Watching Paint Dry

Friday morning this kid fell at the park and scraped his hands. And far from being his usual stoic self, he fell apart. He wouldn't get back out of the stroller and play. When we got home I weeded the flower beds and he sat in the stroller and nearly fell asleep (he had skipped napping on Thursday). He refused to eat lunch and insisted on going to bed. When he woke up a few hours later I had to feed him lunch because he walked around nearly the whole day doing this:

He was a very pious boy on Friday. He walked around in an attitude of prayer all day. After lunch he sat in the stroller in the garage and watched me paint. Dad and Clara joined him for a while. Because I guess watching paint dry was literally the coolest thing going on. He kept his hands like this until halfway through dinner, when Dad tricked him by offering to let him drink out of the pickle jar. He got really excited and started using his hands again, although he soon realized that he didn't want to drink pickle juice.


Last night while settling into bed, he lay back with his head on his hands and said, "There are so many things I could dream about. I could dream about..." I forgot what he said, but it was things like Thomas, volcanoes, diggers, and maps. Then he said, "Clara can dream about bottles." Who knows? Maybe she does. Whenever she sees a lucky baby with a bottle she stares at them, even though it's been more than a month since she's had one.

Then he went on to tell what mom and dad were going to dream about. Dad got to dream about work, or fixing things, I forget what. And I get to dream about bottles. Lucky me.