I got home around 3pm yesterday after traveling overnight for work. It had turned into a glorious late autumn afternoon in Wellington - dying southerly, blue skies and fluffy clouds meandering in the sky.

Deb said my mum, two sisters, two nieces and one of my nephews was coming visiting around 4pm.

We heard a loud banging on the door.

"It's a monster out here, let me in".

Kate (5) and Hannah (3) come bouncing in, followed by Sandy, Jo and Mum with Sam (1.5). The quiet house became a whirling of yellingcuddlinglaughing kids wanting to play.

So. Hmmm. A choice. Do I sit in the lounge wading through baby stuff to see what stills needs to be bought, or do I play games outside on the lawn with the kids?

The kids would make games up out of their heads.

"Ok, this game is called Hip Hop Skiperty Dop - you have to crouch down like a bunny rabbit and hop after me"

"You get to catch me, but you can't move out of this area"

"Let's play cars. When the light is red, you drive around and you stop when it turns green. I'm the policeman"

And the rules would change halfway through. But they would never see the contradiction and demand you keep playing.

I love having them crawl all over me and wrestle on the floor. Some of my earliest memories of my Dad are wrestling matches, where his body would completely cover mine and I'd have to fight my way through the thicket of legs and arms as he tickled me. Good wrestling moves are:

I think I'll be a good Dad. I think it's important to have lots of physical contact and play. I think it's important to laugh with kids, and to treat them seriously.

I treasure my time with Kate, Hannah, Sam and Alex. They show me how to act.