When I left for rehearsal this evening (for The Honka House, referred to as The Honka Divorce by one dancer’s husband, for the amount of time we spend rehearsing instead of in bed with our loved ones), Sylvan was running down the sidewalk, Chris a few steps behind. Sylvan said, “Unnie moon.” Chris allowed that Sylvan could try to travel under the crescent moon, but he might end up pretty far away after that trip. A few minutes ago, I returned from rehearsal and homework time, and both boys are tucked in bed. Logic prevailed or Sylvan got sleepy.
The other night, when Sylvan awoke for his 2 a.m. fried eggs, I sat in a chair facing him, and he put his bare feet against my shins. “Yummy yeggs,” he said, and, since his Ls become Ys, he meant my legs, not the eggs. He was right, actually; I had just shaved, and my legs were smooth and lovely. That comment made up for the mid-night snack.
Chris walked in from work the other evening and hugged me, Sylvan sitting in his high chair beside us. “Hug me!” he requested.
Last Thursday, Sylvan and I attended Eugene’s Public Works Day, where they let kids climb on big trucks and watch videos of snakes in the sewer. The video was lost on Sylvan, but, boy, did he appreciate “driving” the mowers, observing balloons flying from the cranes, and touching the tires on the firetrucks. We walked past a person in a frog costume, and Sylvan looked the frog up and down, pointed at its shoes, and said, “Rubbah dude,” because the frog was, in fact, wearing rubber-soled shoes. Then he continued into the shelter where the elementary kids were eating lunch. He climbed up into a chair next to one of the kids and said, “Nack.” Snacktime it was. Good thing I had peas in the car.
I love to sleep unnie moon, my sweet.