Jeffrey's parents were in town last week. Jeffrey and his mom went shopping for Abbott's birthday one night; I couldn't go because I was home with the soon-to-be-3-year-old. But through modern phone technology, I was able to see everything they'd bought -- the I Love My Grandpa and I Love My Grandma books, the three (three! He is a lucky kid!) Play-Doh construction toys, and the big pink bag they'd bought to put it all in.
Pink is Abbott's favorite color. He told us maybe a month ago, and I've had a little bit of anxiety about it, I have to confess. And it is a confession in the truest sense of the word -- I feel ashamed of the anxiety. I'm afraid someone is going to say something shitty to him, and I'm afraid of the decisions I might make because of that fear. I haven't really told a lot of people (ashamed of that, too), only people I have considered to be "safe."(the heck does that even mean?) And I wasn't sure whether Jeffrey's parents were going to be on that list -- his dad, especially. No reason to believe he wouldn't be safe; I just didn't think there was any reason to tell them.
But here we were, with a pink bag. And an automotive shirt with pink notes. So, Grandma was on board. Ok. Grandpa was always the question mark.
The next morning, they came over a little bit late; they had to do some more shopping. Grandma came in first, with a gigantic red polka-dotted bag that I had not seen in the pictures. Where was the pink bag? I didn't even want to tell them! And now this!
As Abbott started pulling apart the red bag to see what was inside, in walked Grandpa. Carrying the pink bag of course. Then Abbott pulled all his gifts out -- all wrapped in pink paper. That was what they had had to shop for that morning. I even think Grandpa pointed out the pink on the shirt when Abbott opened it.
People sure will surprise the shit out of you if you let them.