"No, Mommy," Helen says when she catches sight of me watching. "Don't look at me. Don't listen."
"Okay," I say obediently, looking down at my computer. But I lie: I'm totally listening. She's playing on the floor with the Playmobil stuff, and apparently all of the villagers, as well as the pirates and the pilot, are in preschool. A few moments ago they were sitting in a circle, playing Duck Duck Goose. Now they're obviously having naptime. Or else someone's holding up the bank--hard to tell. However: Silas isn't playing. More likely to be naptime.
I love listening to the kids playing, especially when one is alone. They crouch over their blocks, or their playmobil, or their arrayed waterguns, whispering serenely to themselves--not fighting, not whining, not asking me for snacks or drinks or to get down the art projects box. I have to be sneaky about it, because if they see me the spell is broken and they start to remember all the things I could be doing for them. But it's awesome. It's almost as good as watching them sleep.