R&R
It was a lovely time. It was a time of do-nothingness and in-sleeping, of shoes and ships and sealing wax. It was a quiet, calm, peaceful time. But it was not as quiet and calm and peaceful as it looked.
The wind blew and the thunder boomed and the cats whined and the deer in my parents' new neighborhood went *monch monch monch* and "meeeeh, meeeeh, meeeeeh."
Wombat had to sleep in our room as a precaution against untimely-death-by-stairway and he woke up often during the nights either phlegm-coughing or deer-bleating (meeeeh! meeeeeh!) or stumbling around the pitch-black room with his eyes closed (although that is not how he bloodied his lip.)
We did equal parts sight-seeing and homebodying and surveilling of the locals, and not to be the eternal Pollyanna but it was all so well-timed and much-needed and perfectperfectperfect that I don't mind telling you I sent Wombat off to play in the yard with his grandparents so I could spend some quality minuteshours playing Bookworm on my Nintendo DS without a care in the world.
(Wombat does not have a DS but a magnetic drawing pad thingy. Giving him a DS at this age would be like...like giving him Cheetos. Or Lunchables! Someone call CPS!)
(Not blood this time but black beans.)
So it was quiet but not too quiet. Hot but not too hot. Family-full but not over-family-flowing.
The crickets went *chirp chirp chirp* and the neighborcats went prrrrrr and this grasshopper sat still for a portrait, smizing with his shark-black eyes.
Wombat thinks the vintage Fisher Price Little Person with the blonde ponytail is his mama the way I always thought she was mine ("Weem!" he says. "Mama weem!" where "weem" means "same" to the kid who won't use "s" at the beginning of a word), and I am pleased to find that I enjoy my old toys in all the old ways but also with the added benefit of thirty years of world knowledge and an unchallenging sense of humor.
("Dinnertime!" pipes my kid. "No, poker," quoth I.)
We learned things too. In addition to the whole "bulldozer" deal, we now know that Wombat likes suckers once he learns what to do with them, hates huggy girls, and is a big boy when it comes to brushing his teeth but a giant freakin' baby when the mist descends at the splash pad.
We were also reminded that we all really, really like each other, which I think is kind of the point.
Looks lovely.
(How was the plane ride?)
Kyle doesn't say "m" at the beginning of a few things, like "more" sounds like "bore." "BORE BORE BORE!" It can give a mother a complex when it's yelled in her face so often.
Dude, your kid is a genius ("bulldozer," "kaleidoscope," etc.). I'm gonna go with he gets that from you. ;-)
loving the old school little people!
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