Ray is traveling on business so Cali and their boys came to spend the week with us.
Providentially, we had a snow day yesterday.
Levin and I built masking tape roads in the center of the living room. We loaded trucks with hay, corn, and silage and dumped the feed into the masking tape corral that held one lone cow. She got fed a lot. I'm surprised she didn't bloat.
We had wrecks that ambulances had to fix. We had one lego man who did all the driving. Levin called him Prophet. (He did have a long beard that looks just like Noah's, [then again he had a wizard hat and a white wand too], so Prophet we called him.)
All the time we made truck noises (an idling truck sounds much different from one backing up or one shifting gears you see) and crawled.
We handed Atlas potato head parts to chew on and listened to him courtesy laugh when we laughed. When we ignored him for too long, he coughed so we'd look his direction and then he'd give us a thank-you smile. Never was there a more amiable, old-soul, gracious spectator for a game of make-believe.
We made froot-loop necklaces and practiced patterns and colors. And eating.
We fed the steers hay and grain for Grandpa, and successfully chased one chicken back into the coop and unsuccessfully chased two chickens around and around the pasture. We fed Dan an egg and didn't lose our boots or tip over in the mucky manure once.
We jumped on the trampoline.
We danced the hokie pokie.
We raked a snowman into being. Levin insisted our snowman needed hands, so we put gloves on him. (You pick: He's either a prophet and pointing all souls towards heaven, a disco dancer stayin' alive, or Horace Greeley saying "go west, young man, go west." It doesn't really matter. What matters is he has hands.)
|#snowday Cali and Levin|
Cali read Rainbabies to us and we took a nap . . .
Never are children as innocent as when they lie asleep softly snoring, twitching, and occasionally flopping an arm around your neck. Everyone who has ever admired a child sleeping, knows gazing on him causes deep reflection in your soul. You want to scoop him up, hug him, rock him, stroke his head, and tell him you're sorry for every time you were cross, and promise to do better, to be better.
. . . but all I can think of as I lay next to Levin and hear him softly breathe is, "Oh no. He's recharging. He's going to wake up with all that energy all over again."