So, we decided to surprise the kids with a trip to Disney World. We got in the car “to go to dinner” and loaded up the dog and his bag of food. Speculation ran rampant in the backseat until the kids concluded we were going to the one restaurant where we sit outside and take the dog. Unfortunately, they felt it was much too cold to eat outside.
Big A. handed them each a folded set of three 11x17 maps and said, “I told you we were doing something special this weekend. Look at these maps and see if you can figure out where we’re going.”
The kids pored over the top map (of Animal Kingdom) and Little A. said, “It looks like some kind of Disney World for dogs.”
Big A. and I burst into laughter. I said something like, “Occam’s Razor, son, Occam’s Razor.” Clearly, that meant nothing to the kids. Big A. decided to be more useful. “S., why don’t you read the map?”
S. looked at it again and said, “We’re going to Disney! Are we really going to Disney? Can I bring my homework?”
Needless to say, we burst into laughter again.
At dinner, eating Mexican, we heard “Soul Man” come on. Big A. said, “Remember when you danced to this, Little A.?”
Little A. started grooving—I mean, that boy can dance. Big A. and I have a running joke about how I—having grown up on Motown and the like—can dance, but he seems to find his own beat. And if he can’t find it, he invents it. So I proudly, said, “That’s my kid!” and we laughed.
Then S. got in on the action and, honestly, she did a great job staying with the beat. I think it was her dad’s beat, but she did a great job staying with it. Little A., however, protested, “You’re not dancing with the beat!”
Big A. and I burst into laughter again. He refrained from saying, “That’s MY kid.”
This trip is going to be fun!