Halfway through our vacation last week, you asked me, “I go back to school tomorrow?”
I could tell, you weren’t asking me if you had to go to school the next day- you were asking if you could go to school the next day.
What’s not to love about spending 10 days in northern California with all your cousins, getting to play all day and have your parents turn a blind eye to you drinking juice?
(Sure enough, your eczema reappeared by the 2nd day, which is why we typically don’t let you drink juice.)
I say it all comes down to routine. You’re like me- you thrive in the routine.
Being on vacation is so… open-ended, and even… intimidating to the psyche. The part about not knowing what to expect the day is hard for you (and me) to process.
So I totally get why half-way through our vacation, you asked about going home.
Of course, you totally had a blast the rest of the week, and I still have a story or two to tell about that soon!
But I will say, now that we’re back in Tennessee, you completely appreciate the comfort of the familiar routine.
You were way too excited to hop in the Honda Element for the ride to school yesterday, which was your first time back to school in close to two weeks.
Very joyfully, you kicked your legs along with the bathroom echo rock music of The Shins as we hardly spoke any words on the 45 minute drive to school. You were just so excited to know you were about to enter back into your life of structure. I love it when you are that content and at peace with me, giddy and smiling the whole time.
Even though you showed some unusual hesitation when I dropped you off, I knew you wouldn’t have much trouble readjusting.
Here at the end of the 2nd full day of vacation with Mommy’s side of the family here in Sacramento, I’ve officially realized the way it’s going to be:
You’re totally going to get away with running around the whole week wearing nothing but a diaper.
It’s not intentional, of course.
Mommy purposely packed your cutest outfits for this trip. And you do wear them, for about the first two hours of the day.
Then it’s warm enough to play in the little wading pool in the backyard; as you step in the squishy black mud as you search for new toys to throw in your pool.
I laughed to myself yesterday after dinner. There I was, playfully spanking you with an over-sized, plastic, hollow baseball bat, as you attempted to hit me with the accompanying plastic baseball while swinging a plastic golf club at me.
You were in total caveman mode. And I was encouraging it…
Even after our impromptu game, you continued walking around like a gorilla, grunting your way across the background as family members tried to speak to you in English.
Now that you have finally caught up on most of your missed sleep due to the early flight out here, the time change, and all the excitement of your cousins making you into a pet version of Animal from the Muppets, I don’t expect you to go full caveman again this week.
Enjoy the “no shirt, no shoes, no pants, no problem” policy while you can, though. We are on vacation, remember.
I sit on the couch in the dark with a lame Halloween movie on in the background and my sleeping wife by my side.
Right now it’s 9:36 PM in the quiet neighborhood of Walnut Grove, California, where we are visiting my wife’s family for our annual family “vacation.”
(It’s no secret that when the word “vacation” and “toddler” are in the same sentence… well, it’s pretty much a prompt for laugh tracks.)
After sifting through our 23 month-old son’s candy stash from tonight, I am buzzed on peanut butter cups and everything else chocolate.
As for Jack’s own candy peddling efforts, which brought me to my current state of cocoa delirium, we visited about a dozen houses before he saw the fire truck there to help patrol the neighborhood. A friendly fireman agreed to take our family picture. (Bottom photo.)
Just a couple of hours ago before I put him to bed, Jack was at the front door helping giving candy to “the kids.”
It was really funny because every time the door bell rang, he ran to the door, anxious to see what strangely dressed child would be standing there.
My favorite was a little boy who wasn’t much older than him, wearing a Thomas the Train costume.
The boy saw Jack wearing his train conductor costume and shouted out to this mother, “Look! He’s a train conductor! A train conductor!”
Then things got semi-awkward as the little boy saw the toy train that Jack was holding. He assumed that in addition to candy, Jack was going to give him a train too.
Thomas the Train and the train conductor stared at each other for a long 15 seconds before the boy’s mom took him by the hand to leave for the next house.
It’s a weird, random “holiday” anyway.
Looking back on this past week of Halloween, these past couple of days in particular have included family neighborhood walks where the agenda has been “looking for owls.”
For Jack, ghosts are owls.
I finally only recently realized that every time Jack saw a ghost decoration or toy, I always made a Scoobie Doo style “whoooooo” sound.
So I get it now: Ghosts sound like owls and therefore, they are owls.
Well, this isn’t the end of Halloween for us, or Jack’s costume, at least. He has his first (of two) 2nd birthday parties this weekend.
We decided what better outfit could Jack wear for his birthday parties other than his train conductor costume? After all, his birthday parties this year will have a train theme.
So these are only the first of many more pictures of Train Conductor Jack.
I guess you could say we’re going green when it comes to Halloween, as we will be reusing his costume. Of course, I have a feeling that Jack wouldn’t mind dressing like a train conductor every day if we let him.