We are in the back yard. I’ve decided that on this vacation, I’m not going to fight Miles about some of the things I have to fight him about on a usual day. It is mid morning and he is still in his pajamas. He refuses to wear socks. I don’t care.
He alternates between pitching me the baseball and raking the gravel.
“I’m wearing jammas,” he keeeps saying and smiling. He realizes that today is a day for granting pajama wishes and no-sock dreams.
Eventually Nora cames over to play baseball too. Miles hands her the bat and lets her hit. He is surprisingly good at pitching for a two-year-old.
“Good job,” I cheer, now relegated to the sidelines of the sibling baseball game.
He turns. Looks at me.
“We’re the best kids… Ever,” he says.
It is lunch time and he says he doesn’t want the usual sandwich or fruit. He requests a banana and raisin bread. I hand it over, not fighting about balanced meals or protein necessity. It is vacation, after all.
He plays with little superman as he eats his snacks that will be lunch. Nora colors unicorns at the table.
I get his milk ready and pile his favorite books in his room.
“It’s nap time,” I say. “Say goodnight to Nora.”
He shuffles off, milk in one hand and his blanket in the other.
“Goodnight, Nera. You’re the best kid.”
Where did he hear that? I wonder as I rock him for just a few minutes longer than usual. The days of rocking are few now, and I’m sure soon they will be even harder to come by. So today I cuddle him as he gets a bit more sleepy and calm.
Where did this best kid stuff come from? I have no idea.
But today it certainly feels like it’s true.