Things Abraham wants to be when he grows up

An ever-growing list that I have been compiling.

1. Artist

2. Doctor

3. Builder

4. Chimbly Sweep

5. Dog-Catcher (will kill them and eat them)

6. Collector of Sounds

Wisdom

Me: "Abraham, do I have a bruise on my forehead? Look, do you see anything here?"

A: "No."

Me: "Are you sure? I feel a lump right here, and it hurts when I touch it."

A: "Then don't touch it."

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Me: "You have so much energy right now! Where did you get all that energy?"

A: "From God."

Quotes

"The monster isn't full of meat. It has chicken, rice and macaroni."

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"I want to play a teeny bit more. Teeny teeny. Teenier than a crumb."

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"I love you bigger than an alligator's tail!"

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"The two rules are: don't mess up and don't stop doing it."

vignettes

Anderson is grilling outside. Abraham is with him. Then I hear a small knock on the door. I open the door and say, "Oh, hello!" as though it's an unexpected visitor. Abraham hands me a bag and says quite seriously, by way of explanation, "Daddy wanted me to give this to you. I'm not a friend."

transcendental spring

He wants to eat everything outside. Every green leaf, every stick and flower. We have one lone spinach plant that has survived the winter, and every time he passes by, he pulls off a leaf to eat. So today, as he's making and tasting a potion in his water table, I remind him we only eat plants from our garden. So he walks all the way around to the front yard to grab two baby handfuls of baby spinach, adds them to the brew, and chows down. "My potion's so good I'm crying!"

Then I show him how to identify the patches of wild green onions growing all over the yard. These you can eat, too, my dear. Show him how to pull near the roots and find the tiny white bulbs. He hates onions on his plate, but outside, from the ground, he has no hesitation and declares, "These aren't spicy like regular onions."

On the first nice day in weeks, we've been outside for four hours. Ate lunch outside. Painted outside. Peed outside (well, he did). But mostly just explored. He's gloriously filthy. I'm sitting in the sun.

I flashback to my own childhood. Picking wild blackberries along the fence. Sucking honeysuckles. Eating tiny crab apples. Making clover necklaces and climbing trees. It sounds decadently Southern, and yet timeless, placeless at the same time.

That's what I want for him, my son. Not soccer and piano and gymnastics (unless he really wants them), but hours outside, being that translucent eyeball, that self-reliant man, feasting from the earth. Coming finally to bed, sun-kissed and soiled.

Conversation

On emotional self-awareness: "I don't want to go because I'm feeling grumpy. If I go I would just destroy everything."

On delicious food: "Does the salad have salad grease on it?"

On board games: "The game is called 'Mouse, run to get the cheese before a missile comes, or a zapper!'"

On love: "Mrs. Simin, I love you! I will love you even when you are old!"

On flattery: "Your name is lovely, too."

Love

"I really love Naw-Ruz and nothing else, just Naw-Ruz. I really love it. And Ayyam-i-Ha and Halloween and Star Wars and Christmas and Ayyam-i-Ha and fasting days! (pause) And regular days!"

A: "We really need food to live."
Me: "And water. We need both."
A: "And we need love!"

"I always love you every day. Even when I'm captured."