Abe was so disappointed when he found out that the Santa costume we found on clearance was for a dog, not a small boy.
"Mom? How do you make poo-poo soup?"
"Mom? I've been wondering about you."
He told me about a dream he had, about a bee locked in a cage saying, "I'm gonna get you, Abe Rooney." That's scary right? Later in the day, he got his nature magazine in the mail, and he went right to the photo of a bee, saying, "That's just like the bee in my dream."
No wonder he woke me up at 5 a.m. saying he couldn't sleep.
We all slept late thanks to the interrupted slumber last night. He went in to work with me. He laid on the floor eating dried apricots and looking at books, directly under a floor to ceiling map of Africa that is in the boss's office. He did this for thirty minutes straight.
We get home, and I start cooking, preparing for our annual New Year's Day book swap party. I'm on the phone with a friend and suddenly the house gets really quiet. He's gone upstairs, snuggled into bed and fallen asleep. I couldn't believe it. Maybe the first time he's ever done this.
Damn those evil stinging bees who haunt dreams.
Tonight, Ted makes a fire. With the kindling we have, it roars so violently that I'm afraid it's going to burn our house down. It settles. I continue cooking, black-eyed peas now. Abe, in a burst of excitement about the fire, says, "Mom! I'm going to read my book while I sit by the fire!"
He does. He sits quietly and looks at his book. Our boy is nowhere close to being perfect. He can be obnoxious. He can be disobedient. He gets this glimmer in his eye and demands to lick us. It drives Ted crazy. He sometimes makes this animalistic "gwa-gwa" sound when he's in the throes of being obnoxious that drives me crazy. Our son is not an angel.
Except sometimes he is. And then I want to murder all stinging bumble bees.