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It lasted two days. The two days were blissful in their own way, with long morning walks through the neighborhood and quiet moments with a book and a boy. I could go anywhere with little trouble, because two is less than three.
I was sad. I read over his preschool lesson plan and realized that I wanted to be the one who helps him make popsicle stick picture frames. Is that too much to ask?
I didn't think so.
He might have been ready to go out into the world and make a name for himself, or at least learn to write his own, but I was not. I was not ready, and thankfully, I don't have to be.
So we are all home again.
We are working through important questions ("Is Captain Hook the baddest bad guy in the whole wide world?").
We are studying science ("Can worms fly?").
We are making play dough ducks. We are learning to share with our little brother. We are eating apples.
We are writing numbers in shaving cream...sort of.
We are sneezing on each other, enjoying our Summer Colds. We are throwing half used rolls of toilet paper in the trash.
I'm learning the value of a well planned mess. I'm learning to check the bathroom trash cans for toilet paper rolls. I am learning that sometimes you have to take two steps back in order to get to the place you want to be.
For me, that place has three boys and is covered in shaving cream and alphabet letters.
