Teddy has left me his 'sleeping feather', which requires sticky-tape repairs. He likes to stick this feather out of the side of the little desk next to his bed and says that if he needs to, he can rub his head on it in the night. Something about crocodiles? He also saw that I had the sewing machine out and asked me to make him a pink sarong.
Last week, he had his pre-school orientation. He has taken to wearing all his clothes backwards, and so he trotted into preschool with a backwards t-shirt and jeans on. There is some logic to his sartorial craziness. He likes the back pockets at the front. But they don't stay up well, so at group-time, one by one, when the four-years old got up and popped bubbles in front of the group, Teddy basically did a strip tease. George was having a moment, so I couldn't get to him in time to yank up his trousers.
Never mind. He was perfectly happy, cavorting about popping bubbles joyfully while his entire bum winked at the crowd. Later, changing for day-care in the afternoon, he insisted on wearing a sandal on one foot and a boot on the other.
Four is such a creative age. 'My brain hurts, Daddy,' Teddy said the other day. 'I think either a leech is in there eating on my brain or my stomach has sent a vacuum cleaner up there to suck it out.'
Teddy is our nut-case. But I don't think he's nuttier than any other four-year olds. I think they are all delightfully cracked, and their madness is biology's way of throwing parents a bone to make up for all the naughtiness and mess.
In the meantime, I will repair his feather, and I will make him a pink sarong.