little kid is home sick from school today--a situation that greatly irritated me earlier because I have tons of work to do and he doesn't seem that sick.
But right now he's out on the porch in his pajamas, quietly chatting to himself while methodically and strategically setting up yet another battle among his little army men and their scene setting accessories. These toys are the bane of my existence--he must have over a 1000 with all of his sets; green and khaki ones, civil war, revolutionary war, Native Americans, knights, Roman warriors, mythological creatures. Then there's their covered wagons and tiny tents and catapults and tanks and fighter planes and trees and fences and flags and...pieces. They have invaded my porch and my life and the tracks of my sliding glass door. It's a mess that's been going on for years. He spends hours on these elaborate battles and set-ups, with strict rules of warfare and division of equipment.
And yet so heart-warming to watch. At 8, he's still little but on the cusp of being officially and undeniably big. I love to see how he immerses himself in his imagination this way, even if I hate the ever present mess on my porch. I know in the grand scheme of things, it won't last that long and recognize that these little flashes of childhood are worth cherishing.
I'm sure he'll come in here and annoy the crap out of me again soon, but it's nice for now.