Call It What You Want...

I crushed the little boy's spirit -- if momentarily -- today.

Off we had gone to the library, to check out some books for the mommy of Anna, Noah and Elijah. Sometimes Mark gets to walk in on his own, but knowing we'd have to spend a few minutes in the adult non-fiction books about preemies section, I thought the stroller would be handy.

We walked in the front door, and he started bouncing, leaning forward in his stroller, jabbering happily, aiming us in the direction of the stairs which descend to the children's department and all its diversions, particularly the ones that live in big tanks and swim about. Except that I did not drive us that way, but instead through the doors to the GROWNUP BOOKS! Outrageous! Cruel! He let me know that I had let him down. He screamed. He shrieked. He whined and threw himself about in anger. He cooled down and wandered around pushing the stroller and wondered how long this boring section would take.

We got a small pile of books for Linda to peruse. And then it was down to the children's department for some books for a certain small boy. And maybe, just maybe, we'd go past those denizens of the deep. Except, because we had the stroller, we couldn't go down the stairs; we'd have to use the elevator. That was a point of concern, because we went the wrong way. But he continued to chant, hoping that his words would fix things.

Fish. Fish. Fish. Fish. Fish.

And then the elevator stopped, and we were downstairs, and through that door -- yes, that one -- were the fish, and we were through the door and Mark was happy again, jabbering happily to his friends with whom he was reunited.

Look! Look! Look! Look!

Our library has beautiful fish, by the way.