The Airplane Took My Freedom!

As Andy was to buses at this young age, Alex is to airplanes.  He's obsessed with them, calling out "Airplane!" gleefully during car rides when one is spotted.  He commands that I perform Google image searches of "airplane," and one of his first two word linked phrases was a stunned "yellow airplane?" when he spied one on page 15 of said Google image search.  He brings me a pen and paper to draw him pictures of airplanes, and when he saw the Caillou episode when they take their first airplane ride together, he crapped his pants.  The poop may or may not have already been in his pants before the episode started, but that's beside the point.

His fixation on airplanes has lately taken an interesting turn.  Now, when things go missing, he blames airplanes.  Hat Teddy's hat has disappeared, and when I ask Alex where the hat is, he shrugs, points upward, and then says, "Airplane."

"Oh, the airplane took Hat Teddy's hat?"

"Yeah.  Airplane."

"Okay.  Where did the airplane take the hat?"

"Sky!"

Various toys have been taken by airplanes as of late, kidnapped into the great blue sky, and these fuzzy, unlikely scenarios have started to bother Andy.  Andy half -listens to Alex's airplane ramblings in the same fashion that Chris half listens to about half of what I say (which means 25% of my words are basically gone into the nether, the classic logic riddle of a tree falling and some husband on a computer not currently located in the woods).  One day, though, after Alex innocently blamed an airplane on a missing pair of socks, Andy burst out:

"Really, Alex?  You really think an airplane flew INTO THE HOUSE and took your SOCKS?  I don't think so!"

Andy then went on to detail all of the flaws in this half-cocked notion.  How did the airplane get in the house? Wouldn't we have heard it?  And for the love of Pete, what would an airplane want with some stinky socks anyway?

To which Alex replied, after Andy had completely exhausted his breath:  "Airplane.  Sky. Gone."

*****

It seems that I have returned to the work force.  It is only a couple days a week, about fourteen hours a week, and this new little job holds the promise of paying a couple bills and allowing us to save up a little cash.  Although, I feel funny calling it a new job.  A long time ago, I worked for this company, which I will call Glen's.  Glen's was the job I took when I started college, and I worked there for a couple years after college as well.  It was a six year stint that ended ten years ago, and now I'm back, a decade older, a decade wiser, a decade older, a decade later, a decade older.  Did I mention a decade older?

Glen's was a fun job.  I mean, the industry itself isn't very fun, but I made a lot of great friends there back in the day, and when I think of my years there, I think of working until nine and then going out afterwards.  I think of all the ridiculous antics I had there and with the people from there, and now it seems strange and yet somehow fitting to return ten years later.  Now I'm the part time mom working there, observing all the young ones who were once me.  It's a juxtaposition that both bothers and delights me, although I honestly can't give you the percentages on those feelings.

I think I'm going to be happy working there.  I'm going to miss one weekend day and two bedtimes with my boys, but I know I am still oh so lucky to be able to spend most of my time with them.  And now when the store closes at eight (my current location has much better hours than my former one), I will be rushing home to peek in on my sons as opposed to rushing out to hang with my co-workers.  Although there may be some of that, too, who knows.  I remembered the moms who worked with us at Glen's back in the day (my day). And most of them were pretty cool.  Just like I'm pretty cool and not at all some old fogey who is astonished by all of the new technology.  Note to self.  Stop acting so astonished by the new technology.  And use the word "amazeballs," young people love that word.  Never mind, forget the amazeballs thing, you're old, not retarded.