cuz he does!!”

Max feels the need to play in private, away from the judging eyes of his sister who has little understanding or willingness to go along with his imaginary world. And then came Harper.

Harper, at the small age of one, LOVES her baby dolls.  She holds her baby and quietly whispers; “baby”.  She gives kisses and gentle touches and carries her baby doll around the house.  Her imaginary world has already begun and now Lucy – always the dominant player in the house – is on the outside.  Her baby brother and sister happily exist in an imaginary world that Lucy doesn’t understand. A place where baby dolls have babies for mothers.  In this moment of vulnerability Lucy sweetly asked me; “Mommy, when you were little did you play house?” and I honestly replied, “No”. As relief washed over her a smile spread across her lips and she said “I don’t like to play house either”.  In that small moment of confidence Lucy recognized that perhaps I’m the only one who understands.