Dodged a bullet

Celia and I were preparing a light Sunday lunch when she first let the bomb fall. “I wanna go home.” It hit me like shrapnel. It hadn’t occurred to me that she’d want to go home so soon. We are only 6 days in to a 27-day stay. My mind projected forward to 21 straight days of whining and tantrums – mine – if this wish persisted. Then, I remembered a fact that frequently escapes me – Celia is five. Sunday was our first day of doing very little – no shopping, no beach, no long walk. It was a beautiful but overcast day that allowed us to lie around the pool for hours comfortably. The inactivity must have festered into boredom – the most evil source of juvenile possession. I shook off the shell shock and reached into my metaphorical bag for the silver bullet – Vamos a la parque? The change of venue resulted in a change of heart. On the walk home in the dark Celia outlined the many options facing her for the Friday buying day to come.