Alice and I were just back last night from a quick trip to Southern California to visit family.
This afternoon, walking to the car after I picked her up from day care, she looked at me and asked, “Go airplane now?”
“Nope, not today,” I told her. “We’re just going home.”
I buckled her into the carseat.
“Go airplane? See Damma? See Papa? Go airplane now. Peas, Mama. Peas.”
Air travel has been this stressful enterprise of checklists and strategy, survival packs and crossed fingers. And overpriced headphones from a shop in the terminal because I always, always forget to bring a set. (They’re never on the checklist).
This weekend, it was a lot easier. But still not really easy. Nonetheless, this afternoon, she was like, ‘Oh, you know,we should really do that again.’
Why not now?
It gave me the giggles so bad I started crying.
She asked, “What’s so funny?”
Which made me laugh harder.
Because, since when does she say things like “What’s so funny?”
“You’re so funny, Alice. You’re so funny.”
Since just the two of us were home for my birthday, we decided to celebrate with ice cream before dinner. Always a super-indulgent treat.
Alice asked for a taste of mine. And another and another until I finally had to ask her if I could have a taste of it too. She said yes. But reluctantly, and insisted that she feed it to me herself.
And she was very careful that there wasn’t any chocolate sauce on the spoonful she parted with.