My sister and her family have always lived close to us. This Spring, Elaine went from living less than half an hour away to over two hours away. We don’t do Sunday dinners together anymore. I can’t drop by “just because” if I’m in her neighborhood shopping (she lived close to our favorite mall). My kids miss hanging out with their cousins on a regular basis.
Elaine and her family spent the weekend down here. For 48 hours, all of the kids got to take turns going back and forth between my house, Grandma and Grandpa’s house, and the two yards. Yesterday, Doug and Lolly came and we did the family dinner thing together. It was nice.
Some of my favorite parts:
N~ got stung by a bee yesterday (I know, you’re wondering how this gets to be a “favorite” thing). He came in screaming and freaked out (this from the kid who was so calm when he shot an epi pen through–yes, through–his finger a year ago that the local EMS still talk about how amazing he was). I had him sit down while I went to get tweezers.
As I was pulling the stinger out of the bottom of his foot, he told me, “I killed the bee.” OK, we own Bee Movie. I know that he understands that stinging a person kills the bee. So I say, “Yeah, stinging you killed the bee.”
“No,” N~ tells me, “I took my foot and smashed it after it stung me.”
“Well, you didn’t need to bother doing that,” I reminded him. “It would have died anyhow.”
N~ looked at me with the clarity of a five-year-old and said, “But in Bee Movie, he almost died when he stung the guy. But they saved him.”
That’s right. Even though he was in pain, N~ took the time to smash the bee to be sure that some do-gooder didn’t come along and stick a cocktail sword in its butt, thereby saving it.
When you want revenge, you need to cover all of your bases.
Later that day, N~ came running in the house. “W’s bleeding really bad!” he exclaimed. I was holding the baby, so Sean took off out of the house.
My nephew, Tank Boy, came in as Sean was leaving. “W~ is bleeding a lot,” he reiterated. Not knowing, at this point, if it was a superficial wound or if my three-year-old had finally managed to decapitate himself, I tried to press Tank Boy for more information.
“Where is W~ bleeding?” I asked.
He considered the question for a brief moment, then looked at me.
“Outside,” he responded.
(It ended up being a scratch on W’s leg. He had no clue what he had done, just noticed blood running down his leg.)
During dinner yesterday, Tank Boy asked Sean to take him for a tractor ride. This borders on tradition for family get-togethers. Sean hooks the trailer to the back of our tractor, the kids pile in, and off they go. Of course, given the topography of our yard and my husband’s sense of fun, it turns into a sort of redneck rollercoaster.
I wish I would have gotten the kids as they were pulling away from the hill. They started chanting “Go again, go again!” And they did. Several times.
Sadly, Elaine and her family headed back to the Outskirts of Nowhere this evening. We’re looking forward to visiting them on their turf for Labor Day.