Tre has divided his clothes into two categories: clothes for church and regular clothes. I’m not sure what qualifies clothes as being for church, as he NEVER NEVER wears those clothes. When I asked him why he doesn’t wear church clothes…say…TO CHURCH, he sighed and said, “MOM. At CHURCH I’m usually an acolyte. So. Who CARES what I wear under the robe?”
Which brings us back to the original, impenetrable question: WHAT ARE CHURCH CLOTHES, then?
* * * * * * *
Monday, when I picked Max up at school, I pulled his papers out of his file. I was standing at the door of his classroom, chatting with Ms. Sue, when I glanced down and saw the name at the top of one of his papers. “Tim,” it read.
“Oh,” I said, “Tim’s papers got mixed up with Max’s.” I paused for a moment, thinking. “Wait. Is there a Tim in this class? There ISN’T a Tim in this class.”
Ms. Sue shook her head wonderingly.
“No, there isn’t. I don’t know WHY Max does that.”
I leafed through his papers. They were signed TIM, MAT, WAX, and MAXI32. By the way, you should know that the I in Maxi32 is a SHORT I SOUND. So. Not like the feminine product, so much.
“Max?” I asked him, “WHY did you sign all these other names on your papers?” He fixed me with an inscrutable stare.
“You know, WAX rhymes with Max,” he replied, as though that were an answer.
* * * * * * * * *
Raphael has taken to waking up around the hour of FOUR AM. In the MORNING. That sort of AM. He did it again this morning. He wandered into my room and climbed into bed with me. I struggled to the surface of consciousness and asked him the cogent question, “Whaaa?”
“Ah wanna PLAY!”
“Can ah WATCH TV?”
“OK! Ah will go wake up MAX.”
At this point it penetrated my sleep fog that the evil little child would, in fact, WAKE his big brother, causing Max to LOSE ACTUAL SLEEP, which, if you’ve been following Max’s sleep problems AT ALL, is Not What We Do. I half sat up and fixed Raphael with a stern glare.
“No, you WILL NOT wake Max up. Lie down and GO TO SLEEP.”
Which he did. Like a little angel.
After an HOUR of singing happy little songs, driving pretend trucks, pulling different sections of my hair to see if they ALL made me yelp, and exploring my actual nostrils with his toes. Yes, toes. I’m NOT MAKING THIS UP.
Then, around five in the MORNING, he drifted off sweetly to sleep. This morning he slept in a little later than usual. I mean, HE WAS TIRED. So, to sum: he wakes out of a perfectly serviceable sleep, sets to work waking me up, then reclaims his missed rest in the morning, when I have to be up and doing things. Josh, STOP LAUGHING. It isn’t funny.
Where do these kids COME FROM, anyhow?