Story Time

The other morning, I stumbled bleary eyed from my bed to brush my teeth and wash my face. As I returned to my bedroom to begin dressing for the day, Malcolm rushed in (naked as the day he was born) to give me a huge hug, and tell me, "Mommy I so very love you. You're the best."

Today is going to be a good day, I thought.

Malcolm spent the next few minutes playing with the dogs, my alarm clock, Matthew's pillow, our down comforter, and then sprawled across the entire king size bed to declare, "Look at me! I'm stealing your Zzz's!"

Yes, indeed, I thought, he most definitely is. I fixed him with my sternest Mommy Glare (ruined by my poorly camouflaged giggle) and told him "Go. Get. Dressed."

He scampered off to his room, while I took my own advice. Khakis, I think, and reached into my closet. As I buttoned my most comfortable pair of pants, Malcolm ran back in wearing dark blue jeans, but as yet lacking the rest of the accouterment required for preschool attendance (like something to cover his bellybutton).

"Mommy! We're notted!" he declared with delight, then ran back to his room.

. . . ? . . . I thought, and reached for my red polo shirt. As I pulled it over my head, Malcolm returned in a blaze of exuberance.

"We're notted!" he squealed in delight, hugged me and ran back to his room.

. . . . ? ? ? . . . Oh well, at least he'd added a green t-shirt to his outfit, and the chances of making it to preschool on time were looking up.

As I pulled a brush through my hair, Malcolm reappeared. His smile of delight crumpled as he stared intently at my feet.

"Mommy!" he said, with disgust and disappointment thick in his voice. "I have a shirt and you have a shirt. And the two of us have pants. But you don't have socks on and I do!"

I gazed bewilderedly from my bare toes to his sock clad feet, and thought I better skip the decaf this morning. If I make myself a triple espresso, this might start to make sense.

Malcolm sighed, gathering his patience with heroic effort. "Mommy," he carefully explained, "You need to put on your socks. Right now I am winning. And I don't want to be winning. I wanted to be notted."

Notted? Notted? . . . . . !!!!

"Knotted?" I asked Malcolm.

"Yes, Mommy! I want the two of us to be knotted!"

He has got to be the cutest thing, ever, I thought. "Sweetheart, do you mean you want us to be tied?"

"Of course, Mommy! Put your socks on, so we can be tied!"

What else could I do? I put on my socks.