We didn’t go out to eat or play softball or even the park. We didn’t even go out for a walk.
We stayed at home, cleaning, doing laundry, working on projects that have been neglected for the last two years.
The boy spent his time with us. Running around trying to get into things he’s not supposed to get into, tossing the ball around, chasing the kitty.
He also started dancing. It was adorable. We played music for him, Doo Wop, I think, and he held his arms out and twirled around the room, singing along. I kept wanting him to dance like his friends were—kind of bouncing on their knees, but he never got into that. If he danced, it was always more a bop of his head. Now I’m so glad that I didn’t try to train him to bounce, because he found his own dancing.
He also started scribbling for the first time. I gave him some washable crayons and he drew all over a page, in multiple colors. He also chewed on the crayons and ended up with a purple face. Oh well.
And he played on the deck. He doesn’t usually get to, because I feel that it will require too much close supervision, but Papa was there. He danced and sang around the deck, playing in the planters, and generally being the boy.
He’s a very artistic boy, I think. All the singing and dancing and drawing. He even demanded to play the piano, then sat there on Papa’s lap, playing with the keys. I believe in fostering his interests, but I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that both Papa and Mama are artistic.
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