Warmth

As we drove to my folk's house from the airport P announced that he was happy. "You happy we in Florida mom?" He claimed it was the warmth that had him jazzed, and then asked 8 million times when he would see grams :) My poor parents will have no rest for the next week, he constantly keeps track of their location and what occupies them, additionally occupying them with his many questions.

When he isn't busy keeping tabs on his grandparents he is outside, enjoying his favorite thing in the world: the absence of cold. Granted, he has a few restrictions. His infamous nose precludes anything that is upwind from a barn (a difficult limit to set on a horse ranch). "I no like the smell of barn!" he screeches and simultaneously scrunches up his nose like it will fall off. He doesn't like the sun in his eyes. "I No LIke The Sun!!" he screams as he grabs his baseball cap to protect his eyes and searches out the shade. The wind gets a personal dissing "No Blow!" he shouts as he brushes his hair from his eyes and points his finger at the sky.

What does Mr. Sensitive like? He does like riding, Fast, in the back of Gramps' gator in search of sand (he was devastated (see above) the local playground had mulch rather than sand - he hid his red rimmed eyes and asked Baby Brother "you disappointed baby brother? I no disappointed.") He very much likes the semi trucks hauling sand. Another recent fave is starting conversations. Generally, by asking anyone and everyone their name. "What your name?!!" he screams as we whiz past polo players or semi drivers. He yelled to a guy fishing "What your name?" (Insert confused response from stranger) "Why you fishing?" (Insert misunderstood "Yah, I'm fishing.) "Please no eat the fish!! Why you eat fish?!" (Insert relief on my part that the gator motor droned out the 3 year old's plea for world fairness.)

The grandparents sweetly hauled his Vespa south for his visit and he was stoked to ride it in the warmth (but Not the sun.) Innocent enjoyment ended quickly. He soon began gaily flinging Baby Brother from the seat so he could gun him down. "That hurt?!" As he carefully maneuvered his wheels over his "best friend" I tried to grasp the gap between his recent benevolence towards random fish and his tire marks on BB's face.

I get it. Being a kid is rough. Everything is the wrong height and size. Most people don't take you seriously when you take Everything seriously. And there are so many hidden rules you are constantly, and accidentally, breaking. Pent up aggression is a bitch for anyone. But sheesh, somedays I find myself feeling bad for a stuffed monster.