I play with my daughter every morning. She's two years and five months old. Without fail, she will come and find me at my desk, take me by the hand, and lead me to her play room.
Once we're there, she surveys her toys, working out which one she wants to play with this morning. This is an important time for her. A time to make a choice.
Sometimes, its her dolls. Sometimes, she plays at being a doctor. Sometimes she wants me to be a shopkeeper and she's the customer. Sometimes, it's just pulling a cart across the floor, with her toys thrown inside haphazardly.
It's an important time for her. But, it's a more important time for me.
A time to switch off. Relax. and watch my daughter taking immense pleasure in something so simple.
We don't play for long. Perhaps, thirty minutes. But it's a break from my morning writing which I need so much. I always return to my desk full of ideas and raring to go.
It's almost as if my daughter knows this, She understands the importance of play and realises that daddy needs more of it in his life.
These thirty minute play sessions interrupt my writing, but I wouldn't miss them for the world.
Because when I get back to my desk, I'm a much better writer.
And I play with my words.