A few mornings ago having just woken up, we lay in the itty toddler bed and made sock puppets (he still sleeps with my snuggly socks, from way back only one week home when I lost his real snuggly blanket). He named his Potter and mine Duncan. Potter and Duncan got hungry, so Duncan asked Potter what he usually likes to eat.
"Vegetables and dandelion greens."
With a busy day ahead of us, I gave Abe the option of having his hair fixed before we left or just wearing a hat. This is what he chose. He went to the hat box and chose this one. He wore it all morning.
We wandered the aisles of Goodwill eating bell peppers and sugar snap peas, with the promise of Easter candy at check-out. We found a sweet wooden dollhouse for big sister. Abe said he should live in it for a little while.
We took a long walk with friends, one on bike, one in stroller, three on their feet. We threw lots of sticks and rocks and studied maps in a coffeeshop.
We picked up a pizza to take to our neighbor's house for movie-night. At the shop, Abe made friends with everyone in line, telling them he was "almost six."
On our drive home, he says, "Mom? Can I tell you a question? Dogs shouldn't go to get pizza without their moms and dads."
"No? Dogs can't go alone to pick up a pizza?"
"No, Mom. They have to go get pizza only with their moms and dads."
Just so you know.
We watch a little Finding Nemo, then a little Pinocchio, eat a little pizza, drink some milk, tussle over firetrucks, snuggle on couch with mom during the scary parts of Nemo. We stay later then I'd intended on a day with no nap, but it was hard to pull ourselves away with the neighbor's toys and the lovely bottle of wine my neighbor had opened.
When it's time to go home, oh, the sadness. It's been a long day full of good friends and our boy can never get enough. Hugs and kisses for them all. In the door, into the pajamas, brush of teeth, short song, into bed.
On my way out of his room, the question, "Mom? What can we do tomorrow?" Abe is the most extroverted of extroverts, with two introverts as parents. It's good for us all.
Before I hit the hay, I look at the sleeping boy and feel, yep, that ache? Heart expanding. Full. Joy. I blessed my lucky stars.