I had a highly interactive experience last night. Parents go through it all the time. Those with three children six and under, like Tammy and David, have it all day, every day. Sometimes they have even more if it than they want, or more of it than they can easily deal with. I don’t get a lot of chances, so it’s a special treat for me.

As always, even if I walk into that house feeling a little down, I don’t stay down for long. The first thing D.J. wanted to do was use my camera. Since I knew I wasn’t up to chasing kids around and trying to snap photos, I gave him the camera and just watched. I also read his new book with him and listened while he showed me his newfound ability to whistle. He’s, you know, six.

At one point when D.J. was being quiet (he must have been upstairs) and Aiden was otherwise occupied (but carefully watched), I had Dakota to myself for a few minutes. He invented a game where he brought his toy telephone to my chair, sat next to me, and had a conversation (with someone who speaks his unique language). Then he’d go off for a minute and come back to make another call.

Later on he repeatedly went to where Aiden’s baby things were stored, pretended to put some ointment on his hands, and then planted himself in front of the mirror and rubbed the stuff on his face, grinning at his own reflection. I learned that he had seen Home Alone, so obviously we know where he was going with that little scenario.

When the big boys went to bed, I spent some floor time rompin’ with Aiden. He loves to push himself up to his feet in the middle of the room, but he’s still not walking, just balancing. I’m told he’s taken steps, but without realizing it. He pushes his little lawnmower-shaped walker around, and once he took my hand and carefully put it on the handle next to his, so that I had to scramble around on my knees to keep up with him as he raced with it across the room.

He has a few words, but I can’t wait to hear him talk, so he can explain the complex way his mind works. Here’s an example. I’m sitting on the floor and he crawls over and uses my knee to pull himself up to a standing position. Then he takes one of my hands in each of his. He claps my hands together for me exactly half the time. Every so often he’ll deliberately lower his head so that it gets caught (gently) between claps.

The other half of the time, he holds my hands wide apart and does a little dance where he twitches his shoulders back and forth. And he does this all with a smile on his face and an occasional giggle. Something is going on inside that little head, that’s for sure.

Most of this was happening long after the first time they tried to get him to sleep. He gets very close when he takes the bottle, but as soon as he’s had his fill, he’s up and rompin’ again. I know he sleeps some time, but I don’t see it very often.

The only time he really, truly cried during the whole three hours I was there last night was when he pulled the plastic baby gate down on himself. He was shocked but not hurt, and he let out a little high-pitched complaint. But it was over in two minutes, and in five minutes he was back down on the floor, rompin’.