Now in the midst of summer, our earlier sprint has become a lazy jog and I can finally take a moment to check in. After a few late night episodes of Disney's "Lab Rats" followed by mornings sleeping in, I took a look at my now seven year old and couldn't believe how much he had grown. How did I miss that? Somewhere it happened in between cool crisp spring mornings and balmy summer nights. He grew into a real boy. I'm sorry to report that the precious sayings have become fewer and further between. His wise comments have been replaced with feigned indifference, because right now, boredom is cool. So in my deep parental dismay and depression at the loss of my light hearted innocent baby, I'm left with only one choice... to shamelessly mess with him. Such is my new maternal charge.
Cale called me the other day after dropping SIP off at Oatland Island's day camp. He said several campers, including them, were late because a truck was delivering a large water tank during camp drop off. He said to SIP, "Hey, look at that huge tank!" For a glimmering moment SIP seemed excited and looked for the tank. "Where?" He said. "Right there!" replied Cale, "on that truck." SIP slunk back down in his booster seat and said, "I thought you meant an army tank. That's
not a tank. That's just a water container."
After a couple minutes arguing semantics while the water "container" held up traffic, Cale finally sent SIP on his way into the historic building where he might catch a glimpse of the world's beauty outside of Minecraft and Infinity. Then he called me to vent about our son's apathetic attitude regarding a rather impressive feat of moving a cylindrical ton of steel.
The next morning, I had the great privilege of driving SIP to camp and I looked forward to commenting on the water TANK...
