Dear Reese,
I once again find myself on Youtube looking for ideas on how to entertain you and help your brain develop. I feel very boring sometimes. Or I feel very bad while I make dinner and you fuss because you’re not interested in the Tupperware cabinet I opened for you.
Tonight, I get out a large metal mixing bowl and throw random objects and toys into it. Your teething stick. One of your spoons. Two small microwavable hand warmers. An empty mesh teether. I take two strips of masking tape and stretch them over the top of the bowl, a mini obstacle for you to get the objects out.
To YouTube’s credit, you seem to like this game a whole lot. You’re happy for most of the time while I make dinner, which ends up being egg and cheese crescent roll roll-ups, cauliflower tater tots, and raspberries. I’m pretty proud of myself, as I always am when multiple kitchen appliances are used for a meal.
You are fever-free today, still a little snotty, but attended daycare. We are muscling our way back into routine.
Love,
Mama
P.S. Your Aunt Jenn (Have Cake Creative) made us an amazing banner that we can use to document our bathtime stories! I’ll put the continuation of our story below.
The Castle in the Pond, Part 14
In the purple-gray morning, before the sun has started to rise, you set off with your adventuring party. You ride low on The Fierce Croc’s back, and the duck swims beside you. You stealth through the wreckage of dam, staying clear of the black swan’s gaze.
Beyond the dam, the pond empties into a river. It seems impossibly wide, flowing steady and slow. The Fierce Croc pauses to ask, “Which way little one?”
You have never been to this place before, nor have most creatures of the pond, but you close your eyes and focus. A place of blue light. Somewhere within you there’s a pulse . . . a pull. You open your eyes.
“Up river,” you say and The Firece Croc begins to swim against the slow current.
As you travel the water gets rougher and the current more powerful. “Hang on!” The Fierce Croc shouts as you traverse through rapids. The duck hops up on the crocodile’s back with you, but it’s a rough go — the Fierce Croc, without his tail, has trouble keeping his balance.
It’s in this rocky stretch that an otter jumps out of the water next to you and calls in a high-pitched voice, “Hello! You look new to this river.”
You tell him you are and that you’re looking for a place of blue light.
“Don’t know what that means,” the otter says cheerfully. He’s effortlessly swimming alongside you now. “The whole river is blue! And a lot of the fish too. Oh, and the blue manatee. Lots of blue around them.”
Manatee? You’ve never heard of such a creature. “They’re a long way from where they’re supposed to be, I hear,” the otter says. “Never seen another one around, but they’ve been in this part of the river for as long as anyone can remember.”
“Maybe this mantee has some information about the blue light,” you say to the duck. Then to the otter, “Will you take us to them?”
The otter agrees, and you follow him further upstream. The water calms again and he leads you to an inlet to one side of the river. In the noon sun, the water is reflective and bright and remarkably blue.
As you approach, you hear a low moan coming from below the surface.
To be continued.