Today I broke in our new wholesale club membership with a trip to BJs (whoever came up with that name was either very naive or had a kindred sense of humor). It was there, after I had picked up bulk cartons of fabric softener, weed killer, dishwasher detergent and broccoli, that The Boss became fixated upon a display swingset with an attached fort. It loomed over us in all its wooden splendor. "Barn!" The Boss cried out. "Climbin' barn!"
Well, dammit if that isn't the perfect description. My two year old is coining terms. I looked at that little girl in the shopping cart and marveled at the smooth, round face of her brilliance. She began waving her arms over her head and giggling with mad enthusiasm. Soon I was laughing with her and I wondered why everyone in the vicinity wasn't joining in. I could not comprehend that this infectious wiggle of energy was not, for these few moments, the center of every shopper's attention. I wished The Partner had cut out on his lunch break to join us as another appreciative witness to stellar personality.
As we set to wandering again in our own little world, The Boss was giddy with the prospect of her own play space. "Climbin' barn! Swings!" I told her I'd have to ask her father if we could get one of those sometime soon. "Daddy climbin' barn!" She was all approval. For the rest of the shopping trip, she talked about daddy and her climbing barn, confident in her sway as the center of his universe.