We’ve talked about the day, the things that go bump in the night, about possibilities and about nothing. We’ve made French Toast and eaten it with blueberries and strawberries. We’ve had a cuddle in our cozy blanket to warm cold feet. We’ve researched building a Lego helicopter from the Batman series. It’s not even 9 am yet.
He’s made an Ent, Treebeard. I think he got the creature better than Peter Jackson and his designers. His Ent has presence, even though it’s Lego. I’m not allowed to make the helicopter. I am allowed to search for pieces. But only if he can’t find them. As he works he tells me stories. About how his baby brother doesn’t like protein. He’s apparently a breadosaurus. About kindergarten and his yoga class and how he’s going to be a hockey player (he is Canadian). About how he is going to move back to Victoria to see his friends. Maybe. But he likes winter. Maybe he won’t. About how he is going to live with me when he goes to university so I can sort his Lego for him (hidden agenda?).
There are things I could be doing. Do I want to? No, in a blink he will be 12, then 18, then 25. When I’m 90 I may not be able to sit on the floor with him. So I am going to hang out and listen. Because, if not now, when?