Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Sometimes on our walk to school Andrew runs along beside the stroller. He pretends he's a car and wraps the loose ends of his backpack straps around his waist calling it his seatbelt. Every now and then he needs refueling and I pretend to be the gas station and hold an imaginary pump to his tummy where he tells me the gas needs to go.
Sometimes though, he is an airplane. He twists his arms around frantically. They are his propellers. To help the airplane fly I have two important jobs. First I wind the imaginary crank on his tummy as he buzzes his lips and revs his engines. Then he passes me an imaginary remote control. I push the buttons, making button pushing kind of noises, as he runs down the block, arms waving wildly.
I am often worried that the little car, or airplane, will crash into the people we share the sidewalk with. I yell things like "Andrew, be careful! Look up! Pay attention!" but he has yet to collide with anyone and no one else seems worried about a collision. They pass by smiling, or not making eye contact, or with eyebrows raised. But they don't slow down or step to the side. I wonder how they know not to worry about him crashing into them when I spend most of the time on our walk doing just that.
It's about a mile from our front door to the school's, and Andrew is often pooped upon arrival. But he sees his teacher, gives her a hug and walks into the building with her. And I turn around and head home. A walk, that in comparison, is downright boring.
My sewing project is coming right along. I have about 45 of these little hexagons ready to go. Sooo glad that this is coming right together. I just knew my sewing machine and I could get past that rough spot.