Things I Tell My Wife by Matt Knutson

“If we’re both feeling better this afternoon, do you want to play with Gracelyn’s train set?” I asked my wife as we both laid in bed with the same bad cold. Day care had once again allowed a virus to enter our home, and while our daughter had already recovered, both Mom and Dad were down for the count on Monday. Perhaps equivalent to a snow day for school-aged students, Sera and I found ourselves home alone for the whole day as Gracelyn attended day care.

I had grand visions for how this day might play out. Maybe we watch a non-animated movie, or we could have our favorite foods without having to share with a little girl who only knows the word “More!” when she sees us eating. The possibilities were endless. Unfortunately, we slept the whole day. Waking up only to eat and take medicine, this cold proved too strong for even our best intentions. Pre-fatherhood Matt would be pretty disappointed in himself, but honestly, I’m mostly OK with getting more sleep.

I did hope that I’d eventually have some time with that train set, though. Sera’s dad dropped it off last weekend, and so far my only attempts to build a good track have come as Gracelyn tried to play with it at the same time. She’s much more into destruction than I imagined a child her age would be. Almost every time I would successfully build a bridge, she’d imagine herself as a modern-day Godzilla and knock it over before the cheap knock-off Thomas the Train had a chance for his wheels to touch the track. Even for a skilled builder like me, that’s a lot of pressure to work fast. I knew if I could get a track complete, she’d be so enthralled that her destructive tendencies would disappear.

A few days after we got the set, I finally completed a track while Sera was feeding Gracelyn dinner. Normally we all eat together as a family, but I had my priorities. With a Kleenex in one hand and a train track in another, I built one of the world’s premier tracks on our 3-foot-by-5-foot table. There was a bridge, two tracks going under the bridge, and even a round-about. I could just imagine Gracelyn’s screams from dinner changing into sounds of glee as she would come over to watch me push a train down the track for the first time.

To be honest, she did think it was pretty cool the first time. The rush of the train down the bridge’s ramp and into the roundabout prompted a good round of, “More! More!” from Gracelyn, so I promptly obeyed. Eventually her excitement waned, and I could see her inner Godzilla rising up. Soon she had one leg up on the table, working on the other before I had the chance to pull her back to safety. I was seriously considering that the train set should be a look-but-don’t-touch toy for her when she knocked over the bridge and spouted her gleeful laughter louder than ever.

It was time for me to accept defeat. This toy was not mine, it was hers, and if she’s finding joy in how she plays with it, that’s what matters the most. Gracelyn sensed my internal surrender quite quickly and began to tear apart the very heart of my design. With a gleam in her eye I won’t soon forget, she disconnected nearly every piece of that masterpiece. My Kleenex, still nearby from my cold, wiped an imaginary tear from my cheek. It was finished.

One day, likely years in the future, we’ll be building Thomas the Tank Engine’s world instead of tearing it apart. I imagine Gracelyn coming up with an even better design where we’ll likely have to go to the store to buy new parts to make it happen. She’ll even take the time to add the trees and signs that came with the set, something only Sera seems to care about currently. It will be phenomenal, and I’ll strap a Go-Pro camera to Thomas to document how enthralling his journey will be. Until that fateful day, I’ll be dreaming of my next sick day, one where I’m just too sick to work, but not too sick to be stuck in bed sleeping. I think we all need a grown-up version of a snow day every once in awhile.

Matt Knutson is a communications specialist in Rochester.