Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Day Five-Ninety-Two: Not all days are bad days

When I tried to play with Eve... which wasn't very often... she just kinda did her own thing. Which included murdering mammoths and devouring their entrails.

When I tried to play with Grayson, albeit once he'd grown into a boy, he dictated the terms of the game. He tormented me. Fun was not fun.

When I try to play with Fynn... well, hell. We play. We play like the dickens.

Fynn is absolutely fascinated by the snow. Whenever we have to stop the Dauphine to dig out its wheels or defrost the gears he bolts outside, leaps into any available snowbanks, and giggles his guts out. Doesn't even wait to be dressed in a coat or pants when he does, which is a bit distressing... though I have to admit that Fynn doesn't seem to care much about the cold. Tough one, like his mom.

And I join him. Libby told me to watch over my son, and after the rather traumatic events of the last two weeks, I'm doing it. I follow and leap into the snow with him, usually trying to pin more clothes on him, but otherwise just enjoying myself. We make snow angels and have little snowball fights that, I'm sad to say, Fynn usually wins. He's got some speedy arms, and his projectiles pack quite a punch.

It's fun. It's... it's so damned fun.

And I'm not the only one who'll play with Fynn. Everybody (save perhaps Ed, who tries to avoid my boy at all costs for some reason) has taken a turn mucking about with Fynn. Whenever you hear his gurgly, giggling beckons, you come running. I don't care who you are or how busy you may be, you come running.

There's only one problem playing with this boy: he's big. Oooooh is he big.

From the moment Fynn was born, I knew he'd be a tall lad. He weighed more than a wagon wheel when he came out of his mom, and he's quickly blossomed into a baby that's almost as tall as his dad. Give him three or four more weeks at this rate and Fynn will be hard pressed to move around in the Dauphine. So you can imagine what it's like when he pitches himself on you in a fit of glee and nearly crushes you.

I should probably be more worried about Fynn than I am. He's obviously not normal, and I don't just say that because he resembles a chocolate bar with my hair. But... I mean, aside from his height, and his growing strength... he's just so healthy. And happy. And mentally normal. He outstrips Eve and Grayson by a landslide in the normalcy category, despite appearing quite irregular.

So, yeah. I'm not worried. Not really. I fear he'll get caught up in more drama, such as wandering off and being held hostage by ghosts (I think that's what happened, anyway), but as far as kids go, I got lucky. Third time's the charm, and all that.

We continue to dig. Try though our mighty rhino may, the Dauphine likes to get stuck. At least I'm developing a nice knot of muscle on my arms after all this shovelling.


Dragomir the Wanderer

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