On Thursday, one of my best friends of almost fifteen years brought her homegrown brood from Alaska all the way down to the land-of-two-seasons (Christmas and summer). We met up at our alma mater and subjected the college youths and perfectly manicured campus to the pitter-patter of little feet, enthusiastic spitting of juice, terrorizing of squirrels and fish, and innocent thwacking of sticks.
O. helped Scoot drink from the water fountain, but Scoot did not reciprocate the favor. He was very interested in O. and O.'s daddy. Apologies to E., O.'s little brother--the most sweet-natured, laid back, serene little infant anyone could hope to bounce on her knee--for not having any acceptable pictures of him (yet).
"Do they know not to hit other human beings with those sticks?" our professor asked. Then he said, "Hey, hey, somebody turn out the light, I want to see what they think of this."
His office went dark, and he proceeded to flash a strobe light in the babies' general direction.
"Turn that off," I scolded, "you're going to give them seizures."
Ah. Just like old times. But with children now.