The Bug woke extra early this morning. I was kinda hoping he'd sleep-in cuz I stayed up late last night, long after he'd fallen asleep. But no matter, he said, "I wanna watch Harold."
So I put on Harold, fixed him some chocolate milk & Cheerios, and figured it was a good time to grab a quick shower.
Few minutes later he came in and says (excitedly), "It's raining, dad!"
.. which is kinda a big thing here is SoCal, where it rains so rarely.
Next thing I know, he returned with an urgency, announcing » "I gotta go poops"
.. and proceeds to fill the bathroom with a wonderful aroma .. that can only be fully appreciated by those whose sinuses have been opened by the steamy mist of a hot shower. (The joys of fatherhood.)
Before running out again he says (excitedly), "I'm doing the trench!"
The trench is a ditch we dug yesterday .. some 10-feet long and a shovel's width wide/deep .. that we filled with water to make a » trench. In other words, you could substitute the word 'mud' for trench.
••• today's entry continues here below •••
Much of the yard is grass, but some of it (over by the roses & orange trees & fig tree) is dirt, which he *loves* to play in (especially with a water hose). We usually dig something different every week. (Last week we burrowed halfway to China.)
[ Even if we could afford a property this cool, I doubt one could be found .. here in SoCal, where each square foot is precious. Nothing else like it. Such a big yard for him to play in. A veritable Garden of Eden. ]
As he bolts, I call out, "You gotta wear shoes out there!
(cuz it's still chilly outside). I'm wearing your boots,"
he called back.
Which, in my early-morning, pre-coffee haze, I figured meant » "I'm wearing the rubber boots you bought me,"
(which he likes to wear). Bad assumption.
I finished my shower, dried off, took my sweet time brushing my teeth, made the bed, etc. .. all the usual stuff. Then, while dressing to go out and see what he was up to, I noticed I couldn't find my boots.
Peeking outside, I see the Bug .. wearing my size-13 hiking boots .. the tops reaching nearly his knees. The un-tied laces dragging far behind as he navigates the full length of the growing mud pit.
Today I learned (especially where mud is concerned) that, "I'm wearing your boots,"
means » "I'm wearing your boots."
You could pay a seasoned professional a tiddy sum to muddy your boots and I doubt they'd do a job this thorough.
At the coffee shop later, the Bug (who was in an especially happy/festive mood today), climbed on top of me as I sat there, trying to eat my bagel. "Read me Treasure Island,"
he playfully insisted, "or I'll pull your head off."
Actually the traction felt good (as has all traction since I went sailing over the handlebars).
"Hate to tell you,"
I told him, as his little hands tried to dislodge my cranium, "but others already have dibs on this head. If you want this head -- or any other part of my anatomy -- you'll have to get in line."
Friends seated with us (cuz no open tables were available at the packed coffee shop) thought this funny. Glad I can still make folks laugh. Gotta be able to joke about this stuff.
I actually felt happy after dropping off the Bug this week .. totally unexpected, and I'm not sure why. But a welcome change.
