Quiet time

James loves designing complicated train track layouts that take hours to build and include numerous branch lines and sidings so that all of his trains can have their own jobs to do and their own special places to go when they are feeling shy. (He takes excellent care of his trains, and runs things more smoothly than Sir Topham Hatt, the Fat Controller of "Thomas the Tank Engine" fame. The Little Controller, maybe?)

Anyway, we moved his train box upstairs to his room last week so that he could keep his track layouts out for longer without tripping everyone who walks through the family room/kitchen. This has been a big hit with James and Thomas both, but has had the side effect of removing some of their play from our main living space. Now, a couple of times a day, James will say, "Thomas! Want to go for quiet time?" and they will charge upstairs to work on their train tracks. They love it.

I am torn between the joy of a moment of relative quiet and the knowledge that this is their first step towards running around the neighborhood by themselves, checking in only when they want lunch. I'll blink, and they'll have turned into teenagers who think I'm embarrassing and past it. But in the meantime, I have brief pockets of time in which to read the paper or unload the dishwasher. And that's great!

"Quiet time" became a little quieter than usual today, though. We have a small vegetable garden near the back door; the boys help me water the raised beds and pick the vegetables. (Our one foray into group weeding ended in disaster.) I went out this afternoon to pick a few zucchini, closing the screen door but leaving the back door open. The boys were eating a snack in the kitchen, next to the back door.

Two minutes later, I came back. The back door was closed...and locked. "Guys?" I called, knocking on the glass. No answer; no sight of them. After a few minutes Thomas came downstairs. He saw me and grinned. "Hi, mongoose. Can you go get James for me?" He cried, "Yes!" and rushed off.

Five minutes later he came back. Alone, I might add. I repeated my request. He bustled off again, immensely pleased. I started casting about for ways of breaking into the house and, finding none that would not require major repairs, decided to sit down and enjoy the day.

About fifteen minutes later James came downstairs, with Thomas on his heels. James unlocked the door and opened it for me, with a chivalrous flourish. I sat them down and instituted rules for the locking and unlocking of doors ("No." "Why?" "I am the queen.").

They are still grinning.