kiwords

I was sitting here, catching up on my blog reading after a full day away from the computer (well, 23 hours at least. Baby steps.), and Raphael climbed up on my lap for a hug. He pressed his silky fat cheek to mine, wrapped one arm around my neck, and crooned in my ear, “Gimme dat paper.” He wanted my notepad. He’s always swiping my notepads. Reason #2045 I will never be organized. But I’m a kind and benevolent mother, so I gave him the requested paper, plus a pen that caught his eye. He trucked off and flopped belly down on the carpet to draw. After a few minutes of scribbling furiously, he came over to me and shoved the pen in my direction. “You draw.”
“What do you want me to draw?”
“You draw Raphi.” By this time he was glowering at me, irritated that I hadn’t complied already.
“Well, give me the paper,” I replied, pointing to the abandoned notepad on the floor behind him. He heaved a sigh at my obstinacy.
“NOOOOOOOOOOO. Gimme new paper! Dis one!” He was pointing at the printer, so I obligingly handed him a sheet from the printer. He snatched it from my hand and turned to trot away. A few steps from me he turned back and informed me with that special Raphael intensity, “Ah SHOOPERMAN!”
You know, I don’t know if I should be worried or not, but I suspect that he actually thinks he is. Yesterday he found a jammie shirt of Max’s. It’s blue with that big red and yellow Superman emblem on it. It even has a cape that velcros to the shoulders. Well, Raphael went nuts for the Shooperman shirt. Wore it all day and all night. If I tried to take it off him he would clutch at his belly and squirm out of my grasp, shrieking, “NONONONONO! Dat’s my SHOOPERMAN!” I decided to put that one in the category of “battles not worth fighting.” Besides, he’s awfully cute. Whenever anyone asks him about his shirt, he takes the stance. One hip juts out, one shoulder comes to his ear, and his belly protrudes. “AH SHOOPERMAN!”
Tonight Dad was flying Shooperman around the room. Raphi was trying to hold his arms out in front, because Dad had told him that’s how Superman does it. But the swooping flight was just too thrilling, and he kept clasping his hands right under his delighted drooly smile.
Well, I guess it’s ok, this super-fixation. The only real problem is his new identity and his nickname merge to an unfortunate “SuperBug.”
Can’t win ‘em all. Even if you’re SHOOPERMAN.