Jack's digger, and other stories

We went to a playground a week ago, there was a sandbox, and another boy had a digger - a big truck with a high, arcing shovel scoop. The other boy ended up sharing, which was nice, but I said at that moment, Jack needs a digger. So I told him I'd get him one.

Easier said than done. The toy store in town had lots of dump trucks and bulldozers, but no diggers. So last Thursday, I went to Target in Stamford. This will have a digger, I said. No! I walked up and down every one of the toy aisles. Two or three times. No digger.

I went to Stamford Toys, this little Mom and Pop store that I'd never been to. And FOUND a digger. There were two, actually, a 40 dollar digger and a 50 dollar digger. That's right, 50 bucks for a plastic toy certain to be destroyed within weeks and no doubt ruined by sand. Granted, it was a nice, realistic looking digger, but it didn't even light up or anything.

But regardless, I'd been all over town, so I bought the 40 dollar digger and drove the half hour or so back home. Traffic was beginning to pick up since it was just before the 4th of July weekend.

I'd been home 15 minutes when I decided I liked the other digger better. So I got back in the car, drove back to Stamford (traffic slowed me down quite a bit), and exchanged the $40 digger for the $50 one.

And it was so absolutely worth it, because Jack said "Wow!" and played with it until dinner and showed it to Mommy once she got home and wanted to bring it up to bed with him and brought it out with him to show Grandma and Grandpa and his cousins the next day. 5o bucks well spent.

Sunday he brought it to the sandbox and it got filled with sand and now the shovel scoop doesn't quite straighten all the way. But he doesn't mind so I don't either.

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Kate runs into my arms when I pick her up from school. She basically tackles me, even though she's not big enough to knock me over -- but if she was, she would. She just runs into me, shouting "Daddy!"

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She has a lot of words now. I usually hear them the most when she's attached to something or other and she's left it upstairs when she's downstairs, or vice-versa, and wants me to go get them. So, "Pablo?" in reference to the stuffed penguin she's left upstairs. (She pronounces it, Pab-ule.) Or, "book?" in reference a book she's left in another room.

Other words I hear a lot: "Up!" (Pick me up.) "Mik!" (Milk.) "Toe! Toe." (I stubbed my toe on something....ouch.) "Dack!" (She's getting closer to saying "Jack.") "Duck!" (Duck.) "Woof!" (I see a dog.)

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At bathtime, it's very important to Kate that if she's getting a shampoo, Jack gets a shampoo. If I start to give her one, she starts pointing at him in protest. "Dack! Dack" ("Him too, Daddy! C'mon here.") Once I start giving him one, she is much calmer and happier about the whole thing.

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She's very sweet. Jack occasionally hurts himself -- stubbed toe, bonked head, whatever -- and cries. Kate comes over and is very concerned. She seems to want to help.

Today they were playing with big Legos, and Jack knocked over something of hers. She looked at me and wailed in protest. I went over to calm things down. She then looked at Jack and hit him. I said, "Kate! No hitting. You don't hit Jack. Now, say you're sorry." "Sowwah." (To me.) "No, say it to Jack. "Sowwah." (To me again.) "Kate," I began. Jack said, "She doesn't have to say she's sorry." "Yes, Jack, she does."

Suddenly Kate looked at Jack and patted him gently on the back. Then went as if to hug him. She didn't say "Sowwah," but she showed it.

Like I said, very sweet.