Traveling with a Caboose. Very tricky business. My teenage daughters could walk the markets and streets of Provence all day. But my nine-year-old son? Brutal.
Probably because of his aversion to being dragged to one charming French village after another, the universe is kind to him. He always manages to collide with something magical. Sometimes just the right rock parks itself in his path, begging to be kicked around for thirty minutes or so. Other times, the perfect stick catches his eye, and it’s love at first sight. (Sticks make awesome pretend daggers and, moreover, can be used to write cryptic messages in the dirt.) But last Saturday night’s bit of magic takes the cake. On the ground in a small plaza in St. Remy, France, an untethered yellow balloon, suddenly abandoned by the baby who had been playing with it, became his!
Clearly, the gods of Childhood Distractions had bequeathed him a gift.
That balloon kept him busy all evening.
No other distractions came close. Not the red bike with the nifty yellow market basket.
Not the yellow tablecloth on the table outside the cafe, a place which might easily have distracted his mother.
Not even the Girl With The Yellow Skirt (though she was a close second).
Honestly, what could be better than instant liberation from an evening of aimless wandering with a Photo-crazy Dad and a Provence-crazy Trio (mom, teenage sisters)?
Because with your own Bit Of Yellow, you’re good for the night.
{ Comments on this entry are closed }