You take quarters out of my change bucket and hide them in my chest of drawers.
When I enter the bathroom you follow me in and lock the door—your fingers snug on the flushing lever.
On october 7th you asked to pee in the potty. Standing over the toilet you couldn’t reach the top so I picked you up and when you began to urinate it split in many directions, mostly over the bathroom floor which I have yet to clean.
You hold the ping pong racket and have me throw the ping pong ball to you. You’re not very good.
You still adore modes of transportation. We once went on the subway, a bus, a taxi, and a pedicab all in the span of four hours. It almost killed you.
You like to read books or have books read to you.
You ask me to turn on the fan, then you ask me to turn it off—bringing your face very close so you may see how they stop or watch how they turn.
Barnes and Noble—you carried around a big briefcase of a puzzle. It had boats and trains and airplanes and a bus on it. You wanted me to open it for you but I explained it was a puzzle, not a box of busses, cars, boats, and airplanes.
You always want to go to an airport. You always want to go on an airplane.
It’s not a stutter, but you repeat the opening two syllables of a sentence when you speak. Either your excited or your’e thikning about what to say. It sounds like, “Wachis- wachis- wachis- wanna go on an airplane?”
You like swinging on the top bar of a slide before you slide down.
You like climbing up the slide.
You enjoy sitting along on the subway. I walk onto the train and put you in your own seat. You stay there and talk to anyone that talks to you and seem quite content. Yesterday, I mouthed the words, “next stop” and you said aloud, “Next stop?” and began preparing yourself for exiting the train.
I had a performance a couple weeks ago with this dance troupe and you came and talked the whole way through. Then saw me in the wings and said “hi.”