Yo-yos

So, when the boys went to ArtScraps- a local little gem that resells other people's waste and overstock for minimal prices- to buy valentine card makings, they somehow also came home with yo-yos. These are NOT the Pro-yo's you could buy after school from Mr. Yeager, the coolest teacher at Bel Air Elementary. Remember those? They came in all colors, some see-through, some glow-in-the-dark...and that one that Mr. Yeager only sold to kids who had mastered certain tricks- the solid black pearly one. I never got that. I did have a sweet little red number that I remember well. The ArtScraps yo-yo's are some marketing scheme gone wrong from Greater Minnesota Dakotas CDC -these cheap knock-offs would have never been allowed in Mr. Yeager's little after school store. But the boys love them. Love them. They have both finally mastered rolling the string up on the yo-yo and I am sure that someday soon they are going to successfully complete one yo-yo. Up and down. Once. It's coming. I keep trying to tell them that the strings are too long and me and my trusty scissors can fix that. But they will not let me near the yo-yo. Instead they have figured out that the yo-yo's work better (and don't crack into the floor quite as often) if the boys stand on chairs.
This morning I was still lying in bed when I heard first one boy then the other jostle out of bed and head to the bathroom. I patiently awaited their arrival by my bedside, asking for breakfast, or for permission to get on the computer, or help getting down the legos. But they didn't arrive. And they weren't making any noise. What were they doing? I rustled myself up and padded out to the hallway- and there I spotted Theo, perched precariously on the cushy chair in their bedroom, and Eli, proudly atop the office chair. Both of them silently yo-yoing, quiet smiles playing across their lips as they successfully negotiate a yo-yo. Sometimes they even manage a yo-yo-yo. I am sure they were yo-yoing all night in their dreams. Remember those days? When you learned some new thing, some new trick, and you practiced in every minute of your spare time, then went to bed relunctantly, only to spring from the covers at the crack of dawn, already reaching for your new ball, or recorder, or pogo stick, or skateboard, or hula hoop, or yo-yo? Miss them.