Xander, who had been wandering around the house all day in his Cookie Monster underwear, brought me the top to his Superman pajamas when I hustled Sophie off to get dressed. There was a moment of indecision. The pajamas are too small for him, having been a Christmas gift two years ago. Not to mention the fact that little kids walking around in the day time in old, worn 'jamas are about the tackiest thing ever. On the other hand, who can resist those big blue eyes? I mean, REALLY?!
Figuring it wouldn't hurt in the long run to give in this once (and surrendering to the underlying desire to see him running around the playground as Superman), I helped him into the top. Red cape and all. A pair of sweat pants, his red Converse high top sneakers, and he was ready to go. You can only be 2 once, after all.
I pulled on Scott's old Texas Tech sweatshirt over the yoga pants I hadn't changed out of yet. One benefit to having a playground right up the street from you: you can visit during the weekday in your 'I've given up all hope of even trying to be attractive' clothes, and nobody will see you. Nice.
Sophie, on the other hand, picked out a silky black tunic dress with bright pink flowers splashed across it, pink cowboy boots, and a floppy pink ribbon for her hair. I made her put jeans on under the dress. She had a sparkly backpack that she had packed with some toys slung across her shoulders, and the 'let's get out and explore!' look on her face.
And off we went, a motley little caravan. Superman led the way, running with his short little toddler strides, hands tucked up against his potbelly, tow headed tufts of hair pointing cockily at the sky. Then came me, hands deep in the sweatshirt, alternatively calling for Xander to slow down, or Sophie to hurry it on up. Sweet girl brought up the rear. She dawdled along several paces behind, murmuring, "Why yes, we are going to the park ... it is a gorgeous day, isn't it?" and, " ... oh la la ..." to herself.
Rounding the block, we headed up the slightly busier through street. Xander, very concerned about cars in the street, stopped each time one passed. He held his hand out, palm up, and shouted, "STOP!!", very fierce and commanding.
Along came a police car. As it neared us, Xander yelled, "Woook, wook, Mommy! It's a peese car! Wee-ooo, wee-ooo." He jumped up and down, red cape fluttering, his chubby little finger pointing. The police woman inside the car smiled and waved as she cruised past. As I caught her eye, then glanced back at my ecstatic son, I thought to myself, "It really doesn't get any better than this."