Now he doesn't understand why all these adults are standing around talking when there are sliding glass doors to unlock and fall leaves to collect.
He doesn't understand the man with tools that are not ours to play with. There's a perfectly good screwdriver just sitting there! And he's allowed to play with Grandad's tools all the time! He's too busy squeakily zooming down the hallway in wet shoes to notice the looks that Mommy and Daddy are exchanging, the tense way they squeeze each other's hands.
His eyes aren't filled with dollar signs. His brow isn't furrowed with worry. He doesn't know about old furnaces or cracked skylights or carbon monoxide or asbestos. He can repeat the words "new house," but his heart doesn't race when he utters them.
He just knows that there's a yard.
A yard to play in.
And he doesn't understand why anyone would want to stay inside on a beautiful day like this.