I like Sunday mornings because they're a little different. Usually they're more laid back than the rest of the week, 'cuz church doesn't start until 10:30. So we have time to sit, & putz, & generally just hang before we go crazy getting out the door because we still manage to run late most of the time.
I also like it that His Highness's imagination has mushroomed in recent months. We'll overhear him using our pet phrases with his toys as he makes up stories and scenarios. He'll come to me and start a conversation with "Mom, I'm Mickey and you're Minnie," or even "Mom, I'm Minnie and you're Mickey," and we'll be off & running with fun stories, and voices, and good memories of the Disneyland trip he took with Grandma & Daddy .
It is a little awkward, though, when the educational specialist is evaluating his development and asks him questions like "What's your name? Are you a little girl or boy?" and he replies, "I'm Minnie, I'm a girl." Luckily this particular specialist was reasonable. While she didn't declare him an imaginative genius, she understood that kids don't always perform on demand (her words), and gave me the chance to explain that yes, he is aware of his name and gender. And in the end she decided that he is a delightfully normal little boy (my words), and said he'd do well in preschool next year. And then she got to watch him throw a tantrum when he found out we couldn't stay at school for the rest of the day. It was the best ever.
So yesterday morning we were putzing & playing before getting-ready-for-church time, and His Highness decided that we were engines (the train-kind). I asked him who was whom, and was informed that His Highness was Percy, the Littler One was Henry, and I was Thomas, which of course I took as a great honor. So we chugged and choo'd, and sang songs from his Thomas musical pop-up books, and all was grand.
Finally it was getting close to time to go and I said, "Your Highness, my jeans are almost done in the dryer; let's go get the rest of me dressed. I need a shirt and socks and shoes." So we paraded into the guest room (home of Mt. [clean] Laundry), where I began dressing.
HH: You're putting on a bra, Mom?
HH: Why you wear a bra, Mom?
Me: It supports my boobies.
HH: I can wear a bra?
Me: Do your boobies stick out, or are they flat?
HH: They stick out!
Me: No! They're flat. Ladies' boobies stick out so they need a bra to support them. Boys' boobies are flat, so they don't need a bra. Do daddy's boobies stick out?
Me: No! Daddy's boobies don't stick out. They are flat--so he doesn't have to wear a bra.
HH: I want to wear a bra!
Me: No! Bras are only for ladies, not for little boys.
HH: I'm big!
Me: Fine, you're big, but you're still a boy, and bras are only for ladies.
HH: I'll wear a little bra, and you wear a big bra, Thomas.
Me: Nope, no bra for you, Percy.
It was a little strange keeping track of things for a moment there, but in some ways imagining ourselves as engines made it a little bit easier.
I mean, can you picture Percy in a bra???