The Binky Boys have been ruling our roost. I'm talking two almost-3-year-old cousins who have joined forces for four weeks of mischief, mayhem, and mooning. As toity trainees, those itty-bitty buns tearing through the house are a sight to behold -- and with such wreckless, gleeful abandon, makes you long for the days when you had no sense of propriety. Only a pure and unobstructed awareness of being. Of eating, sleeping, and pooping. Traversing the world with a binky in your mouth, a blankie over your shoulder, and a new toy in your hand -- one you have no intention of sharing. Touching and tasting and trying out things -- cuz everything is intriguing and new -- like Nana's shoes. No judgments here. Baby boys are allowed to try on heels in Nana's house, wear pink toenail polish and perfume. And bracelets.
And now one of the Binky Boys has to go home. NAS New Orleans. His daddy's due back from a short mission in Japan and Guam via Anchorage. Yeah, a Navy guy. New family man. Macho. Don't tell him about the pink polish, okay?
Beyond the joy of hanging with my grandson, I've been able to spend the last four weeks with my daughter (#3 of 4 in the lineup), and it hasn't been nearly long enough. Feel like I'm just getting to know her all over again, because she's no longer the precocious little chatterbox, the sullen teenager, the rebellious 21-year-old Navy recruit. She's a beautiful woman, a doting mom, a loving wife, and a grownup I'm proud of. I love her, of course, but I also really, really like her.
Come back soon, Binky Boy, and bring my precious girl, cuz I miss you guys already.
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PUT YOUR POOPOO IN YOUR POCKET.
1 day ago
