The Dog Days aren't Over...thankfully

I swiftly swung him up onto my hip and I ran under the large arc of the sprinkler with him heavy in my arms.  There were squeals.  More from me then him.  The water that speckled against my sun warmed skin was very cold.

The day began with heavy air and a searing sun...and just kept getting hotter.  So we filled up the kiddie pool.  

Other than barenaked baby bums, baby buddha bellies come in a close
second to adorableness.  Or edibleness. 

I submerged myself in the kiddie pool much to the delight of my not quite 3 year old son.  He had other, more amusing ways on how to cool down in the water.

When he announced he was 'hummy' we made out way into the cool air of our home and I made up a plate of 'stuff'.  Kolbassa, crackers, olives, cheese, gherkins, hummus, cherry tomatoes and cucumbers.  

We emerged back into the sultry summer air and made our way under the newly erected gazebo that offered the mercy of shade.  I set the white plate scattered with green, red, beige and orange morsels down on the glass table top.

It was a clothing optional lunch, I observed, as he climbed onto the chair next to me with nary a stitch of clothing.  

We sat side by side, the only sound was of crunching crackers, the hum of the air conditioner behind us and the occasional car in the distance.  

It was quiet.  

Peaceful.  

I hadn't heard quiet in a long, long time.  

I hadn't the time to feel peace in a long, long while either.

As I sat in the peace and quiet with my little one beside me I noticed even the birds were silent save for the occasional harsh call of a red winged black bird.  

I watched my son as he ate.  

He ate half an olive and put it back.  Then carefully chose another olive.  Took a bite.  And put it back.  "I don't yike olives..."  Picked up another one.  Took a bite.  Nodded almost imperceptibly, "I yike olive."  I could relate to the love/hate relationship with olives.  It was so obvious to me at that moment that he is my son.

I ate the left over halves of olives.  Because I hate waste.  And isn't that just what all mothers do?

"I'm a pirate!"  He had placed a wheat thin over his eye.  I laughed.  Loudly at the unexpected humour.  He always surprises me with his left-field comicalness.  

He handed me a cracker, "You a pirate too."

And when a 2 year old hands you a cracker and tells you to be a pirate?  

You become a pirate.

"Arrrr matey!"  

Then he made me a cracker and cheese sandwich (probably with the same cracker that was all up in his eyelashes) and handed it over to me with some good advice, "Don't choke".  

I heeded his advice.  And ate that eyelash cheese and cracker sandwich with gusto.

And it was the most delicious cheese and cracker sandwich that I ever did taste.