York is a magical city--one of England's most sought after tourist destinations. There are ruins hundreds of years old. There are the Roman walls that surround the city, whose stones still tell the stories of centuries past. There are Viking remnants and festivals. There are museums, statues, shops, cafes, tiny cobblestone streets and even an ancient castle.
And there are dog poopies.
Yesterday, for Tyler, dog poopies were what it was all about. After being couped up indoors for a couple of days playing with new presents and having long talks (that part Jen and I did when Tyler was sleeping), we decided it was high time to get outdoors again.
So Tyler grabbed his large uptruck, held onto the shovel, and we went for a long walk up and down our street. We saw old people and young people and middle-aged people--all of whom received a warm "HELLO!" from Tyler and he and I and his uptrucks strolled past them (sometimes, but infrequently, forcing them off the sidewalk in order to allow his uptruck space to drive past).
We saw Christmas trees in windows with a variety of lights--some red, some blue, some white.
We saw the morning mist mixing with the beginnings of early afternoon fog.
And we saw two monstrous dog poopies.
Tyler stopped dead in his tracks, released the shovel by which he had been pulling his uptruck, and he reached out his mittened hands and proceeded to grab the dog poopies and try to pick them up.
"Whoa! Tyler--no, no very yucky dog poopies. No picking them up...yucky, dirty, eeewwie." These were the first words my mouth could utter while I watched my son grab hold of the dog poopies.
Tyler immediately obeyed (yes!) and dropped the dog poopies. Then he looked at me with a quizzical visage, as if wondering, What's really so bad about dog poopies?
Then, Tyler began to translate his thoughts into words, and he said, "Hold it right here." He pointed with one hand to his other hand.
"No Tyler--no hold dog poopies. Dog poopies stay on ground. Right there. Yucky, dirty, eewwwie." I pointed to the spot on the ground where the dog poopies sat.
Tyler thought for another few moments. Then, out he came with, "Eat it."
I couldn't help the bursting laughter.
Then: "No, Tyler, no eat dog poopies. Yucky, dirty, eeewwwie. Your tummy will say, YUCKY YUCKY YUCKY OWIE! if you eat dog poopies."
Tyler thought, then said, "Daddy eat it."
"No Tyler, Daddy's tummy will say YUCKY YUCKY YUCKY OWIE! too."
After another moment, Tyler finally tried one last time: "Hold it?"
"No...remember: yucky?"
Tyler bent down to pick up his uptruck shovel, then said, in farewell, "Dog poopies stay right there."
And off we went, back towards Lesley Avenue.
Later that day, after Tyler had finished his nap and we had all eaten lunch, Jen joined us for an afternoon walk. We said HELLO! to people, we saw the lights on the Christmas trees, we found a variety of trees.
And, indeed, in Tyler's own words, we made sure to "go see dog poopies" one more time.
We didn't eat it, though.
