Not Far From the Tree

The other day, Ethan approached his mother and asked, "Do we have an umbrella?"

Eleanor said, "Yes."

Ethan asked, "Is it big?" The answer was yes.

Ethan asked, "Can I use it?"

Eleanor asked, "For what?"

Instead of answering, Ethan did a pantomime act of clutching to an umbrella, swinging from side to side and falling gently out of the sky and down to earth.

Eleanor asked, "Are you going to jump off of your bunk bed with the umbrella?"

Ethan nodded.

Eleanor told him, "Using an umbrella as a parachute is just pretend. It only works on TV."

Ethan seemed to accept that response and ran off without further request to use the umbrella. A few moments later, Eleanor heard a loud thump and a sharp cry of pain from Ethan's bedroom. When Eleanor looked into his room she saw our son lying partially on his pillow on the floor next to the bunk bed.

Eleanor smiled and asked him, "What happened, Ethan?"

He said, "I fell on my pillow. It was slippery."

Apparently, Ethan had given up on the umbrella idea but had continued with Plan B which entailed tossing himself over the bedrail and landing delicately on his cumulus nimbus pillow. He found the reality to be that his pillow is little more than a glorified door mat and offers little in the ways of being a safety device.

When I put Ethan to bed that night, I jokingly piled up three pillows on the floor near the bed and said, "Hey, do you want to jump on these?"

Ethan looked at the pile and said, "No. I think it will make my stomach hurt."

Alright then.

One of my favorite things in the world is when we ask Ethan a question and he answers with a game of charades. The other day we asked him what he wants for his birthday and he just answered "Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!" as he acted out cutting down a tree with a chainsaw. He was nice enough to finish off the act by specifying that he wanted a TOY chainsaw.

I guess kids are just cute. I woke up yesterday when Ethan was trying to get into our bedroom. Eleanor was getting dressed and was blocking the door with her body, "Who's there?" she asked. Ethan responds, "Your son." He gets so formal. He calls me father a lot. Jonah, on the other hand, calls me da-doo. After Ethan woke me up, I got up to use the bathroom. When I got the hallway I was met by my daughter, Olivia, who held up her hand in the "hang loose" sign and zealously told me to rock on.