Jonah’s been really into playing airplane travel lately. He gets my camera bag — which is about the size of a carryon for a toddler, and hangs it over his arm. Sometimes he fills it with the coins from his mushroom bank, chatting to himself as he marches around. “Need to PACK the money in our BAG to CHECK it at the AYUR-PORT.”
He next added the old Moby Wrap, which he drags with his other hand (it looks like a mini sleeping bag but I think it’s supposed to be his rolley-bag).
With my sister in town this weekend, they added a new layer to the game. He crawled into the center of his exersaucer, underneath the part he used to sit in, and that was his plane.
We took her back to the airport today.
He LOVED having her here.
After the airport, it’s a straight shot up 98th Avenue directly to the zoo, so that’s where we went. Along with every other resident of Oakland, and their friends and relations. We had a good time, despite the crowds, and he conked out in the car on the way home which led to an all-too-rare-these-days two-hour nap.
Post-nap, he’d forgotten Aunt Michelle had gone home. But we were able to remind him.
A little bit later, he started playing airplane. Marching around with my camera bag on his arm, he stopped short in front of the doorway to the laundry room where one of our soft-sided carry-on bag was on the floor.
An aside: our cat Bambino loves to snuggle up to luggage, computer bags, purses. Scott had put the bag on the floor the last two nights to comfort him since my sister staying with us reduced the cat’s nighttime roaming area considerably.
But back to the story…
Jonah spots the bag. Pulls up short. Transfixed.
“WHAT is THAT?” he demands. I explain. He grabs a handle and drags it into the dining room.
“Need to pack the LUGGAGE. Want to go to the airport and get on an airplane and fly to Los Angeles to Nana and PopPop’s house where Aunt Michelle lives.” (My sister doesn’t actually live with my parents, but they are in the same city and he knows that.)
He proceeds to pack his toy violin and “bow stick” into the bag. He scans his crib, holding his hand above each stuffed animal as he’s deciding what is important to take with him. “Need to bring a blanket!” he says. He decides he wants the white one and the blue one. We pack both into the bag.
“Put on your shoes and jacket! Go to the AIRPORT.” he says. We put on his crocs and a jacket.
He picks up the big bag with his necessities and starts with absolute purpose to head out the door.
The line between play acting and reality is wafer thin.
I have to stop him and explain that we can’t actually go to the airport. “Want to go to the airport RIGHT NOW. Get on an AYUR PLAYNE.”
He sits down and starts to cry.
We call my mom and that seems to help a little.
Then we unpack the bag. He tries to put the blankets back in the crib himself but can’t, quite. He asks for my assistance. I lay them back on the mattress, put the violin and bow stick in the instruments box in the closet.
And then we go out on the porch to look for snails.