and not the ones you are thinking of either. But they just might mean the same thing, and I can assure you that they were in no way scripted or compulsory. So maybe this is even better?
I felt well enough to venture out of the house today. We had Occupational Therapy in the morning anyway and Chuck E. Cheese’s has become our Sunday ritual of late, so I figured why not – that’s probably where I got this funk – and anyway, I have $350 buckaroos of “medical care” to back me up so I’m damned sure I’m not contagious anymore.
Right, so I totally kicked ass at Skee-ball. Why it’s not an Olympic sport I don’t know, I mean if Curling and Ping Pong can make it in…all I’m sayin’ is it should be considered at least. T hit the jackpot on the “Deal or No Deal” game. We had mad tickets. We ate our weight (well, I wouldn’t know because I have banished the scale in favor of the “sweatpants test”) in bad pizza, and T thought it was a good idea to get buffalo wings, at Chuck E. Cheese’s, in North Carolina. Shudder.
The boy was there too! While T and I ran around like insatiable crack heads looking for our next hit of tickets he happily played with his grandparents. I tried to impart my Skee-ball wisdom upon him but (just between us) he throws like a girl.
It was fun to rediscover the art of play. We don’t play nearly as much as we should. It’s invigorating and liberating and kind of gleeful to let go of the stifling heaviness of the grown up world.
I had such a great time, that I almost forgot that it cost FORTY-FREAKING-DOLLARS. I also decided not to complain to management about them not having “Whack-a-Mole” anymore. The boy left with an armful of crappy toys and a “comped” bag of Cotton Candy (which I ate for him; it’s not good for the little one’s teeth you know). He was only momentarily upset by the fact that we wouldn’t let him get the Gingerbread Man prize.
He went back to Mama and Papa’s house, his favorite place in the world. Probably because his favorite people in the world live there. He has such a special relationship with them. Probably because they do silly things like drawing third “eyes” on themselves, and bake cupcakes with him and watch hours of Sesame Street videos on You Tube. They’re awesome like that.
Still, when I went to pick him up, he didn’t make a big fuss. So either he’s resided himself to the inevitability that he must go “home” at some point, or I got some serious mileage out of Taco Night.
We came home, played Sesame Street house for a bit, did bath time, and then we did some reading.
Now that we are in the big boy bed it takes a bit longer for P to get to sleep. It’s exciting having all that freedom and what not, I get it. I lay with him and we play “once upon a time”, which is basically me recounting stories to him about when he was smaller. He loves the “once upon a time” about Mommy and Daddy having a big party and Mommy wearing a whiteish dress and eating Lobster Ravioli.
Bedtime is insanely time consuming. It’s seriously like a two hour affair, but I absolutely cherish it. It’s something that is solely “ours”. At bedtime, Mommy is the coolest person ever, and I’ll gladly DVR American Idol for that.
Tonight, I laid with him for about ten minutes after he fell silent: the slow, heavy, rhythmic sound of his breathe leaving me paralyzed in a state of peace that I could never describe in mere words.
I rose to ever-so-quietly sneak out…
I had my hand on the door handle when I heard the most deliberate whisper of “three little words”.
“Stay here, Mom”.
And I did.