Aside from wanting a robot to do his homework, a chainsaw to fell trees, his own computer and cell phone (to call who? we have no clue.) and a skeleton because they're cool and he can learn all about how bodies work, Mr. T has a very reasonable wish list. NOT!
Great guesses, everyone. He'll get an ipod shuffle and a telescope (not just any telescope--a Geovision Omega Reflector Telescope--and yes, he might shoot his eye out). We'll all share it. He'll enjoy a smattering of folk, jazz and baroque music tossed in with Good Charlotte and High School Musical tunes. Our family will bond over starry nights and taking turns looking at constellations through the lens, murmuring our appreciation of the heavens.
Oh, and Hotfessional's question about ice cream? It's Badger State Fun Fact Time! There is a law on the books of the Dairy State that anyone serving pie in a restaurant must offer ice cream with said slice o' pie. There is a law on the books of Green Girl's house that ice cream must be ever present in the freezer because her family Big Puffy Heart Loves ice cream. There will be ice cream with Jenn's cake.
In other news, yesterday after school Mr. B informed me of his Big Plans. "I want to go live in the woods so I can be around the birds and the trees all the time. I want to just live there and sleep there and eat there."
Then he headed out with his backpack on his little boy back.
"What did you pack in there?" I called after him, curious to know what Thoreau Junior thought would be useful while going into the woods to live deliberately.
"My soccer ball and a jacket."
Of course. Just what one needs for survival in the wild. Christopher McCandless had nothing on my kid.
Later he returned through the yard, shoulders slumped, arms dangling dejectedly by his sides. "Mo-om! The M____s won't give me matches."
Turns out Mr. B was upset that his plans for living off the land in our woods were thwarted by our responsible neighbors who thought that a five year old boy should not have his own box of matches to play with. Sheesh. Grown ups ruin all the fun.
When we returned from Mr. T's soccer practice, there was a message from Mrs. M_____. I called her back and learned that Mr. B had asked her for matches--and went on to present a compelling argument in his attempt to convince her that giving him matches would be a good idea. She was happy to know he'd already told me about their conversation and she shared that she'd given him a little "talk" about fire safety and matches. I'm glad the M_____s are our neighbors. It'll take a village and then some to raise Team Testosterone.
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