On Sunday afternoon, we returned from a week-long trip. Luke proudly ran around the living room announcing the color of each of his long-neglected toys by way of becoming reacquainted with them.
It was quite lovely round abouts Yosemite where we were, but it’s hot as blazes here.
In the early evening hours, with the trip laundry going in the washer, the kitchen restocked, and suitcases in various states of unpackedness, Shawn went to the kitchen to prepare cherry margaritas (defensive weapon). Luke was hanging around his knees begging for cherry pieces.
“Aaa-aaa-aaa,” says Luke. (In toddler-ese, this means “I want that.”)
“Use your words, Luke,” replies Da-da. “What would you like?”
“Aaa-aaa-aaa-aaa!”
I scoop up the kid. “Tell Daddy want you want, honey.”
“Anything you want. Anything at all,” says Shawn.
“Almost anything,” I amend, thinking of a vast array of unreasonable requests that are within Luke’s vocabularic range.
“Anything at all,” Shawn repeats eagerly, hugging Luke. We’re all happy to be home.
“Okay, now’s your chance, Luke,” I say. “Ask Daddy for world peace.”
Luke ponders a moment, spares half a glance at the cherries and looks back at our expectant faces.
Then, clear as a little bell, and I swear I’m not lying, he says, “Hope.”
My jaw drops. Shawn and I look at each other.
“Wow. That’s a really good answer.”
“You got it,” Shawn says. “I’ll get right on it.” We exchange another incredulous glance. “Here, kiddo,” he says. “Have some cherries too.”
“Chwerreze,”Luke replies, holding out a hand.
“Yep.”
It’s good to be home.