The grandkids came over on Saturday. Megan had work related stuff to do and Ty had some errands to run so he dropped them off with me in the morning. I called MJ to let her know that they were here so if her kids wanted to play later…
Nanners and Bean have karate in the morning but their dad dropped them off here afterwards. The four of them get along like a house on fire so it was all good. They played , they drew on the chalkboard wall, they drew with crayons, they all chose pebbles they liked out of the back yard and brought them in the house to wash.
I gave them a shallow bowl with soapy water in it and they had fun for a half an hour, scrubbing rocks with old toothbrushes.
When MJ came to pick up the girls, she brought Tot with her. Babalouie was so excited to see Tot, he literally danced around giggling as MJ unbuckled the baby. Tot seemed nearly as happy to see Babalouie as B was to see him. No gender confusion in these two: they know they’re boys in a house filled with girls.
After the others had left, I packed Babydoll and Babalouie into the stroller and we went down to the park. I brought my book, which was totally wishful thinking on my part. Watching two kids zoom around the playground takes both eyes and all my concentration. It was windy and cold but the sun was out and they thought it was plenty warm enough for swings, climbing stuff and slides. Babalouie discovered that unlike last fall, he’s now big enough to climb the playhouse and go down the slides. Best day ever!
Later on, back at the house, Babydoll couldn’t find the drawing Bean had made for her. It was a unicorn under a rainbow: naturally she was beside herself that it was gone. Amidst her tears, she asked me if I would please call MJ and ask if she had accidentally taken it home? I did so and sure enough, MJ had it. She promised to bring it to mass in the morning and hand it over to me. I put Babydoll on the line to thank MJ and she said “uhjusswann…mupishura…unicahhn…wiffawainbooooo….” Punctuated by lots of sobbing and snuffling. It was all good, because MJ speaks fluent heartbroken little girl.
After that little crisis was dealt with, we went into the TV room where Ty caught up on the Masters before heading home. The kids played with Zack and I finally got to open my book.
I was sitting on the couch with Babydoll, trying to read my book but continually distracted by the toddler drama being enacted in front of me. Both kids were playing catch with Zack and a big plastic ball when Babydoll got bored and opted out of the game. Babalouie was not happy with this development and tried to argue with his big sister, who ignored him. Standing on the floor in front of her, he argued, shouted and entreated her to get back in the game. She continued to ignore him.
So he threw an imaginary bomb at her.
Unable to contain his anger and frustration one moment more, he pitched his right arm at her, making that explosion noise little boys can do before they even learn to talk. Having expressed himself to his satisfaction (and symbolically annihilated his sister) he was happy again and free to go play with Zack by himself.
Best way to deal with anger and frustration I’ve ever seen.
I’ve been hurling fake bombs at my computer for weeks. One of the reasons I haven’t written as much as I’d like to is that our internet is so bad that when I can get online at all, I tend to get knocked off after about a half an hour. That’s not really enough time to do anything and I’m so sick of wasting time waiting for my &*^$% internet to allow me to turn the page I just quit. When I die, I don’t want to think that I spent two thirds of my waking life watching little circles buffering.
Sunday, MJ delivered the unicorn rainbow drawing as promised. Jay and I invited ourselves out to Ty’s house for dinner. We brought the turkey breast and Jay grilled it up so they were happy to have us. The kids were delightful, as always.
We watched Jordan Speith choke like Greg Norman. Poor kid. The wheels literally flew off his game when he shot a 7 on a par 3. Seriously; on a really good day, I could shoot a 7 on a par 3.
I would’ve understood completely if Speith had thrown an imaginary bomb at that hole.