Wandern mit Joey

One of the unexpected benefits of living in Switzerland is the four precious hours I get each morning with just my laughing, smiling, uncomplicated two-year-old.  He's a fine little companion, and the two of us spend wonderful mornings together, getting our errands done in the most pleasant possible way.

This morning, Dennis had invited Joey and me to breakfast at Google. Joey's taken to unbuckling himself from the stroller as soon as we get on the trams and trains.  He leaves me with the stroller and bags and selects a seat for himself, more often than not next to a grandmotherly or grandfatherly type.  He carefully climbs into the chair and then, swinging his legs happily, beams at his seatmate, who generally looks surprised and then amused. When it's close to our time to get off, I'll call, "Our stop, Joey."  "Our stop? Okay mommy," he'll chirp, and then he'll begin his slow wobble back to the stroller.

Getting ready to go

They're doing a lot of construction at the tram stop closest to Google, and so we left a little early so that Joey would have ten minutes to teach me all about the Big Big Trucks.  "Look! Look, Mom! That, that!"


After signing in at Google, Joey waits importantly for his visitor sticker, and sticks it on his chest with pride.  And he generally refuses to take it off for the rest of the day.  Joey loves Google's orange press machine, and drinks his blood orange juice out of a wee Joey-sized espresso cup.  Cup after cup of it.  And he's a sucker for a seeded croissant.

And while he was sad that Daddy had to get back to work and didn't have time to play on the slide with him, we consoled ourselves with the swing set on the playground a block away from Google.  "Up and down, momma?" he asks me when he wants a push, and he laughs with abandon when I give him a hand.

Just after leaving the playground, police men waving semiautomatics call out to Joey and me "Halt!" and we watched from afar, bemused, while they waved an unmarked car out of an alley and then quickly hopped into a second car.  They never told us it was okay to go again, but we went for it.


I've found that art supplies are scarce and expensive, but I'd been eying a store, one tram stop up, that is, ridiculously, called McPaperLand.  So Joey and I followed the tracks to the store, and we weren't disappointed.  While Joey advertised the wonders of the stock and snuck a few purchases into my basket, we found glitter and glue and paper and plastic jewels and all those other things that I call absolutely necessary when you're a mother of three. Strangely, McPaperLand also sells fireworks.


Next door was an Asian Food store that, we'd been told, sells edamame, which the boys eat like popcorn and even Ella tolerates.  Joey also suggested various dried vegetables and fish, but he found my basket less accessible this time. 


But we did still have to get the rest of the groceries for the weekend, as did many others, judging by the typical Friday rush.  Joey always makes a dash for his favorite yogurt, asking "Mine?" hopefully and then he usually presses his luck, asking "Chocolate eggs?" It's worth a shot.  Sometimes old mom is feeling soft. Even if he doesn't get his treat, he still considers it his solemn duty to help me unload the shopping cart.

Sometimes on the walk between the tram and our place, he'll call to me "Stop Momma," and he'll hop down and pick a wildflower to present me, a trick he learned from his smooth older brother.
And when we get home, he holds the heavy entry door for me with much theatrical grunting, and then he rushes forward and importantly calls the elevator.  When we enter, he always asks "Red button?" with his finger hovering hopefully, for perhaps today is the day he'll be allowed to press the alarm.  But it isn't. So he sighs "Number 1," and takes us to our first-floor apartment.

And after a morning like this one, he's usually completely sated: when we get home he'll wander off and play quietly with his toys until he hears his brother and sister ring the door bell.  "Ella! Alex!" he'll squeal, hopping up and slip-sliding to the door.

Because, for him, that is when the real fun begins.