Scottish Valentines

Our Valentine's Day began with a few bumps--John growling at me for waking him up by tickling him (he said, "Get out of my yawn, Mommy!) and then throwing Emma's faintly-heart-shaped rock down a storm drain on the way to the bus stop (she said, "But I had been kicking that rock to school for days!" to which I said, "But Emma, it's Monday," to which she said, "and it looked like a heart and it's Valentine's Day and..." before being overcome with full-body sobs...). We made a recovery in the afternoon, though, when we went to the church's Valentine's Day Dance, held at the parish hall. It was a collection of the oldest and the youngest parishioners, with the former following dutifully the instructions being parceled out by the dance professionals, and the latter engaged in a contest to see who could slide the farthest across the parquet wood floor in their bare socks. John and Emma put up a good showing, until Emma was waylaid by Summerland, the pastor's very young son, who was looking for someone to engage him in a good round of "washing machine." John and his newfound friends then deserted Emma, and seized the opportunity to display their skills at air guitar!