OK, I confess, it’s been a rough couple of weeks. And I am by nature an optimist. But being called a racist by a co-worker really took it out of me. There’s been so much going on at work, I haven’t even had the energy to write.
But tonight I said I just have to get back at it.
So I thought I’d tell about Ben in the car last Wednesday. We had a gorgeous full moon here, and a crisp, clear night, which was pretty dark already by 5:30, as we were driving home.
“Look, Ben, look at that moon,” I said from the front seat to him in the back.
“Oh, yes, Momma. It’s bootiful.” There’s a pause, and he claps his hands once. What he did next was priceless but it requires a bit of explanation.
Over Christmas, Ben and I stayed in a hotel. There were a bunch of lives in being at my mom’s: my mom, my two sisters, their three sons, and my brother in law, along with three dogs and more presents than you can imagine. I thought it would give the plumbing a break if we stayed away, plus we could swim, which Ben loves.
He’s been intrigued with the idea of the “ho-towel” since we stayed there. Each night, as we head home, he says, “Go ho-towel, Momma?” He prefers it to our house, mostly I think because Santa also found us at the ho-towel and left Diesel-10 for him there. He’s forgotten that when we arrived home from his stay at my mom’s, Santa had also found him here, and left presents, too. The kid is nothing if not indulged.
So, cut back to us on the way home Wednesday, he has just said the moon was beautiful and clapped his hands like he was commanding a genie to appear. Then he says:
“Hi, Moon, wanna go to a ho-towel?”
Then, like any red-blooded American male, answering for the moon, Ben says in a higher voice, “OK, Ben, let’s go!”