So I had planned to write at length about the glorious day we had at the beach today. Yes, we went back to the scene of the crime, where the waves knocked me down again and again. Even as we were in the midst of jumping waves and trying to get sand out of every crack and crevice on Co’s body, I was thinking, “Oh, I can’t wait to write about this”.

Then, something even better happened, effectively wiping the slate. Late this afternoon, while we were waiting for my folks to come over for dinner, DH, Mo, Co and I were hanging out with our neighbors, K and C, and one of their kids, H. H is a freshly turned four year old, and a boys boy from the top of his fireman helmet head down to his ubiquitous fireman boots. Most days, we see him and his little sister, R, careening down the sidewalk, just being kids the way kids are supposed to be — carefree, laughing, dusty from playing so hard.

He and Mo were digging in K and C’s front flower bed, running in the front yard, down the sidewalk and back again. As per her usual, Mo had her pink blankie (lovey, wubby, security blanket) with her, trailing behind as she chased H down the block. Somehow or another H managed to get her to part with it and he laid it over his face, over his stomach as he lay in the grass. As K and I talked about this that and the other, C and DH compared favorite restaurants in Richmond. H and Mo were in the backyard, pulling toys out of the garage to play with. Several times Mo would run back to the front, just to make sure we were still there, before running back to whatever mischief there was to be had with H.

She and H returned to the front and continued to dig up the flower bed, spraying mulch and dirt over the grass and one another. I turned to Mo and, I asked her where her blankie was. No answer. At the same time I was asking her that, C asks his son H, “Hey H, what’s that in the front of your pants?”

All eyes on H and the curious bulge that has suddenly inflated his shorts. “Well,” he begins, unconciously jutting his pelvis forward, “Mo asked me to hold her blankie and I don’t have any pockets, so I put it in my pants.”

Oh. . . .my. . . .goodness. . . . Such a thoughtful little boy, that H.

Note to self: Before you ask someone to hold something for you, check to see if they have pockets.