I stood in the front entry under the carved wood sign that said Jamie’s Play Palace. Four children patiently waited at the dining room table across the room and another one wandered around the princess castle on the front porch. Eva looked up at us from the nearly-too-small car seat bucket, and Sam stood behind me, his hands pulling down on my back pockets and his face occasionally diving into the small of my back.
“I’m going to be shy of Jamie,” he had told me in the car. He didn’t want to return to daycare after nine Mommy days in a row, nine days filled with playing in the Lake Michigan surf, searching for and finding rocks that were “very perfect” and “really prettyful,” building and counting sand castle turrets before smashing them in fits of laughter, hiking in the woods and picking wild raspberries and overripe thimbleberries, nine days of nearly constant contact with Mommy, nine days of running and jumping and climbing and hanging on Mommy.
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