We spent the weekend in Colonial Williamsburg. Full Post With All The Photos will be coming later, under the Sponsored banner, but I promise it will still manage to reach out through the screen and squeeze on your heart until water falls out of your face. I mean, not to oversell it or anything, but Noah was in rare form the whole time; basically a walking, talking blog entry of childhood wonder and awesomeness. He made two different grandmothers CRY on two different occasions, you guys. And I'm not exaggerating in the slightest. Two complete strangers cried actual happy tears in front of me because they just couldn't even with him.
I couldn't even either. I still can't even.
We were eating breakfast at the hotel on Saturday morning and my children were devouring a truly frightening amount of food from the buffet, but I guess they were being charming about it, as several older couples stopped to compliment their behavior to me on their way out.
(Which some day, when I am not so completely focused on getting out of restaurants alive, I promise to pay forward and do that for another families dining out with young children, because it really is nice to hear that someone appreciates your efforts to keep everyone's inner helldemon from unleashing itself all over the appetizers.)
That's when one of the ladies noticed the doorknob.
"I'm guessing there's a story behind that?" she asked.
There was. Of course there was.
We recently swapped out the brass doorknob on our bedroom door for a silver one, to match the rest of the hardware in the room. Noah found the old doorknob and...well, got a little attached to it. In the grand naming tradition of Mister Woodchip, our family now had a Mister Doorknob.
Later, I found Noah walking around the house with the doorknob. "This is my room! And that's my bunk bed. I sleep on the top. Would you like to look out the window?"
I asked him what he was doing; he explained that Mister Doorknob had spent his whole life stuck on our door and had only ever seen our room. Now Mister Doorknob was getting a tour of the rest of the house.
So naturally, it was only fair that Mister Doorknob get to come on vacation as well. He's never seen Williamsburg either, Mom.
By the time I got to this point in the story, I realized my voice was catching. Mister Doorknob had seemed just kind of funny before, and even borderline annoying. (Mister Doorknob falls apart into two separate pieces, one of which is always getting lost and ALSO MY CHILD IS WALKING AROUND WITH AN ANTHROPOMORPHIZED DOORKNOB.) But at that moment, I was suddenly whalloped with the innocent preciousness of the whole thing, of my sweet little boy wanting to show a doorknob a nice time, because he liked it. And because it never would occur to him that it was weird or embarrassing to like it.
The woman listening to my story was hit with the same little pinprick of emotions, as she brought her hand to her mouth and gasped. "That is...so sweet," she said, as we both awkwardly wiped our eyes. "Thank you for sharing that. What a wonderful child you have."
Mister Doorknob spent most of our visit tucked safely away in Noah's backpack. But Noah made sure to pull him out every once in awhile to show him anything important.
Shuttle bus = obviously super-important
Oh, Noah. Don't ever stop being so...you.