Connor does this thing we call “garbage collecting” (a term Michelle got from a parenting book I think) where he just grabs onto whatever comes into his tiny brain in order to keep himself upset. The ride home from SFO wasn’t any longer than it had to be, the roads were pretty much clear of any kind of serious traffic, but that didn’t stop him from tiredly crying about a variety of things because he’d been up for a long, long time at that point.
For your enjoyment, here they are:
1. That he wasn’t in Hawaii anymore.
2. That he wasn’t in daddy’s car.
3. That he didn’t have a cookie.
4. That we weren’t able to take his Gogurt with us and that the Gogurt at home was “way way far away”.
5. That he wasn’t tall.
6. That he didn’t feel himself growing.
7. That our friends D&N weren’t in the car with us.
8. That everything was far away.
9. That he couldn’t watch a movie when he got home.
10. A long, long period of crying “My featheeeeeeeeeersssssssssss…” in this piteous child’s voice. Connor spent the entire trip picking up various kinds of feathers, mostly chicken feathers because, holy crap, is Kauai covered in chickens or what. In order to not bring home however many ratty chicken feathers he found Michelle told him that, like vegetables and fruits, we couldn’t bring chicken feathers home or we’d get in big trouble. Thus my son was crying like a pint-sized, cuter-sounding Smeagol over his lost precious.
And the bonus, closing statement as we put him to bed, “With no one to cuddle me I’m going to have nightmares and no one loves me.”
So, so very verklempt.