Evan is 6 or, as he would quickly correct, 6 1/2. He is a whirling dervish, seldom still and full of himself in a most loveable way. After several hours of nonstop activity this morning I thought to have some calm we would talk about photos of birds and animals taken on various trips. I was all prepared to make this a learning experience, but the exercise took on a life of its own.
Me, “This is a blue footed booby that lives on a Galapagos island.”
“Lulu, you have boobies. Are yours blue?”
OK, next photo.
“He looks really sad.”
“No one will play with him.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Because he is dumb.”
“How does that make you feel?”
“It makes me sad so I will be his friend.” Now that is promise of a tender heart.
Somewhat bored with the zoology lesson, Evan starts feeling my stomach. “Lulu, your stomach feels big. Do you have babies in there?’
“No, your mommy is my last baby.”
“Does she hide in there sometime?”
OK, I’m out of answers. It’s hard to stay up with a 6, er 6 1/2, year old.
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