When was the last time you did something just for the fun of it? I don't mean spending half this month's mortgage payment on midway tickets and standing in line long enough to watch your oldest emerge from puberty for a five-minute ride. And I don't mean spending six hours in a car and setting up a tent in the rain while children snap at your heels. I mean something that didn't cost anything.

The wind picked up as I cleared the dinner dishes off the table last night. I rested my hands on my hips as I stared at the remains of our spaghetti dinner. My curtains billowed in the breeze as I watched my brood playing ball in the yard. I looked at my dishes whispering nasty secrets and cursing my inactivity. I ignored them. Instead, I gathered my dirty barefoot tribe of four told them my idea. After donning sandals, we trekked to the park down the street. I sat on the grass putting together kites as my natives danced in front of me.

"Mom, can I fly the pink one?" asked Alexander, whose favorite color is pink.

"I want the big one, Mom!" announced my 10-year-old, Nelson, who hasn't yet learned the concept of taking turns.

Simon and Grace, my preschoolers, played with the packages, throwing them up in the air and trying to make them fly while I fumbled and struggled with the strings.

I watched a mother down the field yelling at her children. The wind carried her harsh words across to my own children's ears. They turned to watch her scolding her children for tangling the strings in "only five minutes." Didn't they understand the meaning of the word "no?" We all watched as she stalked away, her children following sullenly behind her. I sighed, knowing exactly how it felt to hear those dishes screaming from the sink while trying to enjoy "quality" time with the children.

I readied the kites as quickly as I could and tried to brush the dour moment away. We stood and lifted our kites. I first helped Nelson get the larger kite in the sky. He launched it while I held the string. Instantly the kite soared over our heads, demanding more lead from me while the string cut into my hand. Nelson galloped towards me, arms and legs flying. He skidded to a stop and jumped for the rope as I backed away. Nelson instantly felt the power of the kite. I warned him not to touch the string, but rather let the handle and his own responses to the wind guide him. I watched his face open in wonderment as he felt the power of the wind in his hand.

I turned to Alexander and helped him launch his kite.

"One, two, three. Up, Alexander!" I chanted as the kite caught the wind and soared. He took the reins with much more seriousness than his brother had. Instantly, Alexander tuned into the rhythm of the wind, and I watched as his body responded to each tiny pull. Like a flower swaying with the breeze, his little body leaned to and fro, completely in tune with nature's call.

Simon and Grace, little but fierce, demanded their turns as well. I ran after kites, launching them and watching little faces erupt into smiles as kite tales whipped in the wind.

We played for more than an hour without any tears, name calling or arguing. Neighbors came out of their houses, crossing the street with heads turned upwards. The wind tenderly kissed our cheeks and tempted us with hints of clover further across the field. Our little village in the sky captivated and entranced everyone. A moment of splendor after a long day.

When the wind finally tired of our games and left us, we lay our weary bodies down on the grass. We looked up into the sky, saying nothing for quite a while. Suddenly Simon, my 4-year-old, piped up.

"I see an elephant. What do you see Mommy?"

"I see a ship," blurted Alexander.

Within seconds, we tried to name everything we saw in the sky. Even my 3-year-old, Grace, knew how to play the game, and she saw her La-La doll in every second cloud. Neighbors who had watched us fly our kites went back into their homes to wash dishes, watch television or do the laundry. We stayed there on that empty field for another hour, just our little family.

When we finally returned home, no one argued or fought to get in the door first. Instead, they whispered and giggled in the back yard while I fetched bedtime snacks. None of us wanted this night to end. We sat outside on the porch step in the fading twilight talking about everything and nothing, wiping greasy fingers on already dirty shorts. Baths would have to wait another five minutes.

An impossibly beautiful purple-pink in the sky reflected in the heart of my morning glories climbing trellises beside our door. I couldn't hear the whispering of my dishes any more. And if I could have heard it, I wouldn't have cared. I hope I never grow too old to enjoy something as simple, and as profound, as flying a kite on windy evening.