Can't you hear the captain shouting?
Had a great day. Wally took a little train ride -- "a bigga train" with Pops (my dad). Just two towns away. It's weird, because I take him on the subway literally every day and we rode a "bigga train" all the way here but he still just can't stop obsessing about them. "See train again?" The minute we drive away. Even at this cute playground in the afternoon he couldn't focus because he knows it's near the train station and keeps thinking he hears a whistle and wants to go find out about it. It's not that close, so we end up getting in the car and driving over.
In the early evening we stopped by this Bazaar Russe at a local Russian Orthadox Church. It's something I remember going to as a child, though I didn't feel any real sentimental attachment. (This is not one of those cases, but I've noticed an unpredictable pattern. Like I don't feel any giant attachment or longing for the house and neighborhood where I grew up, and yet I still can't get over the Irish coffee shop being gone, or schoolyard changing. Maybe it's because my parents moved not far away, so the traditions continue.)
While we waited for potato pancakes Wally sat on my lap for the first time I can remember ever. Not like forced onto my lap with me struggling and arm wrestling him to stay on there. But voluntarily on there, playing with my necklace, singing little songs. It was the greatest thing. He has completely changed from February. My parents cannot fathom the change. Before bed he sits on the couch and reads books with them. He hasn't -- knock wood -- knocked anything of consequence over. He's stopped trying to get out of every exit. He comes when he's called. I keep saying, "I can't believe it's not butter" which doesn't make a lot of sense but kind of does. I can't believe it's Wally. It is him, it's like what I thought he could be, but he's so much more here. There's so much more there there.