1. We're playing in the living room.He rolls over into my lap and closes his eyes. He does his fake sleeping noise, which is somewhere between a shhh and a snore.
I stroke his forehead.
"I'm dreaming," he says, almost whispering, his eyes still closed.
"What are you dreaming about?" I whisper.
"Wheels," he sighs back, in rapture.
20 seconds later he pops up and runs over to the wall.
"Now I'm painting," he informs me, and sure enough, he makes florid gestures with a clean watercolor brush, with the wall as his pretend canvas.
2. This is a picture I did not take: a puddle we played in today. What it doesn't show is two tiny soaked shoes, having landed in the center of the perfectly round, ankle-deep silty puddle, and the 30 or so sets of concentric circles spread out over its surface, each a different size, one for each drop of the splash that was made when he landed. (This is my lame little tribute to the beautiful Unphotographable, which I saw via photojojo.)
Lest you think it's all soft focus Johnson&Johnson commercials around here, let me also tell you this one:
3. he's standing on a kitchen chair, and begins hopping up and down.
I explain to him why this is not a good idea.
My husband chimes in "Oh, that's great. We'll be checking into the emergency room, and he'll be holding his skull together, telling the nurse "I deserve this!"