Finding Numbers

Yesterday when Jase was in San Diego for his last trip until we move, I took Charlie and Boo to Lake Washington. We went to Kite Park - and though it was definitely windy enough, it was too wet and cold for any sane person to fly any kite.

We went to the same place a few days earlier. The leaves have fallen and are the most amazing shades of red, orange, and yellow but after days of relentless rain, walking through them was like walking through soggy corn flakes.

When we were leaving Charlie ran over to this picnic table by the lake and started shouting, "Two? Two? Two!!!?"

I had no idea what he was talking about, which happens a lot. It was cold and I was wet and I just wanted to get into the warm, safe car. I grabbed him by the hand and dragged him to the car, all while he kept repeating, "Two!! Two!!"

Well, yesterday, we went to the same picnic table. He ducked under it and started shouting, "Two! Two!" I pulled him out from underneath the table and there it was, a tiny sign with just one number on it.

The number two.

"Oooooooh," I said. "That's right, Charlie. Two."

He heaved a huge sigh of relief, the message has been conveyed and received.

We threw rocks into the lake and played hide and seek amongst the submarine fins. When it was time to leave, the bones in Charlie's legs must have spontaneously disappeared, because he crumbled into a heap and when I tried to pick him up, his legs buckled and he collapsed again, wailing the whole time, "No, Mommy! Stop!" just so any passerbys would think I was an abusive parent and CPS should be called directly to the scene. I got on his level and told him it was time to say bye to the park, bye to the submarine fins, bye to the lake. That usually works. This time, no such luck. I carried his kicking, flailing body back to the car until I saw something that I knew would work.

"Charlie, look! A kite!"

The tears stopped and he repeated, "Kite, Mommy?" I pointed to it and luckily it was in the same direction as the car. He walked the whole way and didn't put up much of a fight getting him into the car seat.

He was quiet most of the way home. About 5 minutes from home, he said, "Sorry, Mommy."

It was a good day.