What better place could there be for Sir Dane, than to be surrounded by ancient castles and motes and bridges? He is really happy in this place.
He’s still in Lithuania but he’s been transferred to a village called Siauliai. I know…I know. No idea how you pronounce that one. He said it was like being taken to the Hobbit Shire, in Middle Earth.
He was asked to speak in the business school in town. They wanted to hear an “actual American” speaking “proper English.” If you knew Dane before he left and ever heard his fake foreign or his own personal slang–you’d know funny that is.
My sweet boy has been gone for 1 year and 5 months—which means, he will be home in about 7 months! Wahooo!
Just in time for the bald kid—our baby, to step up.
Have you ever noticed that you don’t have to actually hand them a play gun, because everything–EVERYTHING magically has the ability to become one? Rakes…tripods…cd cases…balloons…bread.
In their mind, every inanimate object within their reach, has the innate ability to maim. This is a skill that only boys have–or, I might add, want.
Of course, this skill puts everyone in their rifle scope every waking moment. We wouldn’t want to waste precious practice time, would we? Consequently, no one is safe.
In fact, I remember helping 3 year old Daney boy get dressed one day and his little thumb-and-finger-gun kept being loaded and fired too dang close to my head for me to like it.
Finally, after having my ears and chin and both eyes taken out by Hop-along’s imaginary bullets and a bit weary of his gun hand waving in my face, I held on to his arm and said, “Hey! You know, it isn’t very nice for boys to shoot at their mommas.”
His eyes immediately filled up with tears and he collapsed in a heap in front of me.
“I wasn’t shooting my momma.” Oh, he was wailing now.
“Reeeeally?” I said.
And I’m Mother Goose.
He pulled himself up and wiped at his nose with his sweatshirt sleeve. To the washer with that one.