Duckies and Worms with Blue Wings

Whenever TT and Sam spend a weekend together, I wish I could burn every moment into my brain. There are so many moments I want to carry with me and never forget. But then she visits again and there are new moments and new memories and time just moves so fast.



Despite my initial crabbiness (which is usually borne out of a desire to maintain control over food intake, especially now that Sam has been diagnosed with a peanut allergy, even though control is not possible when TT and Sam are together) we had a great weekend full of non-crabby moments that made me laugh and smile and feel grateful. At the farmer's market Sam helped TT pick out fresh green beans and black raspberries and zucchini twisted off the vine that morning. He handed the woman behind the table carrots and beets and kohlrabi and plump red tomatoes. At Piggly Wiggly he followed TT around the store, placing each item she gave him into the cart and helping her by presenting money to the cashier and waiting for his $4.52 in change. Each morning he ran to her room ("TT, Wake up! TT Wake up!") and they lay in bed reading Elmo's adventures and The Truck Book and Curious George. TT would ask what something was and Sammy would say "Duckie!" TT would say "Nooooooo!" and they'd laugh together hysterically and move on to the next picture.
"What's that?"
"Duckies!"
"Nooooooooooooo!"
Even from the other room the laughter was contagious.



While I napped on the couch they made potato salad, chopping the potatoes, peeling the eggs, and mixing it all together in a giant stainless steel bowl that rang out with each strike of the knife. Sam was covered with mashed potatoes and his breath smelled of cucumbers when he presented me with a small bowl of creamy potato salad to taste. "The best ever!" he said.



They ventured out into the rain to pick fresh green peppers and tiny red raspberries and parsley for our dinner, and Sam came inside to draw pictures of the garden... full of ants and weeds and "worms with blue wings." They threw blankets over their heads and pretended to be monsters or dinosaurs or giant scary animals. They folded and sorted and put away laundry, most of Sammy's ending up in a pile in the living room. They stood outside on the front porch and watched the rain and examined the animal poop on the aluminum threshold. They chased each other around the yard, down to the tree and back, around the house and into the driveway. They snuggled up on the big white chair and watched Backyardigans and The Fresh Beat Band, Sam jumping up to dance along with Mommy when the Yo Gabba Gabba crew did their dancy dance.

Even now I know there are moments I've already forgotten. How do we slow this all down?