We had no idea what time Otto was coming today, due to a confluence of events wherein he had to make several unplanned-for detours. (One of them was due to Audrey—the name Otto has decided to give the new GPS unit—failing to predict that there is traffic in New York City. GO FIGURE.) As of our last check-in call, we figured he wouldn’t arrive until after the kids were in bed.
So when he pulled up while the kids were still hanging up their towels and getting into their jammies and screeching and dancing and generally being spazzy, they didn’t even notice.
This gave me plenty of time to run outside and make out with him, so that was nice.
When we came back in, I called up the stairs to the kids to tell them to finish up and come down.
“Why?” asked Chickadee.
“Because I asked you to. Go brush your hair,” I answered.
She huffed in response and went into the bathroom. Meanwhile, Monkey was making his way down the stairs one at a time, saying “Why?” on each step. That was charming.
“Just come down,” I called, while going back into the kitchen.
Monkey came around the corner. “But why did you—” now he looked up and saw Otto. “OTTO! It’s an Otto! Otto is HERE!” and then he twirled around and ran back upstairs.
“Um, he’s running away from me. That seems bad,” Otto remarked.
“CHICKIE! OTTO’S HERE! HE’S HERE! OTTO! IS! HERE!” I giggled as I heard Monkey making a lap around upstairs, then bounce down the stairs again. He came careening around the corner, made a beeline for Otto, and ran into him so hard that his head actually bounced off of Otto’s stomach. This would’ve sent him sprawling out on the floor on his behind except that he had flung his arms around him and was holding on for dear life.
“HI OTTO!” My son beamed up at my husband, who smiled in return.
At that moment—heck, even now—I could not tell you anything else about my day, whether it was good or bad or stressful or not. That right there, that was my day.
And it was very, very good.