Today’s guest post comes from Steve.

In the interest of candor, I must admit that Liam’s four-day trip to visit his grandfather has not been all pleasant. Liam, just two years old, was terrified by the airplane that flew him from Portland to Minnesota. For complicated reasons, my daughter Molly stayed at a nearby motel rather than camping out in my home. Liam hated the motel. He sobbed at night, unable to sleep in strange surroundings, partly because he had an ear infection that flowed openly. All of Molly’s love and patience could not console him. We learned a difficult lesson. Liam, at this age anyway, is not a confident traveler.

Molly would show up at my home each morning with hollow eyes. Liam’s eyes were red and puffy from another bad night. “Hello Grampa,” he’d say softly, running to give me a big hug.

That’s when the Baboon angels—those Trail Baboon women who loaned us toys—would appear on hushed wings to work their magic.

I’d say, “Liam, you know this is a funny house, a real funny house. The Toy Fairy flies here to leave surprises for you. I happen to know that the Toy Fairy came again last night. If you walk around, you might find some new toys!”

Liam would disappear, walking gingerly as if he were concerned about spooking the toys and causing them to flee. He would reappear toting or pushing some new toy, perhaps a rolling musical popper, a dump truck or a kid-sized plastic shopping cart.

All the toys loaned to us were chosen with the wisdom of an experienced mother. All got played with and enjoyed. I can’t name them all and wouldn’t try, but every single toy was a hit. Liam is enthusiastic about transportation at the moment, so cars, planes and trains all triggered a strong response.

If things ever got a little slow and Liam became restless, I would call him to me. “Liam, I can’t be sure, but I think I just saw that goofy Toy Fairy again! Do you suppose she left you more toys?”

The toys saved the trip. Molly had expected that we would need to drive from museum to zoo to library to aquarium in order to entertain Liam. Instead, he spent all his hours gleefully pushing little cars on my coffee table, putting the baby doll down “nighty-night” and herding plastic animals in and out of a red plastic barn. We didn’t waste precious time driving around, and this arrangement maximized the contact between Liam and his doting grampa (who got to develop a great many distinctive sound effects for internal combustion engines, to say nothing of all the different animal sounds).

The highlight of the four-day trip was a birthday party at my nephew’s home in Saint Louis Park. The party included 16 people. Liam is a party animal. He adores people, the more the better. He went about interacting with everyone, offering toys to them and occasionally running back to Molly or me to give us monster hugs, his head laid affectionately on our laps.

When my nephew brought out a bag of foam blocks, Liam delighted in making stacks of them so he could knock them down. Soon the bag was empty and 100 foam blocks were strewn all over the living room floor.

At Liam’s daycare in Portland, they teach kids to take care of their own messes. They sing a little song (“Clean up! Clean up!”) while teachers and kids put each toy back where it belongs. One of the teachers occasionally shouts “Hel-LOOOOO?” at the kids to get their attention so they will get stay on-task. Liam has embraced the clean-up ethic. He cheerfully put toys away at my home.

At the party, adults were laughing at the chaos Liam had made of the blocks when we were startled to hear someone singing in a pure, sweet, high voice. Liam was picking up foam blocks to chuck them into the big plastic bag they came in. He carried on singing and chucking until all 100 blocks were back home.

Clean up! Clean up!
Everybody! Everywhere!
Clean up! Clean up!
Everybody do your share!

And occasionally, in a voice that was clearly not his own, Liam would bark out: Hel-LOOOO?” To him, it was part of the song!

Life isn’t perfect, and there were difficult moments in this trip that Molly and I had dreamed about for over a year. But life gives us flashes of unanticipated joy to balance out the challenges. On this visit, any time little negatives cropped up we would hear the gentle flutter of angel wings and another collection of toys would magically appear.

Have you been involved in an enterprise that was unexpectedly saved by an angel?

Today’s guest post is by Anna.

I am unimpressed with this year’s so-called “winter.” It has been a disappointment. While I can appreciate that some folks like the nice snow-free sidewalks and warmer temperatures, I am a Minnesota kid, and I miss my snow and ice and cold. I tried to go out ice skating one afternoon and instead of the chsss chsss chsss of skate blades on the neighborhood rink I heard chuh chuh chuh as I tried to maneuver myself across the slushy mess. Sure it was sunny, but without any glide in my step, not even the warmth on my face or the extra vitamin D was working for me.

Still, there was one day when it was real winter. One day when it had just snowed enough to do something outdoors besides walk the dog. Daughter really wanted to go sledding. I was feeling more in a “stay inside by the fire” kind of mood, since we were in the “cold after the snow” part of the snow, but was willing to put on my snow pants to appease the seven-year-old and ensure that my Minnesota native cred was still good. So, find the boots that had not yet been needed (in the basement), pull the snow pants out from the closet (yikes, these got smaller in the last 12 months), hat (goofy looking), mittens (the warm ones), out we go to find the sleds. Crunch crunch through the quiet neighborhood – with the exception of a few folks out with their dogs, we are the only ones out. And yikes, that wind is biting; a fierce blast that I was not expecting, especially given the mild weather of the season thus far (should have added the scarf). A few blocks from home I hear myself whine like a three-year-old, “are you sure you want to do this? We could go home and have cocoa…” No. We are going. There is snow to be sledded on, this is not an opportunity to be missed.

Once at the hill, the seven-year-old races to the top with her sled in hand. I find a sunny spot to try to gather some warmth and watch. Ssssshhhhhoooo, down the hill she comes and then runs back up the hill. “You gotta try this. It’s so much fun!” I am not convinced, but trudge up with the other sled. Wedging the extra sled into a nearby stand of tall weeds so it won’t blow away, I plunk myself down into the purple plastic embrace of the sled with Daughter in front of me. Sssssshhhhhhooooo, down the hill we go together, across the path, almost to the creek. And it was fun. A few more times together, a few times each on our own sleds, timing our runs so we don’t mow down the walkers (and one biker) using the path at the bottom of the hill. Laughing as we fall over or spin backwards on our descent. Even with the exertion of going up and down the hill, eventually my face gets cold enough that I convince Daughter it’s time to go home. Bump bump bump the sleds follow us home to cocoa (and marshmallows and a fire). But I was glad I tried it, ssssssshhhhhhooooo, it was so much fun.

When have you been convinced to do something that was more fun than you expected?