Last night I went in to kiss Whit goodnight. He was sound asleep but rolled over when I kissed his cheek, half awake. He was, as usual, lying on top of his covers, clutching his monkey to his chest. He had that intoxicating child-asleep smell.
“I love you, Whitty,” I whispered.
“I love you,” he murmured back.
“How much?” (shameless)
“As much as the sky.”
Oh, my little man! Me too.
Breakfast with Barbie.
Grace “made” breakfast this morning all by herself. Two waffles toasted (twice) and drenched in syrup. She did leave the cutting up to me.
Whit was shockingly good-natured when she and I woke him up. He rolled over and threw his arm dramatically across his eyes. I was prepared for whining but instead he said, with a sigh, “Good morning, Gracie.”
Both children dressed themselves. Whit in a Wood tee shirt special and his most favorite exercise pants with red (girls) Old Navy flip flops. Grace in another Wood tee shirt (size 2T) and shorts with her turquoise sequined Old Navy flip flops (both purchased on the pouring rain day that I took them to see Up!).
It was a standard morning around here:
Breakfast
Starbucks
One camp
Two camp
Red fish
Blue fish
After lunch, I took Whit to swimming. He is having one-on-one lessons with his marvelous teacher from earlier this summer. I think this incredibly nice young man, R, is the first real non-family male role model that Whit has connected with. Whit clearly admires him and the way he is physically affectionate with him reminds me of puppies rolling over each other. He hangs around R’s neck, climbs onto his shoulders, takes risks because he knows his trusted teacher is there.
For example. Literally, hurling himself into the pool.
In other news, the hydrangeas are turning towards their end-of-summer muted shades. As much as I love the deep blue, I also like this subtle mix of colors. Though I don’t like the harbinger of summer’s end.
Wow, nobody’s sleeping around here tonight. Grace just emerged from her room, plaintively complaining that her bug bites hurt. Another way that she’s my daughter. Seriously, to keep bugs away either choose a citronella candle or invite me. I can’t count the number of times someone standing next to me has exclaimed, “Wow! There are no bugs tonight!” while I itch myself to the point of bleeding. My theory is that it’s because I eat so much sugar that my blood is basically pure good stuff for mosquitos.
I went down to tuck Grace in, thinking of maybe pulling out my secret weapon, Preparation H (seriously, try it. you get over the mortification of buying it and … wow. best thing I’ve ever found). I didn’t, but I did stifle a giggle when she looked at me and said, “Mum? I’m in Bug Bite Town.”
And then, like yet another game of Whack-a-Mole, as soon as I pulled her door shut I heard Whit’s creak open. I went into his room, where he was busily creating piles of random blankets on the floor in the darkness. “Whit? What are you doing” I asked. “Mummy? Why does it take so long from when we go to bed until morning? It takes so long.” he whined.
I explained that the fastest way to get to morning was, actually, to fall asleep. He was deeply skeptical and even as I type this I can hear him banging around in there. I was reminded of my father’s advice, every time I was up with insomnia: he used to challenge me to try to stay up all night. It worked. Every single time. That man is a genius.
As I was driving to our various and sundry camps this morning, I asked my children what they wanted to listen to in the car.
“Johnny Cash!” opined Whit.
“That’s what you get for waking up in Vegas!” shouted Grace.
Frankly I’m sort of surprised. I thought Grace was more the dark and brooding type, all serious and heavy like that, and Whit more likely to show up in a Hello Kitty or sushi outfit.