Our mornings can be a bit chaotic. What with getting dressed, and getting breakfast ready, and feeding the pets, and making sure Dorothy goes out and gets her epilepsy meds, and gathering lunches, there is nothing restful about it. (Every now and then I think back to my pre-Owen days when my mornings involved a 30-minute phone call with Martha before work while I drank my coffee! What decadence!) And we are very lucky in that our childcare comes to us, and does so thirty minutes before we have to leave so we get some help.
But anyway, the last two mornings we seemed to have more time than usual, and Owen followed me upstairs and wanted me to take pictures of him with Plum. Plum, usually agreeable, was having none of it:
I guess he had not had his morning coffee yet.
That same morning I was getting Owen dressed and he made a request – which he still for the most part does not do. There are a few items of clothing for unknown reasons he doesn’t like, but other than that, he really doesn’t care much about what goes on his person. But on Thursday he asked me to put on “the colorful shirt that Nanny loves so much.” And I had no idea what that was! We went through all of his shirts and each one wasn’t it, so we had to make do with another “colorful” shirt. When Nanny arrived I checked with her and she wasn’t sure what shirt it was either, but suggested a striped shirt Owen had turned down.
That morning he ended up in a blue shirt with striped green sleeves, and then Owen insisted on wearing the striped pants he has, which did not match AT ALL. I let him wear the pants, since it wasn’t a school day, but it was very difficult for me! First world problems, I know.
Today was also a Freddie and Jimmy morning: Freddie and Jimmy are Owen’s imaginary friends who are very naughty and are always doing things which, says Owen, ought to get them thrown in jail. If anything is missing in our house, Freddie or Jimmy took it; if something is ripped, or broken, you can guess Freddie and Jimmy are the proffered culprits. Today I spilled a little bit of water on my shirt and Owen suggested Jimmy bumped my arm. It’s time to rid our house of these rascals!
1 comment:
I am so glad you are writing all of this down! He has such a terrific imagination, he will have these notes to refer to when he writes his novel or his memoir -- perhaps an American version of Karl Ove Knausgaard's "My Struggle." Or perhaps you will use them for your own novel one day.
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