This past weekend, my sister Janne and brother-in-law John gave me the best gift: a visit from my lovies, Morgan and Liam! It was a true Tink extravaganza, an afternoon spent immersed in a two-year-old world and there is nothing better to ease a worried mind.
It reminded me that the funnest game ever can be as simple as a wall, an adult willing to pretend they have no idea where you are and popping out, repeatedly "surprising" the adult.
Both kids are growing by leaps and bounds and every time I talk to them, they have more words and more things to tell you and ask about. And every time I see them, I am convinced that now, this very moment, they are as cute as they'll ever be. Then when I see them again, I think the same thing all over again.
While the parents went to pick up lunch, mormor and moster babysat (mormor = grandmother, moster = aunt/mother sister). Or perhaps more accurately, corrupted the minors by teaching them how to open doors. This was almost as much fun as the wall popping game.
And on Monday, I got the present I had most hoped for when my girl returned home from a 10-day stay at the vet, something I superstitiously refused to blog about until all was well again, instead sitting around and twitching with worry. Mojo went in after becoming suddenly very, very ill and almost died from what turned out to be an attack of pancreatitis and came home with a diagnosis of chronic pancreatitis (if you have horror stories about that, please don't tell me - I prefer to believe my vet who says it can be managed). She’s nothing but skin and bones, pretty much at half strength, but is eating like a horse and sleeping a lot - the good kind of sleep, the one that heals. When she's not insisting that I touch her, that is, just to reassure herself that she's really home, which is only about a third of the time by now. I'm going to have to sell myself for medical experiments to pay for the bill, but there is no price tag on a healthy, happy cat, sprawled out and purring on your bed.