Surgery

Here is Tristy's guitar, in for minor surgery.  It needs its stock pickups changed for better pickups. Or so they tell me.  All I know is that it reminds me of the game "Operation" by Milton Bradley.  Remember that game?

Daddy was the surgeon, and Tristan was the assistant.

Which means he did a lot of this.

While Daddy did a lot of this.

It always seems like a good idea to involve the kids in how-to projects but somehow they seem to just watch aimlessly while the grown-ups do all the work.

Ah, the glorious Fender Stratocaster, an American Icon. Wait..."made in Mexico"...what? 

The way of all Americana--outsourcing.

While Tristan was busy "assisting", Sawyer was waiting impatiently to go outside with him.  "When are you going to be done?  When? When? When?"  Finally, Sawyer gave up.  This is his face for that--

 

.

 

He took his forlorn-ness outside into the big lonely world.  To skateboard, alone.  And ride his bike, alone.
But since he isn't allowed to leave the driveway, alone, he promptly came back in to say...
"When are you going to be done, Tristan? When are you going to be done, Tristan? When are you going to be done, Tristan? When?"

It's a never ending cycle.

And I wonder, it's such a forlorn face for such a little hurt, compared to the hurts of adult life. But since they are small, maybe the little hurts hurt just as much from their perspective.
Ya, know?
So I hobbled outside with my broken toe and watched the road for him so he could play with abandon.

Mom's are made for these types of things.

Until our fingers start to freeze.
Then we go back inside and make Tristan come outside whether he's ready to or not.