Mr. Blandings is off on yet another camping adventure with Jo, Atticus, and Logan--which leaves me home with just two small people, neither of whom is verbal beyond the random noun tossed out to identify a desired object. This amounts to a whole lot of "book!" and "ball!" but not a ton of "May I have a turn?"
Of course, there are shrieks of delight, howls of indignation and the warble of the inevitable tussles that erupt between two children only slightly offset when it comes to developmental age.
It occured to me that pre-kids, I would have thought that my house sounded like a war zone tonight. Oliver was keening, clinging to my shirt and trying to do his best imitation of an opera singer longing mournfully for the return of a beloved blanket.
"Baaaay! Baaaaay! Baaaaaaaayyyyy!"
Manolin was rocking just under my feet, screaming at the top of his lungs for a bottle that was simply too slow in coming.
It was a relatively calm night. Compared to say, other nights in my house. Like the one that featured our already-mentioned stars in their favorite roles, but with guest appearances by Jo (clanging about in the sink filling water bottles for her rabbit cages), Logan (rattling the silverware as he emptied the dishwasher) and Atticus (humming, at full volume, the Indiana Jones theme). And probably a ringing telephone or two to make things interesting, of course.
Now that gets a little loud.
But two little ones? Crying their way through bedtime?
Like music to my ears, I tell you. Especially the part when their little eyes close and I'm all by my lonesome. :-)