Cabin Fever

Leo’s camp this morning was cancelled due to rain, which meant that my jealously-guarded 90 minutes of uninterrupted work time has gone out the window. I was able to work a little bit after I (with theatrics) got him on an imagination-fueled thought experiment about what it would be like to live in a colony on the moon, and what the buildings would need to look like and be made of, etc. He drew about seventeen pictures. Here is one of an observation tower:

“Here are the solar panels,” he said. “For power. They  also double as laser blockers. For aliens. And they also protect people from the radiation bursts from the sun, so it doesn’t destroy the colony. They save the radiation in those batteries underground for power in case the sun burns out. Also, they use them for their energy rockets. For aliens.”

“The aliens might be a problem, you think?”

He looked at me, his face terribly serious. “Well, of course. They will want to take over my lunar colony. Because it’s awesome.”

But after nineteen pictures, he’s now bored, and we have to get out of the house. And I’m not sure where we’ll go. The library for sure. And we might make a trip over to Wild Rumpus to say hi to the chickens running through the bookshelves. Also the rats. Leo loves the rats.

Where else should we go on this dark, rainy afternoon. And how can I keep my perpetually turned-up-to-eleven son occupied so that I can do some revising?

(who am I kidding? I’ll never work again. By the end of summer, my brain will be nothing but an amalgamated goo of popsicles and sunscreen and watermelon rinds and sand.)

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